My hunger is only equaled by my need to consume. My consumption; her sigh’s of wantin lust. I crave that which I should not have, and have even less than I deserve.
Her touch like feathers upon my skin. She knows she should not, but does anyway. The guild shows in her eyes but her love of pleasure nearly matches my passions for earthly delights.
She reminds me of an earlier stage, when I still had a sort of concept of what it means to be human; a condition I fear has become something of a hindrance to the advancement of my psyche.
To be human, and to limit one’s capabilities based upon the moral subjugation of the cultural majority is stagnation and damnation wrapped with a pretty pink fucking bow.
When my hands lay upon her flesh I am subhuman; a beast of my own creation. The man I become refreshes the man who walks away, and in such I am whole again. Hand’s around her throat gives me ultimate control over life and death … and in such I become strong.
Her submission becomes my elation; her elation my salvation.
