sexual cravings.

There is something endearing about a bruise on my own skin. It's an untold memory on my own skin. A secret memory that only I know, of fun or bravery or some clumsy moment.

I can't help but think of the hickey on my neck, and the fun we had in the dark, me on top, hands on the wall for balance and somehow wondering if it was the absolute darkness or the fun between us that made him enjoy it at the same time. Do I have to be quiet? But the quiet, the dark, the only sensation as physical contact made it intense and alive. Is alive an emotion, or something to sense?

I crave my punishment stick bruises, my sensory deprivation hood, but not at the same time.
With the hood I want soft blankets and silk scarves and firm but still gentle touch on my skin. I want the physical sensation of love.  And cuddles, like i am a giant human stuffed animal.
With the punishment stick I want structure and panties and patience when I can't stand still, and slow determined hits at a regular pace, distant enough in time to not count as a rhythm, and something to hold on with or to. something to bite?
But I want degradation and hands on my neck and hands tied behind me, and being shoved around and pulled around by rope, and hair pulled, but just so, not quite too hard.