To you, who reads this

Illustration MDessine

I don’t know you. I don’t even know what you look like. And it’s not important. Such a strange and unique connection where appearance doesn’t matter. You don’t know who I am. You barely recognize my pen name. But you will feel me closer than ever before.

As I type on my keyboard, the words materialize on your screen. Your eyes skim on the lines like fingers on bare skin. You’re convinced you have control over everything, am I right?
You’ve already lost it.

Words are power.

Each letter I choose is picked right for you, round and soft like lips on your shoulder, thin and pointed like nails scratching down your back. Each sentence I construct has been thought over and over, molded from an invisible body of sensual clay. Each one of them will take you exactly where I want you to: into an ecstatic space in your mind.

And I want you. What you have in front of you is more than a text, it’s a part of me. I want you to be consenting to the point of losing your voice and panting until you’re breathless. Your eyes run along the lines like they’d do along the curves of my neck.

And then the words fade away from the screen, little black silhouettes stretching like a pussy over the white brightness, invisible and yet obsessing. They slide down your neck, run over your breast, like cool velvet covering your skin. Can you feel it?

They inspect every inch of you, shamelessly and fluidly. The words are my countless hands, my fingers by thousands. I stroke you with them, touch you, possess you the way you want to. I’ll be anything to you. Submissive, dominant, you name it. Would you like me self-assured or lost in your arms? I listen to your breathing imperceptibly increasing. I can feel it within the nerves of my fingers that keep racing over the keyboard.

My words get shorter, sharper, more graphic. They inch into your hips, to the warmth of your thighs. I make my way anywhere, everywhere. A long sentence reaches your core and the words spread your soaked lips, rubbing you the right way over your clitoris. Do you feel them? Do you feel me? I see them, I picture them next to you, into you, while my ethereal voice whispers to your ears words you want to hear, sentences that sweeps you off your feet, orders that echo like a distant plea. Take me. Again. Let me in.

My thousand ink silhouettes penetrate you, kiss you, fondle, lick, bite and beg at once.

I picture you on the other side of the screen. You’re not buying it, huh? But you’re feeling hot. Slightly hotter. And your own free hand comes accidentally slipping in-between your legs. You replace my words. Well, at least some of them. Because you can still hear me, right? Ever since you’ve read the title up that page, I’ve had you in my grip.

The power of words.

I promise you to make them anything you want to.


by Trinity Words
translated from the French by IMNSX