Muscles flexing, abductors clenching, you arch up from the bed like a bow being drawn, your head tipping back off the edge, finding shadows cast by your candle, shifting across your upside-down ceiling, reflecting in your wardrobe closet mirrors.

These shadow shapes serve to seduce your subconscious, reminding you of those cloistered archways, hidden beyond the iron wrought and heavy wooden door, and you close your eyes, reaching within, summoning the memory:

“Sensing fables of my return…”

You hear the floorboards creek under the weight of his approach. His hands brushing around your neck, fastening something leather, buckling the collar, clipping the clasp. An imagery of obsession and possession.

Imagining a thin leash falling to the floor, his bare foot gently stepping onto the supple strip of leather, applying just enough pressure for the collar to grip your neck and remind you he’s here, and in control.

You wish your hands were free to grope the girth of his cock as you imagine him leaning over you, naked. Uncapping his pen, a felt tipped Sharpie, a permanent marker.

Gripping your thighs, his confident hands conspire to spread you wider, pressing the soft nib of his pen into your skin and slowly marking your inner thighs with runes and glyphs of his own design.

“but the memory of you against my skin remains”

You work the Lelo against your clit and cry out with frustration, reaching for your climax and cursing with impatience, the pleasure building, knowing she’s allusive, staying in sight but remaining deviously out of reach, and all the while you’re growing desperate for her capture, and then her release, her temptation edging you ever closer…

Stretching your imagination, you search for memory and find him, his cock throbbing in the loose grip of your hands as you slow stroke his shaft. Your mouth watering with a flood of fresh fantasies, the decadent taste of creme de cassis, cherry liqueur, caramel and sweet buttered toast.

Standing over you, with a handmaid’s mirror held close, he offers you your own reflection and you consent, watching his cock closely, your lips stretching open, feeling the rub of our love moving inside your mouth, pushing over your tongue with soft and sensual fucking.

Your thighs stain with ink as he scribes his intentions, symbols and scrolls coiling over your skin, his cock flexing, hardening with sucking. He groans loud, desperate for restraint, edging closer to his own climax, your head tipping back off the bed eager to take more of him inside your mouth.

Imagining him reaching over you, his hands confidently gripping inside your thighs, claiming you, pushing you wider open, discarding his pen to draw and rub his fingers over the stretch of your knickers, seeing the thin lace of their fabric staining wet as your cunt weeps with wanting him.

Your knickers stretching against his wrist, his fingers digging underneath, pushing to reach the split of your sex, his cock flexing in your mouth as he finds you, soaking.