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tries to pull away from the intensity.
But I can’t move.
The cuffs hold.
The spreader bar holds.
I struggle,
twist,
try to peel myself out of my own fucking skin.
But there’s no getting away.
He won’t stop.
The safeword’s there,
climbing the walls of my throat,
scratching to get out.
One second more and I’ll say it.
One second more?—
Hours—
bent over the table,
wrists cuffed to steel,
back screaming,
silence haunting.
He left me here and called it training,
discipline,
saying I’llthank him later.
My legs shake,
locked in this position for hours alone.
Every second drills deeper,
past patience and pain,
straight into rage.
Then the door creaks,
footsteps on wood.
His breath is steady
