I have commissioned for him a fountain pen
with a nib of surgical steel.
So the obscenities he writes across my back
will last.

He writes the things I am to him.
Cutting each letter into my skin.
Slut Whore Cunt.
Then crosses them out in one long slash.

He scrawls as I scream.
MY slut. MY whore. MY cunt. Mine.
Until that last word and
the press of his cock against my thigh.

I don’t love the pain,
but I love what it makes him.
And the flat heat of his tongue
on the bloody pearls that edge the words.

His breath sears my back as he works.
My face a hot mess of tears,
I cry as if it will never end.
Panting like a thing dying.

He sits me up, turns my head to the mirror
and I see:
He has made me a thing of infinite and bloody beauty.
A poem in pain.

Penned in extremis,  for #FuckToyFriday

11 Responses

  1. RG- Great writing and a great mind fuck (in the sense that it not only appeals on a filthy, base, carnal level, it appeals cerebrally.) A rare and extremely exciting phenomenon…
    Indelible indeed!
    Thanks RG

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