We end up off-centre on my bed, with me below him, as he relentlessly fucks my mouth. I'm twisted slightly at an angle and I can feel the side of my tongue being pushed into the sharp edge of my teeth with every thrust.


I haven’t seen him in a week and I am being difficult and uncooperative. Challenging. Pushy. I am strong enough that it is difficult for him to fuck me if I really try and stop him, but I always end up giving in. We end up off-centre on my bed, with me below him, as he relentlessly fucks my mouth. I’m twisted slightly at an angle and I can feel the side of my tongue being pushed into the sharp edge of my teeth with every thrust. I can feel it tearing. Bright, rough pain. I can’t – won’t – do anything to stop this. I can’t even breathe. When he pulls out of my mouth I hastily swallow, wiping my chin, worried there will be blood in my spit. My tongue feels tender, bruised and overlarge in my mouth. Later I stick it out in front of the mirror, pinch the end with my fingers, examine the damage. Dark red with blood, frayed and ragged where my teeth have lacerated it along one side. I tuck it back in my mouth, grimace at myself in the mirror, brows furrowed. The whole of the next day I am careful whilst eating, acutely aware of my tongue, the mild throbbing pain a constant reminder of how he fucks me.