Chocolate not Vanilla

I transform in a moment when I hear:    
"Get on your knees, hands on your lap, palms up;"
I am quite shy; but, his voice makes me steer  
Myself; assertion simply interrupts  
The thoughts I have of being treated like  
The sweet girl that he never, ever had;  
I feel the tension when his whispers strike  
My passions hard and I look down: the bad,  
Imaginary daughter of his dreams;  
The one he so desires, he "fucking" loves;  
I know he does: he's told me so; it seems  
He likes to have me cum and makes me squirt;  
And would have slapped, then choked me, given time;  
He knew I'd want harsh usage; and the hurt  
Was better than your coaxing that feels fine,  
But simply does not burn nor bring me calm:  
Vanilla masquerading is no storm.