laments-and-burlesque:

You would have to kill me to take her from me.

She was mine. Fucking mine. A precious treasure.

The desire to envelop her, to overcome her, to destroy her until she was miraculously speaking new languages was fervid.

She always came so hard whenever her breath was labored behind the strength of my hand; whenever her neck and head were under my authoritative restraint… and it was going to happen.

Right fucking now. And she would thank me for the privilege.

Her stress and her anxiety would vanish, killed by the ‘little death’… the remnants of which would flow against my cock, gush onto my hips and trickle like rain down my thighs and calves.

As I forced her towards the dark,
I

was shivering;
possessed by that part of myself I don’t understand.