I want your hands to leave bruises on my hips. I want to wear those marks like jewelry, as proof that you were here, that you wanted me so badly you could not control your strength. My sensuality is pain turned into pleasure. It is that edge where suffering and enjoyment become indistinguishable, where every bite is a kiss and every scratch is a promise. I surrender to the moment with a grace that knows no weakness, and with a fire that burns brighter the tighter your fingers grip. We dive into pleasure as into fire — burning, suffocating, losing consciousness from an excess of sensation, but not wanting to leave. Orgasm comes as release from that pain — it explodes inside you, turning into light, into warmth, into something unbearably sweet. Every cell of your body screams with pleasure, and that scream is music to my ears. With me, you don't just come — you heal through pain. And you become stronger than you were.