She’d been waiting for him for years, it felt like. It had been years since she’

She’d been waiting for him for years, it felt like. It had been years since she’d first felt that urge inside her, that little bit of submission that was more than enough of a seed to start to grow and flourish. And all that time, waiting for right now, when she could finally taste that fruit. 

She’d been waiting years, but not for him. Just someone like him. For him, but only in a figurative, ideological sense. A vague he, the face a blur and the details hazy. It was only now, now that she’d actually found him, that she could fill in those blanks.

But he wanted her to do a little more waiting, because now it was waiting with purpose, not just the idle, unguided waiting that she’d just happened into. Now, under his direction, she could properly wait, and, more importantly, understand what waiting is. Waiting for him. 

She’d been waiting for a half an hour, for him. He figured she could wait another half hour, let it really sink in.