Distracted. 

I often feel this way when the inside of me is at total odds with my professional exterior. I feel bright red and orange; at the center of a massive nebulae attached to my body like albumen to the yolk. I’m quite certain anyone in the near vicinity can feel my heat. I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – I’m teeth smeared in drool, grey fur on end and claws a carving half-moons into the sand. Outwardly I’m assimilating. I’m merely a sheep standing next to my neighbor, fleece blending into one another, alike to a lesser eye. Instinct paws as I have to rein back my tendency to take teeth to the throat, refrain from gloat, and modestly blend into my wooly counterparts. In this moment, I’m desperate to run with the wolves whose creativity claws from within them, ripping a hole through flesh of which their insides spill out. Wolves who play in the darkest of nights, finding solace in shadows over the light.

I am sitting at my desk at work feeling like it might be someone else sitting here, she just looks exactly like me. She’s no imposter though, she’s the real deal. She’s all impulse and passion, flaws and forgoing obligations. I’m feeling depressed and of little motivation. I want less verbal and need more physical expression…  

I am supposed to be working, seeing cases, and instead I’m seeing cages. I’m craving cages. I want to peer from behind the steely bars feeling completely at peace within. Instead of the cage of my body, I want to find my body within a cage. As if being within the cage allows me to free my inner mind, my inner nature, my inner animal.

I should be seeing cases, but I keep seeing laces. Silken Japanese rope laced up the back of my arms or thighs, making misshapen soft mounds of flesh, causing pride over blush. Laced handles of floggers that seduce my nose with the aroma of leather. The slap to my rounded ass from the hands of my Man. I want my thick leather collar fur lined at the neck, cinched tightly to leave room for escaping breath. Lace panties. Lace bralette over full, perky breasts while I press them into your whiskery face. Your pet donning black lace. Interlaced fingers tightening to the crescendo of my orgasm…

I need to be working like the other sheep. Mindlessly reviewing and submitting, checking and proofreading. But, my mind is flooded with imagery. I’m seeing his whiskered jaw line, a briar patch to plush lips. Deep red painted toes wrapped around his inner calves. Deep reddened ass cheeks, beneath a calloused hand. Vascular forearms, digits plunged into tousled hair. The cold metal of his piercing at my flushed, swollen opening. The salty taste of his skin upon my tongue as I lap at his taught testicles.

I should be seeing cases…  

 

About FervidM

A Sensual Side of BDSM - The romance of servitude, submission, pleasure and pain. View all posts by FervidM

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