My bare limbs are stretched
to the four corners of the bed,
arranged intentionally
on grey cotton sheets...
a soft crucifixion.

Tying is unnecessary;
I willingly follow your
instructions not to move,
my offering... god.

Your breath singes my skin,
and a line of electricity
leads straight to the center
of my softening sex.

It clenches, spasms, and silently
pleads for your entrance,
but my mouth says nothing,
too busy biting its own lips.

Your teeth travel up the inside
of my thigh, leaving a trail of
transitory marks, a whispered
branding of my flesh,
more permanent than fire.

I hold myself together,
quieting my lust cries,
breathing shallowly,
until you take me fully
into your mouth,
robbing me of sense
and air and reason.

My muscles release,
chemicals rushing on
blood wings, inflaming
my skin and causing
my sex to swell...
red, hungry lips
greedy for your tongue.

My legs brace against
your shoulders, but you
push them down, expecting
instant obedience.
Your eyes assure me that
if I struggle, I will lose.

On this alter,
in the only church I know,
you baptize me in your
tender power.

Our bodies commune,
consecrating our promises
to one another.
With each thrust,
you penetrate my
soul, owning it,

and I am born again.