PAPERCUT

She loved these moments, loved being an actress, lived for the press of flesh against flesh and the shared body heat. She would not deny that she enjoyed this, but she was not a woman whose buttons were so easy to push. Nonetheless she enjoyed the encounter; every now and then it felt good to release control and do something stupid and reckless. Being belly-up to a complete stranger was risky, but not a position she hadn?t been in before. Submission was relaxing sometimes, in ways that the harlot didn?t care to analyze or understand.
The woman would groan loudly as he pressed his chest against her, pushing into his touch, as if she hoped she might be able to absorb him into her skin. It was then that he would speak up, voicing that he needed something from her. She was curious, a curious purr rumbling in her chest. ?What is your name?? she inquired, figuring it would only be fair, figuring that he might be the sort to get a kick out of a writhing whore screaming his name. Oh he knew how to leave her heated, and she would put on a show for him. She seemed as if he could play her strings like an instrument, a woman lost in passion and heat and desire, all because he could control her. It was a lovely lie, one she didn?t mind giving off so long as this man never came to know of her alpha status.
?Bitte, bitte, bitte,? (please, please, please) she pleaded. ?I will please you, just bitte, sagen sie mir, was zu tun ist,? (please, tell me what to do) she groaned. If he grew dangerous she knew how to fight, and if needed she was a rather fast runner.