It was just darkness.
My heart sinks when I realize that despite the comfort he offered me, he still left me alone in the end. I stuff my head under the pillow, sniffing around like a dog until I find his scent. It makes me feel slightly better. He always smells so nice. So clean. I want to wear it always.
But he’s always running off.
He’s still here.
Probably not for long, though.
I roll onto my back, the pillow still over my face. His scent and the darkness consume me, and I relish it.
My hand reaches down to my hard dick and I stroke it roughly, pinching the tip and pulling the foreskin over it as I pretend that Georgiy is the one standing over me, telling me what to do.
Bossing me around like he always does.
I want him to pull out a scalpel and carve something into my skin. To make me bleed. I tighten my fist and twist it, my back arching off the bed.
My cock erupts just thinking about him, my body shaking in the aftermath. My mess is spread across my abdomen, but I don’t bother to wipe it away. I just roll myself up and stand on shaking legs. My head is a little better today, not that I mind the pain. It’s the dizziness I can’t stand. I can’t get anything done when the room is spinning.
My hand trails across the wall as I make my way to the bathroom and use a washcloth to haphazardly wipe myself up, tossing it onto the floor when I’m done. I think about Georgiy not liking how messy I am as I kick it to the side. I’ll get it after my shower. I promise.
As I step underneath the spray, it assaults my sensitive skin. It’s always like this. The marks that have been left on me since I was a child. Some still tingle when touched.
“Who hurt you?”Georgiy had asked when he first caught sight of them.
“Death,”was my reply.
It was vague, but he seemed to understand.
I drag a bar of soap over my abdomen and down my legs, feeling the warm water hit my tattoo. It’s still covered, but after this shower, I’m going to peel the bandages off and stare at it for a long while. Maybe rub a little lotion on it to make sure it heals properly.
I’ve never taken good care of my scars. Never much thought to. At the time, I was too busy surviving. But once I escaped, I never took the time to make them disappear, to cover them up.
They’re a part of me. Just like my lungs, my heart.
As I stand under the water, pinpricks erupting across my skin, I relive the moment Georgiy tied me down and forced my ass to take it. The sting of the tattoo gun. The way my cock ached.
Oh hell.
The memory of it.
Why can’t I dream of that every night?
I stroke my dick, hard and ruthless. It’s how I like it. My head is thrown back, my knees locked as I bring myself to a second completion.
Hell and damnation, I need to get fucked. Soon.
Georgiy’s been edging me for months.
Always with his fingers or dildos. Or machines.
But never him.
I sigh in partial relief as I watch my cum swirl down the drain before rinsing myself off and stepping from the shower. My body drips water as I walk to the bedroom, little puddles forming on the tile floor. I don’t bother drying off. Doing that takes too long. I stop in front of the full-length mirror near the closet and turn around, baring my ass to the glass before peeling the bandages off and sighing happily.
The tattoo looks amazing.
I wiggle my ass cheeks, water droplets sliding down my skin, and I feel myself grow hard again.
