TW Mine

August 24

**Trigger Warning** Reason: Knife Play

The dress is nothing but an invitation—thin fabric, no underwear, no shield from the hunger in your eyes. You seize me, lift me, slam me onto the counter like I was made to be displayed, offered, ruined. The strap falls from my shoulder, and before I can breathe, the belt coils around my throat—tight, claiming, binding me to your madness.

The knife tilts my chin up, its kiss cold and merciless. I tremble, a whimper slipping from my lips, but it only feeds the storm in your gaze. You snarl it, low and feral: “Mine.” Not a word. A sentence. A sentence I’ll never escape.

The blade maps me like territory—down my throat, across my breast, teasing the tender inside of my thigh—branding me as yours with every cruel drag of steel. My pulse races against the edge, begging for mercy it will not be given. And then—your mouth descends.

You don’t just devour me. You consume me like an addict, like a starving beast who has waited too long. The sound of you feeding on me is obscene, violent, desperate. One hand yanks the belt tighter, vision flickering at the edges as oxygen abandons me. The other hand drives into me without mercy, each thrust demanding my surrender, each curl of your fingers pulling me closer to the abyss.

You slow your tongue only when the belt is strangling me most—agonizing ***, my body begging for more as my lungs burn. I convulse beneath you, trembling prey trapped in a predator’s hold, every whimper and cry spilling across my face where you can see all of it—every weakness, every surrender.

And when I finally break, when I spill across your mouth, you don’t stop. You gorge yourself on me, smearing my release across your lips, your chin, your obsession written in the way you lick me clean like I’m the only salvation you’ll ever need. Your eyes lock onto mine—wild, unhinged—and I know in that look: you will worship me, destroy me, consume me, again and again until nothing of me is left but what belongs to you.