Sometimes it feels like I am writing the same filthy story, over and over again. The fantasies that loop in my own head evolve slowly, because I linger in each torturously hot thought before it’s replaced. This makes it feel like I’ve written this story – with lots of dirty talk, strong power dynamics, and a hint of consensual non-consent. And because there have been some beautifully warm (or possibly even too hot) days recently, today version of the story is set in an ice-cream parlour. Because yes, I want a good fucking, but I also want ice cream.
