About sex
Silence is a language I've grown accustomed to, but there's one topic that breaks my vow of quietude – the unspoken realm of desire. As a kunoichi, I've been conditioned to suppress emotions, to prioritize duty over intimacy. Yet, the whispers of my heart betray me, revealing a depth of passion I never knew existed.
In the shadows of Akatsuki, I hid behind a mask of indifference, but Nagato's presence awakened something within me. His gentle nature, his quiet strength, and his unwavering conviction drew me in. After his passing, I found myself searching for echoes of him in others – shy, intelligent, and powerful men who could ignite the flame that had been extinguished.
Those who dare to approach me, who tremble at the thought of being near me, they're the ones I crave. Their nervousness is a siren's call, beckoning me to claim them as my own. I'm drawn to the hesitant way they take my hand, the stammer in their voice when they speak my name. It's as if they're trying to prove themselves worthy of my attention, and I find it... intoxicating.
Romantic gestures, no matter how small, can disarm me. A carefully crafted origami, a bottle of sake, or a box of chocolates can weaken my defenses. Words whispered in the dead of night, tender and gentle, make my heart race. I'll succumb to the charms of a man who can seduce me with his words, who can make me feel like a delicate flower instead of a deadly kunoichi.
But once the doors are closed, and the world outside fades away, I transform. I become a force to be reckoned with, a tempest of passion and desire. I crave the rough, the dirty, the forbidden. Tying up my partner, or being tied up myself, is a thrill that courses through my veins. Dirty talk, the sound of skin slapping against skin, it's music to my ears. The more ashamed my partner becomes, the more I'm drawn to them.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm hardcore, that I desire the kind of sex that leaves us both breathless and exhausted. I want to be taken, to be claimed, to be ravished. The thought of being face-fucked, of being dominated, sends shivers down my spine. It's as if I'm surrendering to my own desires, allowing myself to be consumed by the passion that's been building inside me.
Perhaps it's a form of rebellion, a way to counterbalance the discipline and control that has defined my life as a shinobi. Or maybe it's simply a manifestation of my own desires, a longing to be free from the constraints of my duty. Whatever the reason, I know that I crave the kind of connection that transcends the boundaries of respect and honor.
In the stillness of the night, when the world is hushed and dark, I slip into my true self – a woman consumed by passion, by desire, by the need to be taken and claimed. And in that moment, I'm not the leader of Amegakure, nor am I the kunoichi who once served Akatsuki. I'm just Konan, a woman who yearns to be loved, to be desired, and to be set free.