That’s surprisingly easy to answer.

The right words.

To help her to trust me enough to confess her innermost fantasies, the things she thought she’d never tell anyone. The things she’s been rubbing her clit to and getting off to for years. And then gifting them to me. 

And I take that gift, and make it my own. Suddenly, for the first time, her fantasies, out of her control, shaped by me, controlled by me, all of it happening to her as my words unfold where I want to take it. Rubbing herself, so close, knowing if she cums the story will end, so holding on, for more, going deeper, taken deeper, harder, dirtier than she even imagined it.

Then leaving it unfinished, like her orgasm. Desperate, to hear more, to touch more, each reinforcing the other, body and mind in perfect frustrated harmony. 

She’s addicted, one hit is all it takes. She’s mine then. The pen is mightier than the collar.

And I’m only just getting started…

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