The Pain

I never would consider myself a masochist
No great desire for pain has ever overwhelmed me
I read your thoughts through the windows of your soul as you hovered…above me
Your breath like a warm tradewind, sweet
exhaling over my peaks and through the passages of my lush valley
I catch my lip between my teeth, waiting
The pending waves crest at my thighs

We exchanged words without the gift of verbal communique
Your movements become my sole command….hips raising, legs wrapping, nails raking down a well worked back.
Is this the moment that I have yearned for?
I consider myself a pacifist, welcoming harmony, yet I am silently anticipating the next wave of pain.

My stomach tightens with every forward motion
inner thighs are slick
I mentally check vitals
heart? racing
vision? blurry
ears? ringing
breath?  baited

You lean in, lips poised to graze the plain of my neck
I am not prepared as teeth meet skin
gently nipping below my ear
My pulse signifying life to your lips
while the pleasure of a thousand deaths wash over me

Veined forearms push up
Muscles tighten across shoulders stained with ink
an art gallery of personal feelings
verified on caramel skin
concern creases your brow…does my no mean yes?
I pull you back providing you answers
you acquiesce, your compliance is my pleasure

Flat stomach meets soft curves
defined pectorals crush brown silver dollar nipples
the moment of concern is replaced by need
there is no fear only welcome
I realize this could go on all night
but then
there is transference
no longer am I the sole owner of this pleasurable hurt
you groan animalistically
I reap the reward of a shaft hardened further by
seed ready to be sown
you grip my hips bruising tender skin
I am coaxing you along 
come baby, cum, experience
 the pain.


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