Horseshoes mark a boy

They are faint, thin lined, red on his pale winterskin chest.

They blend with his tattoos, but he knows they are there. He feels them as clearly as his recent memories.

Only a day and a night ago he pressed himself hard against the heels of her oilslickblack leather clad feet, leaning into her as she lay back on the bed's expanse, smiling and sneering and drinking in his want, his desire..... she marked him repeatedly, becoming the beast he dared only dream about.

Now he sits by himself, pressing his fine fingertips onto places that she has turned blue-purple-burgundy..places that sing at his touch and screamed at hers, places he wishes to revisit, explore further, delve into more deeply.....

On that night he became, for a spell, less tender.... hands sheathed in smooth tight cabretta, tall boots hugging his legs up to his knees- he looked down, heart galloping, as she took what he had for her, watching her face, her body, locking eyes with her as she leaned back and gave it all back to him.... he felt powerful and humbled and filled.

He is being filled.

Blissfully.