BDSM
- 1 year ago
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BDSM Fantasy 1: Because She Is Worth It. free porn video
I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling while I enjoy the silence of the morning when the birds still sleep in their nests and there is no sign of man on the streets. The sun is not yet up for hours and the only light is the light of a street lamp shining through a gap in my roller blinds leaving me in a surreal world of black, white and shades of grey.
The silence of the early morning ends when next to me, a body moves and I hear the unintelligible murmur of someone talking in her sleep. The body turns to me and I feel an arm over my chest and a warm body creeps close to me. As a protective wing I put my arm over her and stroking her back repeatedly until she stops talking, so the silence returns in the bedroom.
Her arm across my chest feels warm and I follow with a finger the vertical and horizontal scars on her wrists. Fading wounds of an earlier life, an unhappy life. Although these physical scars fade some wounds remain open. Even if she seek professional help, it takes time until these wounds have a place in her life and she has regained her self-confidence and faith in the rest of the world.
I love to touch her naked body when I see her in the shower but I'm worried about her when I see her scrubbing her body furiously because she thinks she is dirty. She knows that I enjoy when she is lying beside me on the sofa, feeling her warm body and smell her scent but I grieve with her when she spontaneously bursts into tears over an old sore memory. She knows I have fun when I see her half-dressed for the wardrobe, frustrated because she does not know what to wear but I grimace as she calls adamant that everything doesn’t fit because she thinks she is ugly.
But for every tear and grimace we experience every day there are countless moments of wonder, pride and happiness. A radiant smile on her face as she shows her work with pride, a look and posture of victory when she defeated me for the umpteenth time in a game, a sense of satisfaction as she shows me how beautiful her flowers and plants in her garden flourish. And at each moment, every time, I put my arm over her and admire her.
She turns around and I can feel how cold it is in my bedroom now that her arm is no longer on my chest. The same cold as at a particular winter day when we were sitting together on the couch as we often do. She huddled close to me and as she suddenly starts crying and sobbing, telling me that she is not ready to make love. With a smile on my face I look at her and say comforting: "Even if it takes you a year, five years or 10 years I will be here for you."
I hear myself saying those words. It's true that I'm here for her but honestly I need her as she needs me. With these thoughts I lie to enjoy the early morning when I hear the birds wake up and the first people to leave their homes for their work.
Next to me she stretched out her body, yawns wide and opens her eyes. With sleepy eyes she looks at me. It's a beautiful day I realize when I look into her eyes and at her smile. The black and white world fades and I start the day with the colorful words: "Good morning, sweetheart."
The silence of the early morning ends when next to me, a body moves and I hear the unintelligible murmur of someone talking in her sleep. The body turns to me and I feel an arm over my chest and a warm body creeps close to me. As a protective wing I put my arm over her and stroking her back repeatedly until she stops talking, so the silence returns in the bedroom.
Her arm across my chest feels warm and I follow with a finger the vertical and horizontal scars on her wrists. Fading wounds of an earlier life, an unhappy life. Although these physical scars fade some wounds remain open. Even if she seek professional help, it takes time until these wounds have a place in her life and she has regained her self-confidence and faith in the rest of the world.
I love to touch her naked body when I see her in the shower but I'm worried about her when I see her scrubbing her body furiously because she thinks she is dirty. She knows that I enjoy when she is lying beside me on the sofa, feeling her warm body and smell her scent but I grieve with her when she spontaneously bursts into tears over an old sore memory. She knows I have fun when I see her half-dressed for the wardrobe, frustrated because she does not know what to wear but I grimace as she calls adamant that everything doesn’t fit because she thinks she is ugly.
But for every tear and grimace we experience every day there are countless moments of wonder, pride and happiness. A radiant smile on her face as she shows her work with pride, a look and posture of victory when she defeated me for the umpteenth time in a game, a sense of satisfaction as she shows me how beautiful her flowers and plants in her garden flourish. And at each moment, every time, I put my arm over her and admire her.
She turns around and I can feel how cold it is in my bedroom now that her arm is no longer on my chest. The same cold as at a particular winter day when we were sitting together on the couch as we often do. She huddled close to me and as she suddenly starts crying and sobbing, telling me that she is not ready to make love. With a smile on my face I look at her and say comforting: "Even if it takes you a year, five years or 10 years I will be here for you."
I hear myself saying those words. It's true that I'm here for her but honestly I need her as she needs me. With these thoughts I lie to enjoy the early morning when I hear the birds wake up and the first people to leave their homes for their work.
Next to me she stretched out her body, yawns wide and opens her eyes. With sleepy eyes she looks at me. It's a beautiful day I realize when I look into her eyes and at her smile. The black and white world fades and I start the day with the colorful words: "Good morning, sweetheart."
Elouise
- 06.06.2020
- 7
- 0
