I did it for you.
Ran thin monofilament through the hole
you asked for first, all
those years ago. The one
for holding spikes and rounded protuberances
you wanted wetly sliding along
your cock for that extra kick.
Looped it tight around left and right
pointer fingers curled inward.
Grimaced.
Breathed deeply.
Found my center.
Called on my ancestors.
Focused my chi.
Screamed to the high fucking heavens.
Then pulled as hard as I could
until it popped loose
from the pink, nubby flesh,
and split it clean down the middle.

Hands shaking, I
repierced the muscle
again and again. Drawing
thick, blood-sodden thread through it
with each pass. Those threads pulled
tight. Tied off tighter. To stop
so much unsightly red from spilling
from me before you could see.
To be honest, my brain turned off
somewhere in the course of
that part. I wish
I could have turned it off
during the weeks of swollen,
scalding
red iron heat
agony it took to heal.
But, what are you gonna do?

Could you
do the same for me,
now? I’ve got the razor
and I am pretty sure this wood
burning tool gets cauterization hot.
There’s enough everclear and ‘shine
to sanitize the tools and
the chopping block. You
always compliment me
on how well I
sew. How clean and precise my
stitches are. Didn’t you
tell me
yesterday how amazed you
were that I
could patch your
pants so quickly? I
promise to keep that same
precision and speed on you.

Just think of how it will feel:
my twin oral snakes slipping around
through the space between
your dueling heads. An eternity
of interlaced eights traced
in saliva and semen. Just the thought of
your two halves guided along and around
my clit, before rejoining to dive into
my cunt has
my heart doing its own double step tango in
my chest and that same clit throbbing
with dense heat. The chance for a doubled
pussy and ass penetration, without
your everpresent fear of oneupmanship from
another has its intrigues, too.