play?

Your Texas Toothpick across my bare shoulders, neck, throat, face, arms... later my shirt tossed to the chair next to me. Breasts assaulted, willingly. Blade cold and menacing against taut nipples. Digging point, owww. Sharp against my throat, holding me on the edges of fear. Raked point across yet unmarred flesh, red lines to show its path down my back. Fast passes draw droplets only felt later as they've seeped so slowly as to come through one cell at a time and dried there; their own testimony to the danger i enjoy with you.
You move in front of me. Fist full of hair. Down, to expose my neck more. Sharp tip in tender spots, but your hard on pressing in front of me distracts me from the physical pain. Nails and more cascade up and down my exposed skin and i don't care. Sharper, harder, i want it. All of it, now.
i fly just a little bit in this safe space, tethered to my deep sadness and anger, but not wanting the moment to end. Having reality at bay is a beautiful thing.

SD later: I'd never seen you play before. me: you still haven't.