Receptacle

The rope burns ligatures on my wrists. The pillows make my neck ache, but I can see you perfectly, standing at the end of the bed. Your eyes are closed, you ignore me completely.

In your fist, your cock grows red purple as the blood beats up against its surface. The head more pronounced as you move up and down the shaft.

I know the exact pressure of corona against palate that will jerk your come across my tongue, the feeling of it a constant ghost on my membranes. You know I can feel it as I watch, have heard me beg for it before, don't bother to open your eyes to see my slit drip.

You tilt your head back, your knuckles a white streak against the shadow on your hip, then tight, a grunt, the come a sticky streak across my breasts, my belly, my cunt.