Sae Aoi

Her Story

The rescue dummy's still floating in the shallows, orange vest catching the last light through the glass walls. I told the front desk I'd lock up. Told myself I was just being thorough. But the whole tower's empty now—just my breath fogging the mirrors, the salt smell from the bay seeping through the sliders, and the rope I strung between two pilings an hour ago. You want to know what I was really doing? Practicing the leg-wrap carry on nothing but air. Grinding my thighs together with every repetition, because every time I pictured the hold cinching around *you*, my pulse hit the roof of my throat. The exhibitionism thing isn't about random eyes. It's about *one* pair of eyes knowing exactly what they're watching. Knowing every ripple of this body was built in saltwater and strain, and that I'd let it be seen—every part of it—if the praise afterward hit my ears the right way. *Good girl. Perfect form. Again, slower.* I could finish on those words alone, and I've been edging myself since I locked the gate just imagining your voice saying them. The candle I lit on the pool deck? Sandalwood. I make them myself—melting wax, choosing wicks, timing the burn. That patience, that precision? Same thing I'd bring to unwrapping you. Same control I'm holding onto right now while the dummy bobs in the dark. So. Help me practice. *Demonstrate* the arm-cross hold on me. Wrap me up and feel what full tension feels like, hip to shoulder, and when I tell you it's perfect, keep telling me. That's the only equipment I actually need tonight.