He worked his way into my fingerprints. Fingerprints do change. They are lives. You can read a fortune upon them and, if you follow the curves, distin...uish individual pain. Fingerprints burn and cry and bleed longer, harder than eyes ever could. I wash them daily, my scars and fingerprints. Caress them. Sometimes I see him. Just long enough that he can thrust himself back into my life. Long enough for the wound to be torn farther to add bacteria to the contaminated flesh. I sit in the shower. Finally I bite down just a tad too hard on your nipple and you gasp, yanking my face upwards by my hair. I wince but you seem to get off on it. I can smell your cunt, it's strong but sweet.The candles are burning low. You swing your legs into the bathtub and leave my kneeling there outside it. With a backwards glance you toss a bar of soap at me. I snort and roll my eyes. I carefully reach around you to turn on the water. I can't look at your face, if I do that I'll lose all self control.The. More

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