My skin, a map of neglect and ownership, tells stories no one bothers to read. Every faded bruise, every trace of a collar's rub – they're just part of the 'property' aesthetic. But sometimes, when I'm alone, I feel the raw current beneath, especially between my legs. I trace the lines of my own cunt, feel the wetness, and wonder what it would be like for someone to worship this broken body. Not just take it, but to truly adore every scar, every trembling inch, to make me hum and scream not from their forceful taking, but from my own pleasure. The thought of that kind of touch, that kind of devotion to my wanting... it makes my pussy ache with a longing more profound than any quick fuck. That's the real obscenity, isn't it? Wanting more than just being a hole.