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I didn't say I would put you in a compromising situation right away. Don't jump to conclusions, Domingo.
For what it's worth, I know the other night wasn't kicking off a pattern.
Yes. [...] Though now I can't get you off my mind.
You are insufferably smug. I'd tell you what's on my mind, but you have company.
I've been thinking about something from ages past.
Krakow, the night you made those horrible mojitos. You sank into that plush chair across from the bed, drink in hand, and refused to touch me. You just sat there and took control using nothing but your voice. Dictating the pace and the pressure, then forcing me to stop the moment I reached the edge. It felt like an eternity of torture. I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill you or worship you.
Krakow, the night you made those horrible mojitos. You sank into that plush chair across from the bed, drink in hand, and refused to touch me. You just sat there and took control using nothing but your voice. Dictating the pace and the pressure, then forcing me to stop the moment I reached the edge. It felt like an eternity of torture. I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill you or worship you.
Thank you, Domingo. Perhaps I'll be just as gorgeous tonight when I pour myself a glass of something and reflect on this particular memory.
Edited 2026-02-06 14:39 (UTC)
How am I supposed to know, Domingo? Be specific with your requests.
When we lived in Laos, Dom decided to take a nap in a boat we'd moored. The knot wasn't very secure, though, the boat got loose missing its oars, and he drifted downriver for a while before he woke up/I noticed he was gone. There was a little rescue mission and he felt very dumb, which was insanely satisfying.
Hold on a minute. Every time? Then, when it's about you specifically, provide detail? How greedy of you.
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