“D’you want a memento, Princess? “Mmmemento of what?” I slur. He smiles into my neck. A sweet smile and a quiet hum that almost lulls me into a false sense of security. Almost, not quite. “A memento of the first time you got cunted, Pussyboy.” The word shocks me. Offends me. Ravages me. Turns me on so hard that I turn inside out and there’s nothing hard left to protect me. Nowhere to hide. “Yeah,” I reply from a faraway place.
