It isn’t the putting on or the pulling and pinching of each tiny movement.

It isn’t the tightening pull when they bounce with the rhythm of HIM taking HIS pleasure and giving the same to me.

It isn’t the roughness of the wood against the tenderness of my flesh.

It isn’t the excruciating pain of the blood slamming back into the tips.

It isn’t activation of that one nerve that connects my nipples to my clit to my g-spot.

It isn’t the humiliation of walking around with my nipples so hard they practically rip holes through my clothing.

It isn’t the stares, both admiring and horrified, of strangers who wonder at the audacity of a woman who so proudly displays herself.

It isn’t any of that. What is it? It’s you. It’s the look in your eyes when YOU stare at me. It’s the pride in your stance when others do.

It’s the rise in your cock when you hear my moans of both pain and pleasure.

It’s the small smile the touches your lips when I obey even when I don’t want to do so.

It’s the pride you radiate when I accept your commands without question.

It’s your hand on my shoulder giving me the strength to face the world even if the world judges harshly.

It’s the pride you have instilled in me.

It’s the joy we share when you push my limits past what I think I can do.