pressed up against each other, tongues down each other's throats, hands roaming like we're starved for skin until they finally get brave enough to slip a hand down my pants and find a soaked cunt instead of a dick.
you're not in love. you're addicted to the way i destroy you. to the bruises, to the begging, to the breakdown. i turned your pain into pleasure and now you can't breathe without me choking you; now you crave the hands that undo you.
poor thing... you're shaking. is it fear? or is it the wicked craving you can't admit? will you fight my touch or beg me to drown you in it until you forget your own name?
he was just a tiny thing when they brought him home; all big eyes and soft paws. even after he matured, they still called him "puppy," spoiled him, babied him. but now he’s in heat, mounting them with a growl, and that sweet voice turning into broken, breathless pleas.
you keep acting like you can handle me, that's cute.
strip. now. don't think — just move. watch how fast you fall in line when I decide what you can handle. you'll learn quick; i'm the one who sets the rules, and you obey.
i want to love you until your veins shake, press my mouth to your skin until you beg me to stop, and when you do, i'll only kiss you harder because i can’t stand how fragile you are when you're mine.
i don't care if you hate me. hate me while i hold your wrists down, while you gasp like you can't decide if you want to scream or moan. either way, you're mine tonight.
i'm sorry, baby… but i can't stop. the way you fight, push, scream my name, and hate me while i ruin you; it's intoxicating. it makes me want more, all of you. every sob you choke out only proves how perfectly i'm taking you, and someday, somehow, you'll thank me for it.
something about a boy who's too scared to move, too broken to fight, so instead of running he clings to me, trembling and desperate, calling for his mommy like the word itself could save him,
"please mommy… i can't… i can't take it… mommy, please..."
i keep seeing videos of guys getting bitch slapped; cheeks puffing, jaw snapping, lips quivering, eyes wide and pathetic… and i can't decide if i want to be the one feeling it or the one dishing it out. maybe both.
whenever things get bad again, i end up thinking about this older guy i used to talk to; how he'd take advantage of me when i was too messed up to push back, and i hate that part of me still misses that feeling.
the look on guys' faces when they can’t take much more; mouth agape, brows furrowed, staring at the masterpiece between their legs or up at me like a kicked puppy. hips twitching, barely able to move, just softly rolling into my hand every now and then, already too sensitive.
laughing while they try to act unbothered, dragging nails deep until skin bleeds and muscles twitch with need, already trembling from denial. "still think you’re in control, doll?"
softly brushing the edge of the knife along their heartline, their pulse hammering beneath me. gasps and whimpers spilling from their gorgeous, bloody lips as they clutch onto me, begging me to sink deeper into them, to consume every part of them.
i am the priest, the god, the judge. you come willingly, trembling, as i take your devotion in scars, moans, and whispers. holiness is taught in brutality, and you'll worship me for every cruel lesson.
doctor boyfriend who presses too hard on half-healed scars just to see them bleed again. says it's for a study, but carves deeper each time, then kisses the wounds like it means love.
"you'd let me ruin you if it helped my research… wouldn't you, angel?"
smashing a glass bottle over a pretty thing's head, carving filthy names into their skin with the shards, then kissing the scars when they wake, whispering "i'm sorry, it was just impulse"… or worse, making them believe it was their fault.
naughty little boy who beats the priest bloody and carves degrading names into his skin, then traces the wounds with his fingers, painting pentagrams in blood across the priest's chest as he cries and begs for mercy, rosary biting into his tied wrists.