It wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, the most exotic sex we have ever had - there were no bloody hand prints covering most of our bodies, no smears of it on the floors or walls around us. We barely even used the knife - you used it on yourself, to taunt me, prompt me into action. Sometimes all it takes is the catalyst to spur something into motion.

In fact, we weren’t especially loud, there were no audiences gasping in horror at the ravages done to your skin, no discarded pile of sex toys or sadistic implements, no thrill driven from being discovered in some dark alley. To the casual onlooker, it would have appeared as some sort of intimidation, me towering over you, pressing you against the wall, your palm bleeding, hands pressed against the wall. It might have appeared as some sort of rape, your neck marked by my fingertips, bruising quickly as you do there.

Except it wasn’t rape. It wasn’t even that game we play. It was simply as it is between us when we leave the complicated aside and embrace each other for what we are and are not.

What is it about you that stirs my beast so? Something so root, so feral, primal in instinct I am compelled by some greater force than logic to dominate you. Dominate you utterly. It isn’t casual, but I don’t desire to rule over every sentence you make, or have you as some footstool or maid in my home. I like your temper, I like you utterly unafraid of what I can do to you - until the trap closes.

Still, fucking you against the wall last night, your legs wrapped around my waist, my clothing only moved aside for necessary reasons, your panties ripped, dangling off of your leg like you were, indeed the victim, I was utterly satisfied. I think the bruises that occurred during were more accidental than the result of some desire to hurt - odd, you know how cautious I am about easing my grip.

Kissing you and your teeth - those teeth that still have my lip sore this morning, you bitch. I can only smirk, seeing as yours looks much worse, all red and sore, swollen. I’ve become so used to you looking that way around me, that lush bottom lip that seems to trigger my baser urges even as I am racing off to some meeting.

Even when we came, so close to one another and our shuttered breath slowly returned, we stood there. Your legs hanging drunken from my hips, still quivering. My hands cupping that fabulous ass you have, feeling the moisture that leaks from your cunt that was still, reflexively, hugging my cock. As I lifted my head and kissed you, my eyes looked towards the bed, standing pristine, a focal point of the room, I could only ask….’Why didn’t we go over there?’

And we both started laughing.