On the floor, your mouth slightly open and your eyes glazed over. Mesmerized in a moment. You can't take your eyes away from me. You can't get my voice out of your head. Deep red lipstick on my pouty mouth. Pastel blue bob hair. Kitten eyes. Long black fingernails. Tiny black thong. Lacy black bell-sleeve blouse that barely covers my breasts. My gaze goes deep. I light a cigarette with my favorite erotic vintage double-flame lighter. I suck the hot flame through the shaft of the cigarette and start the embers burning. I blow it in your face. Don't look away. Once I've got you locked in on me, I sensually caress your insecurities. I feed that voice inside your head that tells you that you're unworthy. An impostor, even. A life full of success, and no one knows what kind of man really lies beneath. A weak man. An owned man. An easily manipulated man. A perverted, submissive-leaning man. This is verbal bullying by your fantasy crush. Open your mouth. *TSSS* Now, you are nothing but my ashtray. An object of furniture, in service of me. It's mind-blurring bliss. Every breath from my lips, every word from my tongue is like a velvet blade. My sensual giggles are a peppering of erotic pain. They seal the deal. They echo in your ears, like Pavlov's bells. Your drool is useful, as it prevents the lit cherry from burning a hole in your tongue. Your trust is in my hands - trust that I will apply the perfect amount of discomfort. Carefully sadistic. And that smile... Get pulled back into your weak space for me. Accept my truths. Inhale my breath and my smoke. Find bliss on your knees.