Rules of Engagement

I wish I could tell you how this works.

I can't.

Last night was spent exactly how I wanted to spend it. 

Such a rare and perfect feeling.

There are times, when you are standing, that I prefer you to kneel.  But you know this. And you respond. Pressing dirt into the knees of your jeans, sometimes soaking right through to your kneecaps when the weather has been just right. That surprise wet that kisses each knee gradually, or all at once. It is your own reward, you once told me.

Sometimes you can feel your heartbeat throb through the entirety of your body when you are like this.  You can taste pennies in your mouth. It, too, is your own reward, you once told me.

It amazes me, the depths you will go.

I remember once, you falling down upon your knees, placing forehead down upon a study desk, staring at the industrial carpet. You weren't certain if anyone was in the building, but you wanted to show me that you didn't care.  You started rubbing yourself through your pants, knowing that you were not to raise your head to look around to see if anyone was there. You heard a door slam, but kept your eyes on the floor and did not stop or look up. You could hear someone, and put your faith in the thought that it was me, watching you, from far above on the second floor of the library.

Do you remember that?

The echo of heels descended on the cement staircase joining the floors of the library.

Had I come to meet you as I said I would? Or had I decided to ignore you simply for the fun of it.  The steps came closer, muffled but coming closer now on the thin carpeted floor.  You kept your head down, eyes on the floor, and continued to fuck yourself.

Would it be me, or was it someone coming to deal with your raw and spread indecency?



-k.

(image: her liquid arms tumblr)