Sweet, Depraved Innocence You’re a delicate thing. That heady mix of innocence and de
Sweet, Depraved Innocence You’re a delicate thing. That heady mix of innocence and deprivation, the exact concoction to floor me, make my head swim and knock me out. It’s what my mind slips to when it’s searching for an easy image, something to fantasise about. It’s all soft lace and happy smiles, eagerness tempered with mock innocence. You have to keep up the charade, otherwise no one will believe you. It’s easy to say it’s a visual thing, that fishnets and latex take a bit of the mystery away, are a little too much of an advertisement rather than a choice, as if you have to wear the uniform just so that everyone will know. Otherwise you’ll be lost in a quagmire of vague ambiguity, and it will all fall apart. Dress a little more innocently, and you leave a little to the imagination, and that’s where I flourish. More than that, it creates the depravity into a secret that only I know. We’re fooling ourselves, but at least we’ve got some semblance of a cover story if the denial is blown. You get to look adorable in public, and I get to make you a twisted little pervert as soon as we slip into private. I make you keep the socks on, of course, because they’re just far too cute to take off. And, as always, it comes down to contradiction. Innocence and depravity, but also maturity and the juvenile. The sweet and the kinky. The bits of me, and the bits of you. -- source link
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