the thirty-eighth night:
i have been drowning myself in whiskey and music. i have been bringing up memories that i need to get out here, that i need to pull up from under my skin. but i am not ready to write about them. all in due time, i suppose.
i haven't cum in days, but i have been teasing myself until i am on the brink of exhaustion. i have rubbed my clit until it is so sore to the touch that just the faintest pressure causes a low grade throb between my raw lips. i have pulled and pinched my nipples, using clothes pins and everything else i can find to the point that they are now perpetually swollen, with even the faintest brush of fabric or bandage against them sending jolts of pain and pleasure through my body.
when i shower i have been scrubbing myself until the heat of the water and the violence of my hands turn my skin from white to pink to a shining red, like candy hearts or rose petals.
i have been tying myself up again, and wrapping the cords tighter each time. my throat is starting to get marks and i am thankful the weather is cold so i can wear clothing to cover them. especially the back, where the cords burn and sometimes tear at the skin depending on how much i struggle against myself.
the marks on my ankles are undeniable now, beautiful.
when i was very young, i used to pull my jump rope around my throat like this. i have very faint scars on the back of my neck from when i spent a night running the rope back and forth across my neck, until the skin was tender, and then i tied it there.
when my mother found me in the morning she was horrified, and i was never allowed to have my own jumprope again. i think she cried when she tended to the burn marks on the back of my neck, unsure how or why i would do this.
i didn't understand then why i did it, i just knew that i entered a kind of trance while i pulled the rope back and forth, not noticing the discomfort or injury.
i don't understand now why i do some of the things i do, i just do them and try my best to make the pieces fit. i think i have given up trying to reason it out, giving myself one small part of my life that i don't demand rigorous application of reason, just letting myself move with the instinct of my desires, so forceful that often they come from inside me like a storm.
i have been sleeping with the door locked, my face wrapped in bandages, hoping each morning that when i uncover myself that i am someone different, a stranger.
each night i fall asleep imagining myself as i wish to be, a game i play, wrapped tight in the dark.
a girl in a cocoon, imagining against reason that she will wake up a butterfly.
i have been drowning myself in whiskey and music. i have been bringing up memories that i need to get out here, that i need to pull up from under my skin. but i am not ready to write about them. all in due time, i suppose.
i haven't cum in days, but i have been teasing myself until i am on the brink of exhaustion. i have rubbed my clit until it is so sore to the touch that just the faintest pressure causes a low grade throb between my raw lips. i have pulled and pinched my nipples, using clothes pins and everything else i can find to the point that they are now perpetually swollen, with even the faintest brush of fabric or bandage against them sending jolts of pain and pleasure through my body.
when i shower i have been scrubbing myself until the heat of the water and the violence of my hands turn my skin from white to pink to a shining red, like candy hearts or rose petals.
i have been tying myself up again, and wrapping the cords tighter each time. my throat is starting to get marks and i am thankful the weather is cold so i can wear clothing to cover them. especially the back, where the cords burn and sometimes tear at the skin depending on how much i struggle against myself.
the marks on my ankles are undeniable now, beautiful.
when i was very young, i used to pull my jump rope around my throat like this. i have very faint scars on the back of my neck from when i spent a night running the rope back and forth across my neck, until the skin was tender, and then i tied it there.
when my mother found me in the morning she was horrified, and i was never allowed to have my own jumprope again. i think she cried when she tended to the burn marks on the back of my neck, unsure how or why i would do this.
i didn't understand then why i did it, i just knew that i entered a kind of trance while i pulled the rope back and forth, not noticing the discomfort or injury.
i don't understand now why i do some of the things i do, i just do them and try my best to make the pieces fit. i think i have given up trying to reason it out, giving myself one small part of my life that i don't demand rigorous application of reason, just letting myself move with the instinct of my desires, so forceful that often they come from inside me like a storm.
i have been sleeping with the door locked, my face wrapped in bandages, hoping each morning that when i uncover myself that i am someone different, a stranger.
each night i fall asleep imagining myself as i wish to be, a game i play, wrapped tight in the dark.
a girl in a cocoon, imagining against reason that she will wake up a butterfly.
VIEW 19 of 19 COMMENTS
seth0067:
Adonde estas le tigre?
_v_:
where have you been my dear