homemade with love

what if you recoiled at the feeling of my tongue down your throat but couldn't pull away without hurting yourself

what if I started pressing the blade into you whenever you weren't acting like you want it enough

"It's just a consequence from my youth. Don't worry little lamb."

Lamb. It's such an apt name for you, isn't it?

Lambs can be so trusting.

They'll bleat so sweetly for you while you lead them to the butcher's block.

I'll have you on my bed, face down, naked, your wrists and ankles lovingly restrained at each corner.

"Lamb, are you comfortable? Do you need any water before we begin? It's alright if you scream. It's alright if you cry. I'll tell you when you need to hold still." My voice is so sweet, you can hear the smile on my lips. Maybe you'll wonder if I'm capable of the violence I've promised you.

Lamb you let a wolf take you to Its den.

"Do you know what a pinwheel is?" I've found conversation keeps a sub/victim calmer. It keeps them out of their own head, and lets them focus on something tangible. "It's a tool neurologist use. A small steel handle, no longer than my hand from wrist to fingertip, that ends in a spiked wheel. About 20 spikes surround the entire wheel, each one shorter than my pinky nail and honed to a sharp point. "

The bed shifts and you'll feel my weight on top of you. Kneeling with a thigh on either side of your ribs. I give you a playful squeeze with my knees and it makes it a little harder to breath. I giggle and settle my weight till we're both comfortable.

Without warning I'll scruff you. My left hand anchored around your neck, fingertips brushing close to your windpipe on the other side. Your throat fits so perfectly in my grip.

"Easy lamb."

The spikes begin to gently prick down the muscles of your neck. Where your trap branches out across your shoulder blade. I'll follow the clean lines of your form down with delicate slowness. The spikes don't hurt, much, but they do draw your attention to what I'm doing. They make it impossible to do anything but hyper focus on the way they advance and follow the trails of you.

"This is your trapezius. Flex your neck under my hand. Good. Feel how it pulls in this spot at the same time. It's almost like a cape in how it drapes over your back to....here. Struggle. Feel how it tightens under the pins?"

I could spend hours like this. Bodies fascinate me. How they move. How they work. How they fall apart.

"Make a fist now and pull your wrists back. Perfect. These are your deltoids. Pull harder. See? The way they layer with your infraspinatus, teres minor and major is a work of art."

All your focus will be on me. On my voice. On what I'm doing to you. You may never care about the things I say, but for the night I'll make sure you're enraptured with me.

You'll be so focused, you'll notice when I trail off. For a moment my hand will leave your neck. My own attention somewhere else. The sound of a wrapper being opened, a plastic cap coming off.

When my hand wraps back around your neck, I'll give you your warning. "Hold still little lamb. Hold your breath if you must."

There's no shake to my hands when I lower the edge of a scalpel to your flesh.

"This is the shoulder cut. You set the blade here before you follow this line like this." The pinwheel was a warm up. A way to make sure you'd feel every movement of the honed blade across your body. You can feel it glide across the surface of your skin, threatening to cut into something delicate with each pass "You have to be careful not to cut into the rib meat. Each of them have different cooking methods after all."

How long could you last? If you struggle even the slightest bit I may cut you. You be forced to spend the entire time listening to me describe how I would cut you apart, feeling the blade taunt you with every second.

How long before your body gives a twitch and my knife inadvertently nicks you?

How long before you give in like a panicking prey animal?

How long before the tears, before you start to sob? Those deep gasping breaths serving only to push your rib meat into the slow passes of my blade.

Now say, "I love being treated like this." Stop fucking crying. Look at me. Say it with me: "I. Love. Being. Treated. Like. This."

Very good. You love being treated like this? Yeah? Say it. That's right, you do. You're doing so good for me.

All right, look at me. Focus. You ready for another? Say, "I want more."

Say it. "I want more." Good. Say, "I deserve it." Tell me you love being treated like this. You want more. Again. From the top. Again.

Breathe through it, you can keep going. Again. Don't stop, I'll be done soon. Keep going. Again.