Sex Addict (collage)

A Sex addict -- what my ex-husband was, and in all likelihood still is.

Please, No More (triple sonnet)

Throbbing pain, as I whisper, "Please, no more!"
My silent cries, unheard, fall on deaf ears.
I'm worn out, I'm dried out, I'm torn and sore.
Each throbbing thrust a knife that burns and sears.
I try again, and whisper, "Please be done!"
"You want it in your mouth then, say the word."
Which word must I say? I try to pick one.
But his "logic" is skewed and so absurd.
Gasping for air, I try to find a way
To escape from this hell within a bed,
But  I can't complain, no words I dare say,
Or he'll turn me and go backwards instead.
Oh soul of mine, where have you gone to hide?
How can I find you way down deep inside?

"You're done when I say that you're done," he says.
I shudder and wonder how long this time.
It could be ten minutes, three hours, or less,
There's never really a reason or rhyme.
"You can come again for me now, can't you!"
His words, not a question, but a demand.
"The Lord is my Shepherd . . ." keeps running through
As I brace myself and wait for his hand.
Worse still, I see it coming through the air,
His hand balled up in a hard, tightened fist.
And there is no way that I can prepare
For his slobbery, slimy, cum-filled kiss.
My body has forsaken me at last.
The pain that I should feel just went right past.

"You'll take it all, I know," he says to me.
As if there is some pride he finds in this.
Bigger, deeper, and harder; endlessly.
Until he cannot rise or starts to miss.
I try to shut it out and go away.
"Let's see if this will fit, I bet it will."
My mind throws up a wall and bids it stay,
As I command my body to stay still.
"I cannot do this, Lord," I softly cry.
His hand, his fist inside, is so immense.
Is this my punishment -- for what, and why?
I can't escape the pain, it's too intense.
Awak'ning from the nightmare in a sweat,
Another mem'ry I cannot forget.