It's just one of those days when he is at the right place at the right time, and my mind is in a tight place and wants out.

Doesn't matter what you say, what you do; my hungry greed will twist it into something to latch onto and misuse the shit out of it.

I'm the monster under your bed, and this is the night I crawl out and launch forth to wreak havoc. I blow a mist of sleep paralysis onto your helpless body and blast the stereo with thick bass only the two of us can hear. I bounce on your bed and on your lungs till you cannot breathe. I stand over you, looking into your face. "This is me. Follow me. Don't you want out of lucid lullaby land?"

The way I'm measuring you up, you know all this, you know what you're in for. At least deep inside. Like very, very deep. So deep that that rock would never hit the bottom of the well of your soul. Yet you hold my hand

and jump.

"How can you be this fucking hard when I didn't even touch you?"

"You bit my neck..."

"Mmmm."

"And my ear..."

Forgot about that.

"And clawed my thighs."

"Mmm, yes, I probably have. Do you want more?"

"Do I fuck?"

I could tell you it is my husband I'm having this delightful conversation with. Or the guy I've fucked in the club's toilet last weekend. Or my forever crush from the gym, who is so out of my league that it hurts in places I never knew existed.

Or it could be my ex-boss, the one I hated with such passion, yet still fucked in cowgirl on top of his pretentious half-room mahogany desk, getting off him just before he spurted his load all over the same posh desk. I stood there drinking in his curses, hoping for a stain, that I knew won't happen because, on that very desk, I also fucked that all-important new customer I was supposed to entertain. Entertain, I did.

"Here, you can wipe yourself with this." I handed him the creased resignation letter that I previously may or may not have spat on.

Most theatrical walk-out of my life.

But it doesn't matter. It could be anyone. It's between me and this fucking fabulous cock right here. It's between the serpent coiled around my neck and your submissive puppy face. This is escape. This is sport.

So let's fucking go!

How can someone so little, so on her knees, look up to you as if the roles were reversed, and she was fucking deity and you just a speck of muck?

Well...

Because resting in my pocket is the pair of my favourite stainless steel handcuffs.

Also, because it's just a fantasy.

Or is it?

Growling playfully, my tongue follows the soft tissue from his knee to his groin then I bite into the inside of his thigh with full open jaw. Not strong enough to seriously hurt but strong enough to demonstrate that I could rip his femoral artery out if I wanted to. 'Wanted' is probably not the correct word.

Tempted to? Spurred? Crazed? Help me outta here. I'm too busy trying to rein that whatever.

Taming that urge is almost just as hard as you are. I've spent most of my adult life taking it around the block on a lead, sometimes throwing a ball or a stick to play fetch. Now she's completely off the fucking leash.

Forget the docile pet kitten tonight. Meet the moody panther. Facing up to your wolf. Any other day, I would think he is majestic, powerful. Tonight, he is nothing more than chewy appetiser.

"Chill, I won't hurt you," I smirk, "much."

Just no matter what you do, don't encourage me to do so. I don't know how that scenario ends. Actually, I have an inkling. There was one who tried. It was bloody sick. Trust me, you don't want to go there.

I'd like to tell you dearest gentle reader, how my tongue snaked up his shaft and slowly swirled around his delicious mushroom head. But no, that's not what happened. Not today. Today, my throat is the spirit of a boa constrictor, and it swallowed its dinner in whole.

He is impressed. Of course, he is. But I am too full to care. Too gone.

"Get on the fucking floor!" I thunder. "I will pound you into the fucking ground! And you will not cum till I tell you, you can."

This is where the handcuffs come in handy as I pin his hands above his head.

This whole circus was building up to this moment. I craved to feel him inside me, filling me up, but now that I'm here, I've found something even better: the struggle on his face, every facial muscle rioting against me, against my denial. I bite and lick his soft cheeks and rugged jaw as he keeps trying to pull away from me.

"Shhh, fucking hold it, you worthless piece of shit," I growl into his ears as I slow down to a halt. But it's already too late. I can control my hips, my legs, even my mouth - sometimes. But I cannot control my inner muscles contracting with every syllable of that sentence. And I squeeze and choke him as we cum together.

"Fuck, is that all you got?

Hm, next!"

***

I show this story to my husband, "See, this is why I need that gangbang. And you wouldn't let me. Stop being so fucking mean and selfish! Do you really want to be the one on the floor?"

"You're acting like that has never happened before. You have to try harder than that." He pulls my nipple roughly for emphasis.

Fuck. I married a monster more heartless than myself.