dee

but i don't want that to be it. i want to wake up from a dull pain of their teeth digging into my shoulder, muffled moans and whimpers as they try their best to stay quiet. their voice waking up my mind as i barely pick up their whiny apologies. im sorry, i couldn't help it, please don't make me stop, imsorrybabyicant, i need it. the dull pain in my shoulder suddenly shifting to between my legs as they thrust all the way in. eyes rolling back, mouth opening with sharp gasps as i try to adjust. and maybe they'd expect me to be too tired, to just lie there and let them take what they need. but we both know their voice, that whiny and raspy pitch that rolls effortlessly off my back is anything but motivation to lie there and take it. they'd be stupid to hope for it.

i'd reach behind to grab their hair, roughly pulling their head up and asking simple questions with my other hand finding its way around their throat. i thought i asked if you wanted help, puppy? you can't just use me like this baby, that's nasty. i thought you were supposed to be good for me, what is this? this isn't my sweet baby, is it?

You’re sprawled on your side, half‑dreaming... one knee hitched up like you meant to be found this way, the other leg stretched long and lazy. Sleep drapes over you, heavy and sweet, leaving you soft around the edges. Just your short pajama pants.

No underwear.

Of course not.

Easier access.

You always do this... leave yourself open and pretend it wasn’t intentional.

I don’t rush you.

I never do.

There’s a shift behind you, unhurried, assured. Fabric moves. Cool air kisses your skin, and you breathe in before you can stop yourself... slow, needy, already responding.

You’re warm.

Pliant.

Unprotected.

That delicious state where your body tells the truth long before your mouth ever could.

Your thoughts start to surface… and immediately betray you. Last night. The drinks. How easily you melted. How loose and needy you got once you stopped trying to be good. How your dreams carried that hunger straight into morning... dark, sticky, shameless things you didn’t even bother fighting.

Awareness settles in, slow and spreading.

You feel exposed.

Seen.

Caught mid‑want, already offering more than you meant to.

There’s a soft laugh behind you... low, indulgent, amused in the fondest way.

Not surprised.

Never surprised.

"Oh, sweetheart.

You always wake up like this."

You tense for just a moment... more habit than intent... then you give in to yourself. You roll forward, press into the pillow, arch back without thinking.

Not asking.

Not begging.

Just presenting.

That’s consent written in instinct.

In muscle memory.

In the way your body settles when it knows it’s safe to be seen wanting.

I take my time. I watch the way you hold still, the way you breathe, the way you wait. How beautifully undone you look when you realize I’m not going anywhere.

I smile...

And still… I don’t touch.

I let you stay right there, soaking in the attention...

knowing I’m watching...

knowing I’m enjoying you...