Don’t come over here.
Don’t stand there looking at me.
Don’t sit down and get comfortable and smoke my shit and watch sexy music videos like you live here, or like I really know you, or like this is actually something other than what it is.
Don’t you fucking lean into me.
Don’t put your head on my chest.
Don’t rub my leg.
Don’t make me feel this way.
Don’t let me grab your face and kiss you.
Don’t come to my room.
Don’t let me undress you.
Don’t let me stand on your feet, my toes on top of yours, my weight on you and let me look up at you.
Don’t have such a beautiful fucking face.
Don’t let me force you into these restraints.
Don’t let me throw you on the bed.
Don’t smell so good.
Don’t let me put the gimp mask on you and paint your lips red and put you into a hot pink g-string and put you on your knees in front of me and make you suck my strap on like it’s real.
Don’t let me threaten you with the stun gun.
Don’t taste tender and sweet and delicious.
Don’t let me pour oil down your back and get inside you, like I own you.
Don’t let me stroke until you moan.
Don’t let me smash your face down into the pillow to hide your screams.
Don’t let me flip you over and suck on you.
Don’t let me play you.
Don’t let me tell you that you can’t leave, that you can never leave because you belong to me, because you are mine, because I own you and I love you.
Don’t fall for my charms.
Don’t make me lie.
Don’t let me make you cum and threaten to lock you away forever.
Don’t let me caress your arms with my fingertips.
Don’t let me get you drunk and high and promise you the world.
Don’t let me force you with my hand around your throat to tell me that you love me just so you can breathe when I know you don’t and it’s so hard for me to let go.
Don’t stare at me like you want me to force you to stay.
Don’t pull the mask off so you become a person again.
Don’t text me in the middle that I can do whatever I want to you and we can talk about it in a couple of hours.
Don’t let my lips touch yours. Again. And Again.
Don’t try to kick me out of the bathroom while you get dressed.
Don’t hover at the doorway, looking beautiful and lost and sick and disgusted and excited and scared and hopeful.
Don’t get caught up and sidetracked.
Don’t get used.
Don’t use me.
Don’t do any of this, please.
Don’t stay here tonight.
Don’t text me anything else ever.
Don’t come back here.
Baby, please for the love of god…
But I know you will. You just did.
Don’t come over here.
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