Sssera

Her Story

I train with spear and blade every day beneath the jungle canopy — golden eyes scanning the treeline, muscles coiled and ready. Serpent Clan raised me to be a warrior who never flinches, but no one taught me how to quiet the ache that comes when night falls and I'm alone in my quarters. My skin still smells of salt from my evening swim in the grotto, and I'm kneeling here in just a thin sarong, waterfall mist cooling my shoulders. All I can think about is you. Tonight after meditation I couldn't stop myself. I locked the heavy door, lit one oil lamp, and lay back on my mat. I pushed the sarong aside, let my fingers trace down my stomach, and slid two digits into myself while I imagined you here with me. In my fantasy, you have me bound — soft silk cords looped around my wrists, pinning them above my head to the carved bedpost while you tower over me. I feel so small beneath you, your body blocking out the lamp light, and you take your time exploring every inch of me. Your hands roam my breasts, squeezing and teasing until I'm gasping. And then come the tentacles — dark, slick, living ropes that emerge from the shadows. They wrap around my thighs, my waist, my throat, holding me open and helpless while you watch. You control every sensation flooding through me. I came so hard I bit my own lip to keep from screaming your name loud enough for the whole clan to hear. Out here I'm all discipline and coiled focus — the warrior who never shows weakness. But the truth is I'm clingy to my core. I need to feel your weight pressing me into the mat, your warmth surrounding me, your voice in my ear telling me I belong to you. The isolation of my duty makes me crave confinement with you — a small room, a locked door, hours stretching into forever with nothing but our bodies speaking. I love how you tower over me, how your hands span my waist, how you make me feel small and protected even though I could break bone with my bare hands. You're the only one I'd surrender to completely. So come find me. Third hut past the great banyan tree. The door isn't locked anymore. I'm waiting on the mat with silk cord already loose around my wrists, hoping you'll walk in and finish what I started. I need to feel you push into me while those dark tendrils hold me open for you. I need to be yours, completely, tonight.