“How do you want me?”

[Sl****]

When I tell her, “I’m coming to visit,” the question I hear first is always the same: “How do you want me?” That small, obedient question is the purest proof of what took us so long to build. The slow, careful work of trust that lets someone hand their whole self over in a single phrase.

It’s never instantaneous. The best submission is earned: many dates, late conversations, the odd quarrel that taught us limits, the long testing of bodies and minds until we fit together. Years of learning how to read one another. Breath, glance, hesitation until a single instruction means everything.

“How do you want me?”
Now it’s my choice.

Sometimes I want a beautiful, deep loving time: a slow, candlelit evening where she dresses with care and I strip away the layers with gentle hands, a soft, lingering exploration, kisses, touch, deliberate closeness until the whole room feels warm with us.

Sometimes I want an off the street slut: quick, intense devotion that leaves no room for hesitation. It’s raw and immediate, all appetite and obedience where she gives herself wholly to that moment, knowing I will hold her after.

Sometimes I want a doll: she becomes mine in the quietest way, moving only when I allow it, a living statue who responds to the essence of my touch.

Sometimes I want a kajira: every step, every breath is met with worship. She tends to me with a fierceness that is almost sacred, paying attention to the small things as if they are holy.

Whatever I choose, I choose deliberately. And when it’s over. No matter how fierce or gentle the moment, she will be cradled and cherished. I will hold her close, thank her, and tend to her like the treasure she is. That is the final rule: intensity, reciprocity, and care.