If there was ever a time in my life when I thought I could feel something...know something beyond the limits of normal 'human' comprehension, the very last person I expected to discover that connection was with you, you little bitch. Thin arms, dark hair, scars...you were so scarred when I first knew you. Scars of pain, hate, purest agony from a life beyond the one of rebirth. You still carry the scars of this life and the next on your small, fragile body...your pale, translucent skin...in your eyes. Like a tiny, frightened mouse you shy away from my feline mind, but are drawn to it like moths to a bright light, only to sizzle and die when they come too close. The same principle applies to you, Bitch. But you didn't know me. You didn't know who I was, what I was until that time when you bit me...and kissed me all at once.
Brutality is the only language I know how to speak, aside from your elementary English. Fists, nails, teeth, bruises, marks, bleeding, blood, aches, agony, it's an addictive circle that I can't help but follow. When she died, I died as well and the monster in me reared, the Hungry Beast craved human flesh and as days went on, it becomes harder and harder to repress. In death, I live. In agony, I am ecstasy. In lust, I am the very essence of mind-destroying pleasure. You learned the hard way. You had to provoke me, Bitch. You had to poke the metaphorical sleeping Dragon and were far from prepared to accept the consequences of stirring a part of me that I only half understand. I tore you apart, devoured you, consumed everything that you could have ever been. I tasted your blood on my tongue; hot, spicy, sweet and so fucking delicious. I wanted to cut your throat, to drink more of your essence until I was full to bursting point...with you.
Nails in soft flesh, buried in molten velvet, teeth left marks in skin and screams of Hell ringing in my ears. My name...my name...more, more, more, more, more. I couldn't stop. I had no control. I was watching, feeling, tasting and breathing everything that happened and while you screamed, the monster roared. It was perfect. In that single moment of clarity, using you seemed like the very reason I was still breathing. Submission. You submitted to me in your entirety. Your body, your mind in those short minutes became mine. My marks on your body brand you as my own. My property. You belong to me.
I'd slice my name into you, deep knife strokes that would make you whimper with lust and need. I know you love pain and so do I, we simply enjoy it from different perspectives. Deeper, faster, harder, more, more, more, MORE! Your screams haunted me for days afterward and, as I lie in bed, alone, I smile at the memories. First time. First time with the Skinny, Little Bitch. And already, I wanted more.
But next time, you'll have to ask me. Because I do like how brutality feels.
- M. H
