She kneels, waiting for him. Waiting to give herself over to his desire. She longs for the way he’ll take charge. She craves the way he’ll touch her.
She doesn’t speak of what goes on behind closed doors. She knows if you saw her on her knees eager to please him you wouldn’t understand the peace it brings her. You would see the slut, the whore anxious to be used, but there is beauty in her submission a quiet strength.
Her will doesn’t cease to exist when she steps into this space. She merely yields it to him and trusts that he will keep it safe.
Her submission is a gift she has granted. It is hers and hers alone to give.
You can’t see the grace with which she kneels there and so, you will never understand the strength it takes to bend her will to his, to wait in patience, silence and anticipation. You will never know the joy that sings though her nerve endings at first contact when they begin.
