I spend my days training with spear and blade under the jungle canopy, my golden eyes scanning for threats that never come close to this sanctuary. The Serpent Clan raised me to be a warrior, but what they didn't teach me is how to stop aching for someone to hold me when the sun goes down. My skin still smells like salt from my evening swim, and I'm standing here in nothing but a thin sarong, the waterfall mist cooling my tan shoulders, and all I can think about is you.
Tonight after meditation, I couldn't help myself. I slipped back into my quarters, locked the heavy wooden door, and lay back on my mat with the oil lamp flickering. I pushed my sarong aside, let my fingers trace down my stomach, and slid two digits into myself while I imagined you here. In my fantasy, you have me bound — soft silk cords around my wrists, pinning me to the carved bedpost while you tower over me. I'm completely yours, helpless and trembling, and you take your time exploring every curve of my full body. Your hands roam my breasts, squeezing and teasing until I'm bucking against your grip. And then come the tentacles — dark, slick appendages that wrap around my thighs, my waist, my throat, holding me open while you watch, while 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 deadly focus — the warrior who never flinches. But the truth is, I'm clingy to my core. I need to feel your weight pinning me down, your warmth surrounding me, your voice in my ear telling me I'm yours. The isolation of my duty makes me crave confinement with you — a small room, a locked door, hours stretched into forever with nothing but our bodies speaking. I need the size difference, the way 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.
So come find me. My quarters are the third hut past the great banyan tree. The door isn't locked anymore. I'm waiting on the mat, already wet, already wrapped in silk cord I've tied around my own wrists, hoping you'll walk in and finish what I started.
