You Are Allowed To Grieve For What You Lost When You Went Through Trauma. You Are Allowed To Mourn. You

Stitches [Goretober 07]

"Mmm, look at you," I coo, my voice thick like honey as I curl my fingers under your chin and tilt your head back, just enough to make you meet my gaze in that dazed, blissed-out haze. "Such a messy little slut. Can’t even stay still, can you?"

You swallow thickly at my words, but your body leans in instinctively, hips shifting, thighs trembling. Hungry. Needy. Mine.

But inside, what I’m really thinking is: You’re divine. Absolutely breathtaking. You ache so beautifully for me. I’ll never get tired of this view… of you.

"My pathetic little thing..." I whisper next, my fingers dragging across the slick heat between your thighs. "You’d do anything for Mommy, wouldn’t you?"

You nod fast, frantic, a high-pitched whimper caught in your throat. Your lips try to form something like a 'yes,' but it’s lost in the moan that spills out instead.

Your tears are threatening now, clinging to your lashes, blinking fast as if your body can’t decide if it’s overwhelmed or overjoyed. Probably both.

And I think: You’re so trusting. So brave. My perfect girl. You don’t even know how much I love you for this. I don’t take it for granted, not for one second.

I press a kiss to your temple. Just once.

Then I pull away again, drag my nails down your spine slow and sharp, just to watch the ripple of your back, the way you arch into the sting. Then before you even know what hit you, I deliver a hard slap. The sound echoes and you cry out, but you don't move away.

"Does my baby feel a little dumb tonight, hm?" I purr as I deliver another sharp smack, watching your body jolt. Your back arches for me, your hips twitching for more. "You’re really are too far gone to even think now, aren’t you?"

You moan. Just a sound, so raw, so open.

"Say it," I order with a drawn out croon. "Say what you are."

Your voice is nearly a whimper. "I’m… I’m your dumb little baby, Mommy… s’too much— but I like it, I like it, I—"

"Shh, I know." I stroke you tenderly, then strike again. Your thighs twitch, your knees buckle slightly, and you sob so prettily.

But in my mind, I’m holding you close: You’re not dumb at all. You’re clever, intuitive, emotionally rich. You let me take you to this place because you know I’ll bring you back. I’ll never let you fall alone.

"Pathetic," I breathe, slower this time, drawing the word out as I rake my nails lightly down your back, over tender, already-reddened skin. I lean closer, tongue trailing your jaw, and murmur against your cheek, "Dripping just from my voice. How filthy is that, my little slut?"

You moan again, helpless. "Mmm… yes... yes... so slutty for you… can’t think, Mommy… just wanna be good…"

I groan softly against your ear. "That’s my girl."

Another slap, and you whimper. Another, and your knees give, but I catch you, always. One arm loops around your waist as I press your back firmly against my front.

"This is what I do to you, hmm? Turn that sharp little mind to mush with just my voice, my hands."

You whimper, voice slurring. "Yours… all yours…"

"Yes, you are," I groan, dragging my hand between your legs again. So wet, so swollen, perfect. I push two fingers in without warning, and you cry out, your body gripping me tight.

"You were made for this," I murmur against your temple. "Made for me."

You nod, whining, "I—I can’t think, Mommy—"

"Good," I say, curling my fingers inside you. "Don’t think. Just take."

You fall apart so beautifully, loud, messy, soaking my fingers as I press my mouth to your neck, whispering filth and praise in the same breath.

But inside, my heart aches with how much I adore you: You're my treasure. My good girl. My everything. You crave the sting because you trust the hands that deliver it. And I will never stop cherishing that.

I slow the pace, fingers still deep inside you, but softer now. I kiss the side of your face, damp with tears.

"You did so well for me," I whisper. "Mommy's so proud of you."

You’re shaking in my arms, lips parted, dazed and spent, and I hold you tighter. Your body is mine to break, yes… but your soul is mine to protect. Always.

The hottest thing a partner can do is teach you things

I'm not sure if this will come out right but:

Being loved is NOT a reward for being beneficial or useful in any way. You don't become less deserving of being loved if you aren't productive for a day or if you have a bad day and can't get out of bed.

I promise. Being loved has nothing to do with how you "help" the world or those around you.

I wish I had a girl who didn’t match my freak, who was maybe even repulsed by my freak. A girl who was completely vanilla and would look at me with disgust whenever I told her about my fantasies. I want to feel her tense up under my touch and constantly avoid eye contact. It would be so fun to get under her skin with the littlest of comments for her to overthink when she’s alone.

Thinking about having her in my arms <3

A quick hug, just because.

A warm embrace to remind her that she’s loved.

Holding her for as long as she needs, minutes or hours. Enveloping her with warmth and safety, and feeling her relax in my arms. Noticing the tension leaving her muscles, offering her comfort when life gets too much.

I want her to be able to let go of everything, just for a moment. To create a space where she’s safe from the worries and the stress. I want to shield her, not just from all the negativity in the world, but from every bad feeling or thought she might have.

Let my arms be the gateway to comfort and safety. Let me make you feel loved and cared for.

want to put a vibrator in you with the setting on as low as it goes, knowing damn well it’s not nearly enough to get you off, and watch as you frantically grind yourself on me. to hear every pathetic whimper fall from your lips as you fuck yourself against my crotch.

please… i can’t

you’d sob and buck your hips oh so desperately. but no, watching you fall apart against me is the best part my love. we’re going to be here as long as it takes.

There is no rule book for how you should feel after a trauma. 

Some people feel angry, sad, scared, confused or any number or combination of things. Some people don’t feel at all. 

It’s normal to go back and forth between different feelings or feeling and not feeling. 

Your trauma response does not have to follow rules or stereotypes. 

However you are feeling is valid. I promise. 

it's like i'm lying

in the bottom

of an empty well

and i'm so certain that

i could cry enough tears

to fill it back up

and swim myself out

but i just... lie there instead.

some days i don't even

feel worthy of drowning.

-mars

there is so much inside of me

and i can't get any of it out

in the ways that i want to.

the pretty ways that won't

make people worried about me again.

there are so many things

i want to tell you,

so many ways that i want to

scream and cry for help,

but i just stay silent,

letting the fear pile up in my throat

until it is gargling my words

away from my tongue

as i try to speak them.

i'm sorry we haven't

been talking as much lately,

it's just been hard to breathe.

hard to stomach the

self-inflicted homesickness,

the extra sting of knowing

that it is my fault that i miss you,

that i'm the one pushing you away.

hard to accept that it's because

i am terrified that if i let you in

you will drown with me.

-mars