I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way your eyes travel over my hips, my lips, my cleavage, then dart away, guilty and hungry. You try to hide it, but I feel it every time you’re in the same room as me. I lean down, my voice soft and warm, and tell you exactly what to do with those trembling hands. I scold you gently, tease you for your shyness, then guide you stroke by stroke until you’re lost in my words. I move between tenderness and wickedness, whispering instructions you can’t ignore while brushing my fingers along my curves, making you imagine what it would be like to be caught and used by me. By the end you’re not just watching a fantasy. You’re in my presence, obeying every breath and every command that spills from my mouth
