You’ve mumbled truths in your sleep for weeks, spilling your secrets under the veil of darkness, ignorant of their impact. Your words have sailed through the air and pierced the heat of our bodies long after we’ve collapsed from lovemaking. They have burrowed their certainties into my depth. Still, I continue to live this lie because I love the way your body melds with mine. Because I can taste you long after I’ve had your cum in my mouth and because my body quivers long after you’ve made me explode in yours.

I know what you see when you look at me. A wounded plumpness, dark skin, topped with tightly coiled hair screams to you in desperation and relief. Your attentiveness has brought you some rope with which you continue to strangle my spirit, demanding a safe word that only you know. I am at your mercy, but you have shown none. You fuck me as if my body, my face, and my heart exist in isolation and you are the glue that makes me whole.

There is a meanness in your eyes. A cold concentration of hate that you catapult at me between defense and what seems to be genuine love. Your heart is good. When I watch you, in those moments that you seem to be unaware of me watching you, I see goodness and honor and I hope until you begin to show your truth.

I turn my back to you, positioning my butt in the curve of your hips. Your cock presses into my ass. My vagina moistens in anticipation; lies and anger wash away as I begin to sway with you. My body begs you to fuck the sadness away. You spread my legs and push me onto my stomach. Your fingers enter me. The combination of pain and pleasure.

We’ve been here before. Desire is overtaking our senses and rage boiling beneath the surface. We’ve been here before and will be here again. You’re spreading the moisture from my vagina to my ass. I tense and you spank my right cheek. When I don’t relax, you spank me again and remove your fingers. Your finger enters this new space, exploring this curious region. You speak through determined movements of entitlement.

Your fingers are gone now, and with one fluid motion, your cock has entered me. I am torn. You move slowly and I am quiet, gritting my teeth and trying to understand. Your pleasure has grown. You pump yourself in and out of me and when I finally moan in release, you grab my hips and steady me. I am weak, but I know.

This is the end. You have ripped me to pieces and I will be left to clean up the shards of my broken existence. You will retreat unscathed and richer. You have taken the last of me. I will forever be a fragment of my former self- a shattered reflection of a love built of whom I wanted you to be and destroyed by who you really are.

But I will be free.


image: ©ivan kmit –


Published by

Kay Denise

Kay is from The Bronx, but is currently living her life's dream in Arizona. Writing is what breaths life into her world and when she does not do it, she feels off kilter. She is on a mission to finish and publish a compilation of short stories before the end of the year. She's well on her way, yet is often her own worse enemy.