Bare metal against skin
Sharp indentation as chain bites into hands
The soft cold feel, silk across eyes
The feel of fingers, moving in slow circles
The flat of a blade, following the same path
Hand settling in, the feel of thumb against throat
The pressure, hinting but never quite cutting off breathe
A line of fire, the wet meets cold air
The slow press of him
His weight pinning
Slowly entering the place of rightful worship
Blaze of heat throbbing inside
Teeth scraping and biting
Grinding in, marking her as owned

This lingering taste of her
Slides away as he slips free from sleeps shackles