Your boyfriend loves you.
He could never hurt you the way you need. He doesn’t understand why you would want to be afraid. Why you would need a safe word. He could never make you use it.
He might give you a gentle, playful slap. But he’d never leave a handprint on your face. Could never close his fist and hit you like he means it. He might lay his palm across your throat, but he’ll never whisper in your ear that he loves the gurgling and wheezing as you struggle to breathe. Would never enjoy watching your face turn pink, then red, then purple while he ignored your flailing limbs.
He’d never drag his fingers across your barcode thighs and wish that there were more. Never glide a blade across your porcelain skin. He’d never have you raise your arms above your head and feel for your ribs. Never jam his fingers down your throat and mention the weight you’ve put on lately.
He’d never force your legs apart and violate your dripping cunt. He’d never even use that word. He’d never stretch it with objects or too many fingers. He’d never bury his hand up to the wrist inside you while he rubs your clit and tells you what a good girl you are and to shut the fuck up. He’d never fill your ass with his cum while you cried.
He’d never tell you that girls like you get what you deserve. He’s never going to give you what you crave, but he’ll shame you for it, make you feel lesser for wanting it. For asking for it.
Your boyfriend loves you.
I’m not your boyfriend. You shouldn’t message me.
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- 1 year ago
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