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She has a quiet life on the surface: professional success, enviable stability, and the promise of an unruffled existence. However, behind that facade of control, she lives trapped in a monotony that fails to satisfy her deepest longings. Everything changes when she meets, an enigmatic woman who awakens in her a need to yield, to stop being who she is to become what she desires.

She introduces her to a world of rules, dominance, and intense pleasure, where every caress and every command is a cruel and delicious game. With her, she discovers the thrill of vulnerability and the freedom hidden within surrender. She burns her, consumes her, takes her to the edge of ecstasy, and leaves her breathless. But as she ventures deeper into this game, she faces a crucial question: is she turning to ashes under the control of her pleasure, or is the passion that binds them transforming her into the flame she always wanted to be?

I hate her! From the very first "hello," "friends if you want," but with a voice that pleaded for the opposite without saying it, without noticing it. She hates me! For having understood, for having stayed, for being so alike. "I'll be whatever you need me to be," but letting it be known that I can't be her friend, without saying it.

When you connect with someone in such a way that everything seems to flow fast and easy, where you say everything without saying much, and it becomes comfortable to talk and share your daily life... everything’s fine there, right? Until you hear her and you lose yourself... and her desires match yours, and you realize you're not the only one feeling more than you should, nor the only one who wants so much that it’s never enough. That it's okay to want more every day, but only if we have someone who matches us in desire, thought, and lust. (We don't have it, but we have each other).

"You've lost yourself in the wrong desire, woman!" Yes, I have, but you would understand if you felt what it's like just to hear her breathe. It provokes so much that I don't even need to be there; we like the game even if we end up angry. "She's not jealous," but she still gets uncomfortable. I don't act jealous, "but it makes me angry to know they’re looking at her." We just are, even if we aren't together.

She "doesn't feel anything," but she gets wet if I talk to her a certain way or if she hears me moan. Even if she denies it, I, on the other hand, don't care. You know, I like it; it provokes me and excites me to know what she feels even if she says she doesn't. To know my moans pull her out of herself and my words make her lose it, because I feel her, I notice it. Even if she stays silent, even if she isn't close, I can notice the change in her temperature, how her breathing quickens from wanting to do everything and being unable to. And when she loses herself, when she wants to take control, she’s another woman; she’s so fierce it’s exciting, provoking one to let themselves be taken until she sates her cravings, until bodies fail or until one of us says "I can't take anymore."

It’s easy to understand her when you feel the same way, when you like sex in all its expressions, when you can take control but also give it up. When you allow her to be free without restrictions, she needs nothing more. But for me, all that's left is to imagine her. You, well, keep reading. Oh, and why? Well, what does it matter, right?

Her body, God, the girl is too beautiful! But her hands, her mouth, eyes, and vagina are my weakness. Although my obsession is her breasts; it’s something I don't allow myself to admire, "sad truth." Still, having them in my mouth always feels right. Knowing she’s mine while she’s with me in that moment. Watching her eyes darken with desire, seeing how fast her thoughts race alongside the throbbing of her vulva. The sensation of entering her is something I can't explain, but it can be gratifying to feel her vagina contract and pulse against my fingers, how she comes on them while I grab her hair and make her look me in the eyes so she stops trying to stifle her moans by biting her lips.

The truth is, we would fuck in every corner, in every place, without prejudice, regardless of who is there, and every checked-off fantasy would write a new one to fulfill. Having her on the kitchen table, naked, so exposed to me... admiring her body while I spread her legs and watch her skin crawl with goosebumps in anticipation of what she thinks I’ll do is incredible, but it's even better to go for her lips and see the disappointment mixed with frustration on her face. It’s something worth seeing, haha.

Touching her body, every part of it with my lips; her neck, biting her slowly, going so slow that she’s already losing her patience, and feeling her grow desperate is exciting. Biting her breasts, kissing her collarbone... I love that area. Then tracing her abdomen with my mouth until I reach the place where she wants me, feeling her need as she grabs my hair to pull me straight down to lick her entrance over and over like a total bitch without stopping; penetrating her with my tongue and fingers while I suck her clitoris, touching all her sensitive spots because it’s easy for me to know how to get to them, making her come as much as she wants and have her finish in my mouth because I want to have every bit of her.

And fucking her again because I can and I want to, because she’s mine, damn it, she’s mine as long as she comes for me. She’s mine when I put her on all fours and penetrate her as much as I want, nothing else matters as long as I don't hurt her; gripping her hips and doing it hard until I hear her moan and call her my fucking whore until she cums as many times as I please, or until she asks me to stop... something she won’t do because, even subdued, she’ll remain haughty; because besides being lost in pleasure, she hasn't spent a moment without thinking of a way to get revenge on me in the same or a worse way.

But what am I saying? It’s not something I fear; I know how I am, what I like and what excites me, what I can achieve without even being there or touching. But with her, there are exceptions, I can't deny it; I would yield everything to her because it’s more gratifying and exciting to see her, to see her lose herself in desire, in passion, in dominating and seeing her prey surrendered and drowned in pleasure by her and for her. Because that’s what awakens her withheld, silenced sexual monster; hearing her command, asking if I want it harder, hearing her moan in sighs as I ask her to penetrate me harder, to keep going and not stop, because I love how she fucks me.

I know how much it excites her to hear me moan and what it does to her knowing I’m so tight down there and that only she can do whatever she wants to me, no matter how, where, when, with what, or with whom I am. To have her brush my lips with those fingers I love so much, to run my tongue over them so she enters me and feels how wet I am just from knowing she’ll make me hers however she wants, that she’ll hear me scream while she penetrates me with them. That when she wants to use the harness, she gets on top of me and penetrates me while squeezing my breasts, seeing in my eyes how wild she’s making me feel watching her move like that while she’s fucking me, making it so goddamn good that it’s not enough and I want more. I want to feel her inside me as deep as possible. Shit, if you could see it from my eyes! The wildness of her movements, it feels like she’ll break everything in me, but I like it and I need more, I need her more and I ask her for it... she turns me over to put me on all fours just like I did to her, with the difference that she did get much more out of me: everything she wanted, as many times as she wanted, no "buts," no questions, no excuses, no limits.

“So that nothing separates us, let nothing unite us.” (P. Neruda).

-A.