Naked on the floor, he has gone to fetch his ink and brushes. Sitting astride a leg, he starts on my bum. Softly touching and stroking, fleeting and whisper-light. Forming lines with care and precision. The first contact starts my juices flowing and distracts me from my task. Not a sign of degradation, one of love. A heart, an arrow, his initials in the middle. His heart given to me to
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