I love when he curls his possessive fingers into my hair, While whispering directions for me to foll

I love when he curls his possessive fingers into my hair, While whispering directions for me to follow. His bites, his voice his dominance all flip switches deep inside, that only he can move, I am his, but not because only he can move me to follow. Only his voice commands my soul. But because he said to me, “You are mine, I own you.” and then he invited me to offer myself, Not an order, and invitation, to belong. How could I refuse? It seems I have belonged to him forever, And want to forever more, (tn) -- source link

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