Own Me

Diary of a Married Woman

The ottoman, it’s unintended use
Same with that stirring paddle, not stirring
And that length of rope, binding me, not things
Anticipation in the air between us

Fingers, not so soft
Trace soft lines on my skin
That paddle twitching in your hand
Oiled and slick like me

Wood on skin
Again and again
A symphony of gasps and cracks
The only music that calms me

More, please
Sir, to me
M——-on the outside
My love all the time

Now, I’m peaked, ready
For only you
Fuck me like you own me
Because you do

You do.

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