Reminders at the most mundane moments.

The edge of a drinks bottle on kiss and bite plumped lips.

Bag strap across breast bruises,

bag banging on deeply sore butt.

Sitting becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Public transport vibrations hitting the spot.

The sore, used aching spot.

 Finding new bruises in the mirror.

Prodding them and remembering your fingers, your lips, your teeth

 on me.

Sunk into me.

Clamped down tight.

Wrapped in a web of continued pain

reminding me

How you entwined me in your rope.

Consumed by masochistic delight,

like when you fingered me hard

And chomped into my throat all the harder.

Sliding into submission,

not unlike the way I slid on the floor

as you poked, prodded and kicked me

For your pleasure.

Every movement

a memento

of your meanness

an echo

of our play

on repeat.

I feel your phantom, sadistic touch



If you’ve not read about the events before that prompted this blog, check out Lunch and Lust:

Part 1: The Meeting

Part 2:The Eating

Part 3: The Brutal Sexy Beating