Hurt Me

“Make it hurt.” She went still, eyes jerking to mine, the blood-red heat of our arousal evident in the rasp of our breath. “Please,” my voice broke with entreaty, “make it hurt.” A shudder rippled her body, visible and tangible where she held me down, hips over mine. My wrists already burned from the chafing of the rope that tied them to the headboard; my nipples already so sensitive another touch might push them past the line of pleasure. To read the full piece as you listen, go here.