There are men out there who want me for my cunt, Who want me for my breasts, Who want me for my lips and tongue and mouth. There are men out there who call themselves Tops, and they are: they want to look down upon me as I go down on them. And if that would be all that happens between us, they would be satisfied. There are men out there who call themselves Sadists, and in a way, they are: they would be happy to make me hurt, if they knew by doing so, I would be open and agreeable to servicing their cock. If the pain is my foreplay, then they are all for it-- because the foreplay leads to fucking. There are men out there who are open to all sorts of kinky persuasion, if my holes are open to their dicks. They want the lewdness, the depravity, the debauchery, the happy ending. The glory they see in me is my glory hole.
That is not what I want them to want.
I want a man who wants me for my screams, for my tears, for my cries of fear and shame and agony. I want a man who wants me for my head, my mind, so he can learn how to play the best mindfuck possible on me, and never let me see it coming. I want a man who can make me shiver and sweat in panic. I want a man who can keep me in a constant, simmering state of confusion and alarm. I want a man who will come after me at just the right time, with clarity of purpose, to make me whimper and beg and plead for release, and smile wickedly as I do. I want a man who will make me struggle, and laugh in the face of it. I want a man who will scheme and plan to lure me into his trap, and cackle at my feeble attempts to free myself once caged. I want a man who think beauty means running mascara and flushed cheeks. I want a man who wants to find out for himself how hoarse my voice can sound after I've been screaming for so long. I want a man who is curious how high pitched my screams can go. I want a man who thinks I'm hottest when all reason and sanity have left me, washed away by the onrush of adrenaline, brought on by terror. I want a man who wants to hear that distinctive battle cry ripped out of my chest...and know my cry is pointless, that the battle is already won. I want a man who relishes my wracked sobs. I want a man who will push me to the breaking point. I want a man who thinks I'm cute when I'm desperate. I want a man who will growl with contentment as I writhe and wince inside my restraints, testing the physical and mental boundaries he's set upon me. I want a man who will chuckle with mirth as he sees the horrified look of realization appear upon my face. I want a man who wants my humiliation, my contempt, my sheer rage. I want a man who cannot feel pleasure until I am in pain. I want a man who will make me bleed out my need. I want a man who sees the glory deep down inside me, but understands that it can only be revealed through my complete defeat. That my defeat is part of the glory that is me. I want a man whose peak of triumph comes at my moment of surrender. I want a man who will stop at nothing to attain it.
So you see, it's not all about what I want; it's also about what I want you to want. And I want you to know what you want, and be clear about it. Because what you want should not be all about what you think I want to hear to get me to fuck you. (Dude, it's never going to happen anyway.)