She's mine.
If you were to look at her, it would be unmistakable that she belongs to me.
The bruises all over her flesh, mine. The name on her arm, mine. The sunken teeth marks upon her neck and breast, mine. I marked her all over, just to make that clear to her. Clear to her every time she were to look in a mirror from that point onward. So that she can look upon each mark and remember my uttered words; "You belong to me."
Our play is never innocent. I don't do simple vanilla sex. My vanilla is far different to what hers would be. But she loved it. She did not call the powerful word when I bound her wrists above her head, nor when I forced the humiliating pair of ears into her hair, or even when I dipped the tail into her more scandalous warmth. She loved it. She craved it. Each and every mark my lips made upon her flesh had her begging for more, had her begging for me to mark her body again, to embrace her, to touch her.
"Patience, Weiss." I call, pulling the lid off the lipstick container and twisting it ready. I press my brush against my canvas yet again, slowly and rhythmically. We've just began, there was no need to go any faster.
"We have all the time in the world, pet." I whisper.
"Cinder..." Her voice is like music to my ears. Soft, delicate, vulnerable. That's simply how I like my prey, begging for me, longing for me to do more to their bodies. My current pet is no different. "Please..."
"Not yet." I whisper. My artwork is done, and I leave my signature in the form of a kiss on her hip, leaving yet another mark upon her. One of my lips, which she will not forget any time soon.
I take a few steps backward to marvel at my newest masterpiece, uttering the very word I had just written upon her.
"Mine."