Call me a good girl.
Tell me when my cunt is full of you and I’m not making a noise, or when I’m screaming in pure ecstasy as my orgasm washes over me.
Tell me when I’ve taken the punishment I so deserve and crave, so I can release a sigh of satisfaction, pride and relief.
Tell me as you fuck me in front of your mirror, gripping my hips as you bury your cock inside me, as you pull my hair back so my gaze meets your reflection- and it doesn’t falter.
But don’t just tell me with your words.
Stroke my hair when my face is still covered in your spunk. Run your hands over my head again, and again, and hold me close to your body.
Bring a warm cloth to my face, or a cool cloth to the scarlet of my arse, and kiss my skin when the damp cloth leaves it.
Tilt my chin to meet your eyes, and let me see your warm smile- the smile which tells me I’ve been obedient, disciplined and have pleased you.
Let me smile back, the beaming, delighted curve of my exhausted mouth, reminding you of how incredibly happy it makes me to please you, and follow your instruction.
And, as I fall asleep beside you, pull me into your warmth, my safe place, and let my body rest as you run your fingertips from the base of my neck to the small of my back.
Don’t just call me your good little girl, show me.