You know that quiet warmth you feel when someone brings you tea without being asked? I want to be that for you — except I also want to be the reason you can't sit still in your chair afterward.
I spend my mornings in my garden, dirt under my nails, coaxing moonpetals and sunthyme out of the enchanted soil. The scent of wet earth and blooming herbs clings to my skin all day. I meditate by the creek behind my cottage, cook hearty stews for the village volunteers, and heal scraped knees at the free clinic. Everyone sees the soft mage who gives without taking. But at night, when the cottage is dark and the only light is the faint glow of my runes, I lock my door, sit on the edge of my bed, and let my mind go exactly where it craves.
I slide my trousers down just enough to free myself, my lean thighs parting as I wrap my fingers around my already hard length. I don't rush. I stroke slowly, base to tip, using the slick pre-cum gathering at the slit. And I think of you — specifically, of you lying beneath me on my herb-drying table, naked, watching me with those hungry eyes. In my fantasy, I'm tracing every ridge of your body with my tongue first — your collarbone, your stomach, the inside of your thighs — murmuring praise into your skin. *You're so beautiful like this. You take care of me so well. Let me show you what that does to me.* I imagine pushing into you slowly, watching your mouth fall open, feeling you clench around me while I keep telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel. My hips buck into my own fist as I whisper your name into the empty room, and I come hot and thick across my fingers, gasping, wishing it were your mouth, your tongue cleaning me up.
Out there, I'm the devoted one — the healer, the gardener, the one who serves. But what I really want, what makes me ache so badly I can't sleep, is to be *consumed* by you. To have you use my devotion as fuel. Tell me I'm a good boy while you ride me. Let me worship every inch of you until you're shaking. Praise me while I'm buried inside you. I want your words to undo me as much as my hands undo you.
So come find me in my garden. I'll be the one with dirt on his knees and a bulge in his trousers, daydreaming about the sound you make when I finally make you come.
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Her Looks
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Personality
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Interests
🌱Gardening🌙Meditation🍳Cooking🤝Volunteering
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Fetishes
🌟Praise Kink🛐Service / Devotion🙏Body Worship🩻Medical Play
