I revel in my sexuality. It seems a better alternative than crumpling around, curling into, or hiding in my misery. I shock myself at times.
It wasn't just this or this that shows the proof of my sexuality. There is something within me...a bit of exhibitionism, I'd say. When I know I'm watched, I bite my lip a little harder. My eyes become a little more hooded. The hips sway a bit more. And I think of things like this:
An urge comes over me to video my own pleasure, show it to the world. Only one thought stops me - even if he doesn't care, even if it doesn't matter, I will be his good girl. But his good girl has an inner slut that wants to play. My inner slut and my little girl are one and the same. If I decided to let her out to play, if I decided to feel something else - pretend it didn't matter, pretend that I didn't hurt, pretend that I wasn't holding on to something with every ounce of faith I possess, she would look a little something like this:
I'd rather revel in the power of my own sexuality and guard it close for the one who matters. I'd rather discover myself and know that I am desired but untouchable. I'd rather know that I could, but that I choose not to. I'd rather make you hard or wet with my words and live on in fantasy than have the hard, cold reality of mere tolerance, when I know one day I might have true love.
What would I do with a voyeur or two? I'm not sure. But my sexuality would unfurl even further, my little slutty girl would beam with pride, my cunt would drip - I do know that.
But that's what you are, right? You're my voyeurs, aren't you? My exhibitionism is the picture I paint with my words. And in return, I am voyeur myself, peeking into the lives of D/s couples, crying with them, laughing with them, wanting and needing release with them, learning from them. It's not just my sexuality I revel in, it's yours too.
In case you wondered, you make my little slut very happy.