Patience. Don't you dare move. Wait until I get to you. I prefer my flesh frozen, yet warm to the touch. Don't blink. Don't shift your eyes. Keep flexing those muscles while holding your breath. Don't you fucking move until I tell you to. Your body is under my authority.
Shhhhhh...Silence. Do not sully your beauty by talking. Your vocabulary is hereby reduced to moaning and climatic shouts. I would remove your tongue if it didn't have other pleasurable uses. I would gag you if I didn't have plans for your mouth. Keep those masculine jaws tightly clinched. Keep pouting those sexy lips.
Opinions are prohibited.
Don't you dare move. I bind you to my computer screen. Stay perfectly still on this page as I examine your body...analyze your parts...survey your strength...understand your beauty. Don't you fucking move until I hit 'play'. With the power of my index finger, I decide whether I want more of you.
Reviewing the photographic work of Jannis Tsipoulanis, I felt a surge of power. In an erotic epiphany, I realized, "He's posing for me, for my amusement and arousal." The product he's marketing dissolves in his nudity and sex appeal, hence, his primary purpose is to feed my optical appetites. At this point, I haven't the faintest idea of what he's selling or where I should go to purchase it.
The bondage of beauty is double sided.