Come On My Voice

Comfort doesn’t mean soft — it means I know exactly how to keep you right where I want you. My friend Harper was always a wild card, but beneath that reckless exterior, I knew her hunger for control. So when she called me breathless, ready to give in, I was ready to reel her in.

“Harper, slow down,” I soothed, my tone a deliberate counterpoint to her racing heartbeats. “Breathe with me.” I guided her through deep, steady inhales and exhales, until her frantic gasps evened out. “Good girl,” I praised, the phrase dripping with intimacy and dominance.

As she leaned into my words, I tightened my hold, speaking with a calm authority that cloaked a knowing edge. “You’re safe, I’ve got you. Let go and trust me.” Her tremors stilled as my voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

“Rise up, baby,” I encouraged, urging her higher and higher on the edge of pleasure. “Show me what you’re made of.” Each word was a command, a petition to her deepest desires. “That’s it, give in…,” I coaxed, as Harper’s moans grew louder, more urgent.

With a final, deliberate murmur, I pushed her over the precipice. “Come on my voice,” I commanded, and she shattered, her release as intense as the moments leading up to it. “Shh, it’s okay… just let it wash over you,” I soothed as the aftershocks subsided.

As we slowly came back to earth, I whispered reassurance in her ear. “You’re mine now, Harper. And mine is where you belong.”

She’d hang up steady, flushed, and very aware of whose voice was still echoing in her head — the knowledge that, with me, she was never truly out of control.