I’m a mistress…


I’m the other woman and I just don’t know it yet. His thoughts!

A text once in a while because he’s free, he misses me  and all the other “textless” days shouldn’t really matter to me.

“I love you” only when it suits him because I’m expected to understand that he’s not really a fan of romance.

See… The only “love” I can ever get from him is “financial love” and not “emotional love” because now real men don’t do emotions.

All my wrongs are life – threatening but all his wrongs are right because he’s apparently the only one who wears pants in this relationship.

Never question his actions but always answer for mine because he knows better.
Belts, cuffs,  poles and whips are part of his toys. Phela I’m enslaved to keep this man happy at all times.

Ankles tied to each pole,  wrists above the head…not even a single sound should be heard and all that is tailored for me because now his “only woman” is too important for that.

…but now you shouldn’t feel sorry for me because I’ve signed up for  this. See… like a  “lamb to the slaughter” I’m a “slave to his needs”.

Clearly not his woman but his slave.

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