The last sane bloke in Chicago

I own a part of you, just for my own pleasure

I don't put you in gorgeous outfits because I care how you feel about them.

I don't cover you in MY favorite perfume in hopes that you'll like your scent.

The jewelry you wear that I bought is dressing you for my sake, for my happiness.

When I slip my cock inside you, it's for my pleasure.

When I leave the remainder of my come on your neck, it's for me to know I've marked you as mine.

Now don't think that I want to own you, because I don't. Every other guy wants to be possessive in who you are, in everything you do, in full control of your life. I'm not talking about that.

I'm talking about owning you in tiny pieces, little segments that remind you that a small percentage of your body, your mind, your heart and your pussy are mine, when I want it. On all the other occasions, they're all yours to do with as you please.

You can't tell me what you want, because I don't care. It's not my concern, you're a bright, aggressive, responsible lady and you can get it all yourself. When you do ask me for something, you should know, right now and always, that I will only give it to you if I want you to have it. You will have to be weak and show that weakness in accepting that I am digging deeper into you, taking a piece of you as a trinket, as a trophy, as a conquest.

Don't think for once I am trying to stroke your ego. The limited time we have together is a prize for me, a secret trophy that belongs in my secret room, to display to me alone.

When you wear that dress I bought you, with those shoes, those panties, the necklace and the bracelet, remember the small piece I've taken from you to put on that secret shelf. Maybe you'll be on a date with another man, or a boy. Maybe he'll have you in ways you want from him. I won't be jealous, because I will still come and take that piece when I want to.

You can fight it all you want, think that I am giving you something for your sake, but I never will. When you plunge your fingers into your pussy and think of me, that is mine, too. I am fully aware of it, and you should be, too. I want you to remember that when I come, it's for my pleasure, and when you come, it's still for my pleasure.

When I caress your back, your thighs, your hips, your shoulders, I am leaving my mark of my conquest. The smile on my face is an ego stroke for myself. The smile on your face only adds to it. It doesn't matter that you want it, too. It doesn't matter that you're hungry for me, as I will be the one to eat and be satiated fully. Do you want to be satiated, too? That will only happen when you've given that part of you completely to me.

I know you're afraid. It's OK. When other men want to own you completely, you'll revel in the knowledge of the one man, this man, who owns only a tiny part of you. You'll detest the others because they want to envelope you in themselves, but you'll ache wondering why I won't. Why I don't.

When I leave your bedroom in the morning, you'll be aching in both body and soul, your spirit crushed because the thread of ownership is so small and so light, but you can feel its pull as I close the door behind me. Another man may try to force all of you over to him, but you won't feel that pull at all. Instead, you'll feel a pressure to run away. Pulling too hard fails you, whereas my small prompts of non-aggression will make you want to fall into me.

When I'm sitting in my desk chair, an important article displayed on my desktop PC, and you're sitting on my lap, me still inside of you, my focus will be on the screen, not on your wetness rolling down to my thighs. You'll get frustrated, but not like the other guys who watch their sports on TV and ignore you. My cock will be inside of you, taking what it wants when it wants, and you'll never know what is more important: your pussy on my cock, or my hands on the keyboard in front of both of us.

I want you to know this. I want you to hate it and love it at the same time. I want the battle in side of you to remember it when other men wear their hearts on their sleeves, and I wear your heart on my sleeve.

I would normally say you shouldn't worry about it, but you will. You'll think about it constantly. When you peak in your closet, you'll remember it. It will complete you because I have taken a tiny part of you that needed to be taken. Will I give it back? Only when I have nothing left to do to you, to say to you.

That's why you'll want to give me more. But will I allow it? Will I accept it as a gift given by a woman, or will I ignore it as a tantrum thrown by a little girl?

Posted by ChicagoSane at 2:29 PM

Labels: ownership, sugar daddy