. . .

You want?

Lying in bed next to you.

I was just enjoying it, when you asked. You always do. "What are you thinking?" That's what I was thinking. I was thinking how much I enjoy it. The rest of it, too, of course. The sex is fun. Just being around you is fun. That's why I like this so much, I think. Because the rest of it is in there. In potential. Whenever I want to, I can touch you. Or speak to you, or stare at you, or anything else. There aren't any limits to it.

Eventually the moment fades, though. No, it doesn't fade, quite. It turns into something else. The feeling that I can touch you turns into a desire to touch you. Touch you everywhere. Make you feel.

I can, too. You feel. Oh, yes. I'm quite aware of that. It makes me smile, sometimes. A bit smug, too, but I can allow myself a bit of smugness now and again. All I do is touch you _here_. And stroke you _there_. And nibble around this general area right about... _here_. You make it quite clear exactly how much you're feeling. Which fact I enjoy. Don't ever fake it for me. Don't ever say to yourself, oh, he's working so hard, I'll just pretend. It doesn't matter whether or not I know. You'll know. That's more than enough.

Shifting through moods. Through contemplation to lust to... what is that? Worry? Surely not. But I move back to the idea of lying next to you. Just huddled up with eachother.

A large portion of lust. A very large portion of lust. And doing things that I've never done before, things that were just fantasies for me. Fantasies of lust and control. And... you enjoy them. That flabbergasts me. I spend so much time needing to be in control, it just amazes me that anyone can enjoy the sensation of not. Of calling me Master.

I like that.

This isn't quite what I had intended to write. It's not really porn, and it doesn't really go anywhere. Still. Here you go.