Evolution.
Recently things are different between us. Gone are the first few heady months where we fucked, simply and incessantly, in a haze of disbelief and desperate desire. We don’t fuck any less, don’t misunderstand me; we just take our time. We fuck lasciviously, gloriously, gluttonously; sometimes for hours. We even make love, sometimes. You kiss me sweetly, your fingers stroke between my thighs with gentle patience, as if you were touching butterfly wings. I bury my face in your whiskey-leather-smelling neck, whisper nonsense. We move slowly and deliberately. Sometimes, though…sometimes we fuck. Sometimes there are mere seconds - I have all but timed it - between the back of your hand brushing my cheek, and you throwing me naked onto the bed and pushing your cock inside me. We arch and squirm and bite and come, and it’s over as quickly as it began.
And then there are the other times. The times when your eyes turn hard and your mouth sets in a bared-teeth grin, and you spank my ass hard and make me beg and squeal. When you wrap my long, thick hair around your fist and pull my head back as you take me from behind. When you growl orders in your dark chocolate voice and call me your filthy little whore. The times when I am completely powerless to disobey, even if I wanted to. After these times you always kiss me so sweetly and hold my shaking post-orgasm body so tightly, as if to reassure me of your respect and your love, despite your roughness and dominance of me during these sessions, but the truth is that these times are when I feel most loving and most loved, most treasured and most trusting. I never doubt it for a second.