A Day of Anticipation

 


“A Day of Anticipation”



From the moment I wake, I decide there will be no panties. Not because I’m careless, but because I want to be deliberate. Every step, every errand, every meeting is taken knowing that I’m bare beneath my dress. I do it because I know you’re thinking about me all day. You know my rule, and you know exactly where this is headed.


As the hours slip by, my own awareness sharpens. The silk of my skirt clings differently. The breeze when I bend down feels like a secret. My body warms and softens, responding to the knowledge that you’re imagining me like this: untouched, unsheathed, getting wetter with every passing hour.


I send you little messages during the day, each one a breadcrumb to feed your craving. A word. A photo of my hand grazing my inner thigh under the table. A whispered note: “still no panties.” You reply with trembling devotion. You want nothing more than to taste what I’m building for you.


By afternoon, I’m slick with anticipation. The scent of me rises every time I shift in my chair. The idea of you waiting, kneeling, counting the hours until you’re allowed near me, makes me pulse even more. I’m as much in control as I am intoxicated by my own power.


When evening comes, I arrive still bare, still dripping, my body now an altar of everything you’ve been fantasizing about. I see the hunger in your eyes before you even kneel. You don’t reach for me — not yet. You wait for my nod. You wait to be told you can approach.


I stand above you, slow and deliberate, and pull the fabric aside so you can see what I’ve been saving for you all day. The scent hits you first; the heat radiates next. You can barely breathe. You’re trembling, not just from desire but from reverence. You know you’re about to be allowed to devour what you’ve been craving.


I slide my fingers through your hair, tilt your face upward, and smile. “This is what you’ve been waiting for,” I murmur. “This is what obedience earns.” And then, finally, I press myself closer, letting you inhale, letting you taste, letting you lose yourself in the wetness I’ve been building.


By the time you’ve finished, I’m marked by your worship, and you’re marked by my release. You’ve devoured me exactly as I intended. This isn’t just a fantasy. This is ritual. This is what happens when Anita Domme lives the no-panty rule and lets her submissive earn the privilege of tasting the Goddess at the end of her day.


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