She wants pain, says she likes it when she bleeds a little.

When the candle wax leaves scars and the chains leave marks. She wants less gentle and more forceful, the kind of love that takes her to the edge and reminds her that we have a safe word.

To be stretched out in more ways than one, with her hands cuffed to the swing and her legs spread just enough for the heavens to be ashamed at her desires.

Choking, slapping. On and off with the blindfold. Misplaced manners and unfiltered screams.

She wants pain, and her wish is my command.

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