I thought I was past this craving. Thought I was past the point when your voice could wrap my gut in a knot and start a low fire of need in my groin. Thought I was past the point when the thought of you could squeeze my heart with a tight-knuckled fist and focus every instinct in my body on you like a hunting dog on point: Mine.
Your slut voice is back, that high, piping boy’s voice that makes me think about pressing a knife to your balls and keeping it that pretty soprano forever. Every word is calculated to reach deep into my body and call the predator from me, the rapist, to draw him out and into my eyes and my hands. I know you’re manipulating me, but is it really manipulation when I’m cooperating fully? When my words and your voice weave together in a cooperative manipulative descending spiral of predatory and helpless lust?
This is almost not rape, not when your pouty lips are half open in undisguised need and your every glance over your shoulder is an invitation. You know that I want you, and you want the brutality of my hands and the cruelty of my teeth on your skin, and you are drawing the quiescent predator back into me, back up through my hands and my eyes and my teeth and down into my cock until I use it like a weapon to pound into your body. She’s been so quiet, the predator inside of me, this past year; barely sniffing the air since your departure but now she has the scent of her favorite prey and I don’t know if I can keep us sane, keep us from crossing the line and ripping you open like the meat that the predator sees. There is too much fury and pain mixed with the desire and it is so blended now with the love that even that may not stop us from opening you.
It doesn’t matter now, though. I don’t really believe that I’ll ever have you back for keeps, never feel your body wrapped around mine a clinging liana vine boi, so I will have to take this opportunity that may be the last and means the consequences don’t matter… so I set my teeth in your throat and bite untilI taste blood.
