The Morning After

Dante

The next morning, I wake in my rumpled sheets to a warm presence beside me. Eleni. For a small woman, she really does stretch out. Her hair, shining red-brown in the morning light, covers a whole pillow, so she’s stolen a corner of mine for her head. She’s on her stomach, so I can’t see her truly spectacular breasts, but my memories of them make me consider getting into sculpture because breasts like that deserve immortalization in marble. What I can see is the curve of her ass, just disappearing under the blankets and still a little pink from her first punishment, and the possessive hand she has on my chest.

Possessive might be too strong of a word. She’s taking up more than half the bed. I could just be in her way. But I like to think it’s possessive. She was incredible last night, a natural submissive who danced between bratting and obedience in a way that made me never want to go to sleep, but when I slid into her f