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My Own Private Dorsia

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I’ll never forget how it felt, the blade slicing into her skin like butter. It was almost…poetic, the way her body tensed, then slackened with the sting of it. She was a puppet and I, her master. I knew she was enjoying it just as much as I was based on the look in her eyes, her squirming, her little whimpers. God, her whimpers. She loved what I did, how I tooktooktook. The pleasure was too much for her because she kept trying to get away. I had to soothe her which my words and my hands, the latter of which left trails of blood across her supple body, making me throb with need.

She was so tight, clenching around me like a vice. I voiced my pleasure, calling her a good little fuckdoll, and her tears of joy increased. I knew she’d like that. She loved being used like the slut she was. They all did. My knife dragged across her clavicle and she moaned out quietly. A quick thrust and she goes taut as a bow string again, causing my blade to slip ever so slightly towards her throat. What a sight to behold, and all mine. Mineminemine.

It was rare that I let my control slip, you know? But with a bitch as willing as that one, it became difficult to hold it together. Her tears were like diamonds as they reflected on the overhead light. Her sweat smelt so clean. Her breaths were shallow, gasping. It was heaven, right there. I ask if she wants it harder, and she shakes her head “no.” Putting up a pretend fight, sluts like her always do. I smile, and she sobs, and I go harderharderharder. I hear her pleas to “stop, Patrick, stop, please” but I ignored them, because I know this game, and they do, too. Begging gets them nowhere.

I felt myself reaching my climax, glorious divinity. I go faster, her cries became louder, and I close my eyes. I released into her, and with it a breath. I smiled and looked down to where our bodies were joined. Blood pooled into her collarbones, some drying in her naval. Her eyes were crusted with salt from her tears. The marks from my knife were tinged red around the edges. I have never seen an image so beautiful. I slipped my soft cock from her cunt, and she whimpered, her legs going up as if to hide herself. I tsk, gripping her pretty, unmarked (mineminemine) calves to pull them apart. I tell her that the fun isn’t over, has barely begun, and she starts to sob once more. It was a beautiful symphony, the hymn dedicated to my heart, and I felt myself becoming half-hard again.

I looked closer to her pussy, dripping with my spend. I put my face close and inhale our combined scents. This brings me closer to her beautiful (mine) thighs, and I can’t resist the urge to bite. She screams, and I sink my teeth in more. I taste her warm blood (mineminemine) on my tongue and moan into her skin. I release her, licking my lips as I rise. Her chest is heaving, and I wished to paint a picture and hang it up to cherish forever. Instead, I repeated the same procedure on her other inner thigh. Then, on the calves I had admired forever. I left my marks (mine) all across her perfect, untainted body (mineminemineminemine). I feel my face covered in her sanguine fluid, and it is euphoric.

I once again take my utility knife, which shines like the woman’s crystalline tears. Speaking of which, I see her eyes widen as it comes into view, and my heart swells in pride. “Do you like it?” I asked. “I like to take care of what’s mine (minemineminemine).” She’s shaking again, trying to crawl backwards up the bed, but the blood loss has weakened her significantly. Her fragility is my strength, and I climb on top of her. The power I hold over my partner is the best part of our games. I sit on top of her legs, feeling her try to buck me off. I let a laugh escape my mouth (the only thing escaping), knowing that she knows that her attempts are feeble at best. My cock, once again fully hard with the adrenaline coursing through me, rests on her stomach, which is covered in my marks (mineminemineMINE). The grip on my stunning knife doesn’t waver, nor does my gaze on her stunning face. I rest it on her stunning throat, simply rest it. She stills. I relish in this moment, as it is better than any orgasm I will ever have. I finally presspresspress, and feel her trachea give way. She gasps, and struggles, but I don’t laugh this time. I keep pressing, she keeps struggling, until her breath gives out. My breath. My blood. My body. Mineminemine.

I wrap my hand around her (my) bleeding throat, feel its stillness, and let her (my) blood coat it. I then take my cock and stroke it, looking down at the piece of art I own. No one else gets to have this. Only me.