Seeking someone to feast on; my life is filled with work, friends, and active hobbies, but one must always make room for some wicked fun.

I'm 48, confident, respectful, dominant, and invested in another's pleasure. I have my own place and can host but am happy to travel as well. I am 5'6, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, strong hands, dexterous fingers and filled with villainous intentions.

I want abandonment.

You know this place. It starts with a single kind touch. Soaking in the slow deliberation of hands that know your body well, your limbs are suffused with languid warmth. You become heavy with desire, the kind of weight that is light itself. You become a slave to sensation. You become potential.

It's just the beginning. I've fed you on soft kisses and forgiving touches. I've left love bites on your breasts, tasted the curve of your neck, nuzzled the apex of your thighs like a familiar pet. You have become deliciously plump and vulnerable.

You are a feast and I've become hungry.

I awaken you in the cold lines of fire cut into your skin. The heat of my mouth is no longer gentle; it burns a path along your stomach, searing flesh and branding my name into the curves of your body. Unforgiving teeth now mark your breasts. Fingernails bite into your thighs. You will not be left unmarked.

I describe your fate to you. Under me, I grip your wrists and draw your hands over your head. My lips draw close enough for my voice to echo against your own thoughts. I draw you out in words and make poetry of your needs. I listen to the stories told by your rapid heartbeat and heavy breathing and know just how the stories end.

Inside of you, the sharp creases of pain have become a quiet ache in need of fulfillment. Unraveled by as-yet unrequited lust, you abandon yourself to my needs. You become a vessel in need of completion, craving what comes next.

Cruelty is that I make you wait for it.