I wait in darkness. Lights off. Shades drawn. Deep darkness. I need the darkness to do what I am about to do. I need my fix.
My lust grows in the dark; it's outed by blackness. I wish to feed it. I hunger for him, and such as him, to sate me.
Like me, he is different in the light. His clothes mask him in daylight. Like me. Cloaked by the dark, he wears nothing. Like me.
At night, his persona is dark; his color is dark. My persona yields to dark; it surrenders to dark; it desires darkness.
He desires control; to control the experience. When he sounds, I moan. Cues for him to pleasure me. I control the pleasure I take from him. Intense pleasure. Shrouded pleasure. Dark pleasure.
My black triangle, the dark between my legs, makes me Cat Woman. I wait for the Dark Knight.
While I lie in blackness, I wait for dark lust to overtake me. I like it black…and dark. I like the shaft black. I like the sex black. I close my eyes to keep it black. When there is no light, all men are black but they are not the same shade. I like the blackest shade…even in the dark. The blackest of men are invisible in the deep dark. The way I like it.
My mask has eyes but it doesn’t see; it’s no secret what I am when I wear it. I close them. I forbid my dark lust to be seen. I clench them shut to conceal the yearning desire inside of me lest it light the room and change the mood. My mood. His mood.
If I choose, I see him in the dimmest of light; but I do not choose. I prefer an image of him in my mind in the dark; him taking me as a thief takes silver from a darkened home. Shadowy. Subversive. He does not break and enter. He has a key and he uses it. His shadow has a shadow. It intends to take my silver and I desire to surrender it without a struggle.
Legs open. He is inside. I feel his darkness inside, too. I thrust against my image of him and grasp him, to guide him, to bring me pleasure in the dark.His blackness overwhelms me. His blackness brings me pleasure. Deeply. Darkly. There are dark sounds. Dark slaps. Dark thrusts.