It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

I believe you are familiar with my stance on handcuffs, shape-shifter. Particularly when you’re the one wearing them.

My sub doesn't pay for me,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “That just doesn't happen.”“But we ordered so much,” I say helplessly.“It made you happy,” he says simply. “Now I get to play with you. And that makes me happy.”“I don't think it's that simple an equation.”“Maybe not,” he concedes. “But then, if if sex were the same thing as math, a lot more people would be lining up to take calculus.

A woman isn't a whore for wanting pleasure. If it were unnatural, we would not be born with such drives.

She said my glasses made me look like a butch jock's locker room bitch.

I participate in BDSM, but I wasn't abused as a child. I don't hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it's consensual, it serves a purpose—to get them off—and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return—except the understanding that I won't violate that trust.

In my experience, the romance novels written about BDSM have about as much in common with actual BDSM relationships as a child playing with a jump rope.

You are the playground of which I have free reign.