“You don’t have to do that for me,” she says.
“I know, but I want to. This time I really want to.”
When we return to the apartment, I go out, leaving her only long enough to find the necessary tool to complete my fantasy. She thinks I’ve gone to the vegetable market to buy fresh greens for a salad this evening. Let her think what she likes. The idea of playing with her mind has me obsessively combing the neighborhood where I’ve seen a s*x shop I’m sure sells canes.
There’s a strange feeling of empowerment driving me as I fondle the implement the proprietor takes from the wall. I’m mesmerized by the natural bamboo, though I’m told they don’t last like the other ones. I doubt this will be a fantasy that will need much repeating, I think to myself, so the bamboo is what I purchase.
Comin
