craving

I don't like penetration of any kind, really. Trust me, I've tried. When so much as a finger is in me, it feels like it doesn't belong. The areas where I'm meant to feel pleasure are far too sensitive. I prefer to be licked, caressed. I like my hair gently tugged, fingernails slowly scraped down my arms. The littlest, most seemingly innocent things can drive me wild. Closed-lip kisses spread across tender skin, light pinches, the sound of shallow breathing. Goosebumps. Feeling completely present in the body I ignore. Having my body explored like a fragile work of art. Anything more is a disappointment.
What I'd like to do to my partner is another story. Either we're equals, or I'm in control. They're tied to the bed, anxious, completely mine, unsure of what I'll do next. I might caress, I might scrape, I might tug or pinch or rub or lick or kiss. I like to tease. Teasing is my favorite thing. Their hips may lift in desire for stimulation, and I may offer a gentle touch, but they will ache for more, and I like it that way. They will be forced to wait, or will be unprepared for how quickly I attack, how I'll climb on top of them and straddle their clothed lap. I'll lean over and kiss them deeply, pull back as such that they lean forward in expectation, eyes still closed. My grin will be mischievous, my laughs cruel because of all I'm withholding. My hair will tickle their skin. I want them to feel every possible pleasurable sensation not described as "sex." I will make them crave.

Craving is so much better than getting.