Whispers of Praise

The dim glow of candlelight dances across your skin, casting shadows that ripple like whispers over the curve of your spine. You’re stretched beneath me, a canvas of trust and longing. Your breath hitches as my palm grazes the dip of your waist, and I feel the familiar surge of power. Not the kind that demands, but the kind that cherishes.

“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble against your ear. Your shiver is immediate, a tremor that arches you into me. “So perfect like this. Letting me see you… all of you.” My beard brushes your neck as I press you deeper into the sheets, my weight a deliberate anchor. You moan, soft and fractured, and I drink it in. Praise is my favorite, but it’s the way you receive it. The way your body softens, then ignites, that unravels us both.

I take my time. Always. My fingers trace the shell of your ear before tangling in your hair, not tugging, just holding. “Every sigh, every shiver, you give them to me so freely. My good girl.” Your whimper is a melody. I map your ribs with my lips, lingering where your heartbeat thrums wildest. “You’re beautiful like this. Open. Devoted.” Each word is a vow, a claim you’ve begged me to etch into your skin.

When I finally slide into you, it’s with a groan that’s as much reverence as hunger. You gasp, nails biting into my shoulders, and I cradle your face, forcing you to meet my gaze. “Look at me,” I command, gentle but unyielding. Your eyes are glazed, tears pooling at the edges… not from pain, but from the sheer weight of surrender. “That’s it. Let me see you fall apart.”

Your thighs tremble around my hips as I move, each thrust a measured cadence. I praise you between kisses: “So good for me… taking every touch, every word… perfect.” Your cries climb higher, a crescendo I’ve orchestrated with whispers and worship. I find the spot beneath your jaw that makes you sob and nip it, soothing the sting with my tongue. “You’re mine here, aren’t you? In this moment?”

“Y-yours,” you choke, your voice breaking as I grind deeper, slower, denying you the pace you crave. Your frustration is a flicker of fire… I adore it. “Please,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” I kiss your temple, my hand sliding between us to circle your clit with torturous precision. “You’ll come when I say. And you’ll thank me for it.” Your answering whine is desperation incarnate. I smile against your skin. “Such a devoted thing. You’d wait forever, wouldn’t you? Just to hear me tell you how magnificent you are?”

My hand presses lightly against your throat as I guide your breathing, my thrusts slow and calculated. Watching the ecstasy in your eyes, I can’t help but press my forehead against yours. “Such a good girl. Feel how I split you open with ease. Even your body knows how to devote itself to me.”

With our eyes locked, I see the strain from my hand around your throat and release. “Pleaseeee, Daddy!” you moan. “Not yet, princess. You know I’m going to take care of you,” I reply with a smirk, taking your delicate wrists in my large hand and pinning them above your head. I lean back and increase my tempo, watching your body tense, your chest and face flushing. I know it’s time….

“Cum for me.”

Your climax crashes over you like a wave, violent and sweet. You chant my name like a prayer, your body clenching around me, and I follow you down, murmuring praises into the sweat-damp hollow of your throat. “There you go… let it claim you. Beautiful. My beautiful girl.”

Afterward, I gather you close, your head pillowed on my chest. Your fingers trace idle patterns over my sternum, and I press a kiss to your hair. “You were extraordinary,” I say, and feel your smile against my skin.

Praising you is my favorite. But your trust in me? That is my religion.