Tick Tock Why would you wait? Why draw it out, let the moment linger and see if we can hol

Tick Tock Why would you wait? Why draw it out, let the moment linger and see if we can hold off another second, another minute, maybe another hour. It doesn’t really make sense, patience. The idea of just allowing time to pass, the metronimic tick of the clock bouncing off the side of your mind like a finger tapping against glass. Infuriating patience, smirking while it makes you wait.  Why would I wait? That’s the real question, though, isn’t it? I make you wait because it drives you crazy, mkaes you beg, whimper, moan, sink to your knees and adopt whatever position you think might soften my resolve, and make me set upon you with a primordial ferocity. That’s why you’re sitting there with that pretty smile that will slowly fade as seconds turn to minutes. But why am I standing here with this ridiculous smile, when I could be having everything I could ever want? For someone so in love with contradiction, this should be an easy one to swallow. Just another oxymoron to add a little seasoning to this most delicious of scenes. Let the silence hang, taut like a bowstring, and see who plucks it first. Count it in, one, two, three, four, wait for that first note, the first person to blink. It’s a game, and I should enjoy the playing of it.  D/s is hiding the fact that I the thing I want most in this exact moment is to fuck you. Disguising that everything I do is putting a little space between myself and that thought, getting myself caught up in the mechanical logic of tying rope, or the heady rush of pain that stings across my palm when I spank you. It’s creating a slowly building crescendo that has nothing to do with getting you to the perfect point of ecstasy, a melting center of an already gooey mental state, and instead everything to do with demolishing every wall of every part of me that’s keeping me from tearing whatever shreds of clothing are between me and you.  Patience is there because without it there’d be nothing but the fucking, and even the most beautifully raw acts need a little dressing.  -- source link

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