The third night felt different before I even left my apartment. My body already carried her marks — faint red lines on my wrists from the cuffs, a bruise blooming on my ass cheek where she slapped me hardest, the faint taste of her piss still lingering on my tongue like a secret I couldn’t wash away. I didn’t eat dinner. Just showered quick, jerked off thinking about her razor promise, came hard in my hand, licked it clean because I knew she’d want that later.
Her text at 10:03 PM:














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