by Màlena B. Cristofani
(03/23/05)
My Carlo,
Have you seen the movie The Pillow Book? If not, watch it and tell me what you think. It’s about writing on another’s flesh. I love to write, but you know that already. If you were going to write a message on my body with your tongue, what would it be?
If I were to write on you, Carlo, I would...
I would...
I will tattoo my words on your inner thighs and down your back with my teeth -- little bruises, and maybe even the smallest drop of blood here and there. I’d embroider them with my fingernails -- sharp punctures in delicious patterns; and then I’d seal them with wax and kisses.
I will write: my sweet butterfly, my little prince, my slave, mine mine mine until your eyes fill with tears and you beg me to stop.
I will turn you over then, and look at you closely, because one does not wish to genuinely injure one’s treasure. Are you really at the edge yet?
I don’t believe you.
My favorite place to bite you...I will write a haiku on the inside of your lower lip as I tug on your nipple ring and feel your cock jerk against my thigh. Now your eyes are very wet and your heart pounds against my rib-cage like a captured bird. Mine, Carlo, and I don’t believe that you believe it yet but, my little bird, I can break you as I please; and if you don’t know it now you will know it when I am finished with you.
Now your tears are real and beautiful. You are my very own beloved object -- come here, sweet little toy. I open my legs to you and you feel how soft and silky I am; and I kiss your tears away, lick at them like a cat. Then I let you suck on my nipple like a baby and plunge your cock into my wetness, so warm and pillowy and slippery as you go in, all pleasure for you, my doll, just juicy hotness and soft breast and erect nipple, fuck me baby, fuck me until you come so hard, letting go of all your pain and frustration as you shove your hard cock in me so deep, your spasms so fierce that you feel it all the way up your spine and back again, come shooting out of you until your balls are completely empty, and then I...so sweet and good and loving...will rub jasmine-scented oil on your injuries and promise not to hurt you again as you fall asleep against my breasts like a child hearing a good story.
The next day when you dress for work, the words I wrote on your body, my pillow book, will sting and give you pleasure, even though when you stand up or sit down or move too quickly without thinking first, the insides of your thighs hurt terribly.
After you have read this, you will sit in your office and stroke yourself until you are in pain, because you want to come so badly, but you do not dare (the smell, the mess, what if someone knocks on your door?). Then, after having gotten yourself into a state of pure and blue-balled agony, you will calm down enough to walk casually out to the parking lot. Get in your car, my pillow book, and drive home. Once you are there, take off your clothing and wait for me in a state of complete animal-nakedness in your living room.
I am in my office as I write this. I will have it sent to yours today, via interoffice mail; you will read it right after teaching your last class. I will be done for the afternoon by three p.m.. Do not do anything other than suffer while you wait for me, alone in your apartment. Most of all, do not pleasure yourself as you sit in a state of feverish anticipation. My mouth aches to find your provoked flesh untouched, and I will accept nothing less than your most painful desperation.
Sonia
