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She says yes with her eyes.
It helps that I’ve heard it with her voice and read it in her words before. It helps that I know her submission is a gift and her body belongs as much to me as it does to the rest of the universe. It helps that her eyes are wide and expressive, and it helps that I’ve learned how to listen.
When I ask her if she’s been a good girl she knows that I’m giving her a choice. She knows what to say if she needs to be held and comforted, and she knows what to say if she needs to feel my hand on her skin. She pauses every time, and I don’t think she ever knows how she’ll respond until the words leave her mouth. I never do.
When she wants me to go fast and slow, when she wants me to move between anger and love, she tells me she doesn’t know. She tells me that she tries to be good but it’s ever so hard. I move between an open palm and a soft caress. I fuck her and make love, and she can laugh and cry at the same time. I hold her tightly as she pouts and moans, and she comes when I tell her it’s okay.
When she wants me to stop she holds me and doesn’t let go.
