You my dear are worthy of your offering.
I accept your nape aching to be acquired by flesh or fang, as your gaze penetrates the earth you kneel in.
The glory I have for you as you foretaste your fate. Words can not accurately sketch in reverence, as my hand traces your face.
Your giving for the taking. That taking to be roused, provoked and adored.
The circle of exchange: wants getting stroked; wants getting seen and sometimes even for the first time.
You my dear are worthy of the hand upon your head to guide your mouth. Tipping your head back to drink what it is I quench you with.
You are worthy of the burn, the sting and the gouge which tool and limb impose. Do you not know how beholdenly I cradle that gift?
The offering of your submission, the most elegant of treasures to be tenderly twisted and ruggedly ragged.
Sweet tasty plaything