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In my mind, I could see the cut. Smell the blood.
“More.” The hiss came from above.
I craned my head backward.
A white creature on the ceiling writhed in the fresh cherry smear of new blood. The feathered red stain surrounded her as if she were an angel—a snow angel in gore.
Light beamed out of her eyes, from her mouth, and from between her thighs. The ray blasted across the room with a brilliance that blinded.
Squinting, I could only just make out the billow of her long hair as if in her heavens the wind moaned.
Her limbs were splayed, forced open by chains and held by disembodied hands that reached through the plaster like talons wrenching her apart. Something unseen fucked her from behind, her body undulating to the primitive rhythm of sex. Blood trailed from her wrists and breasts—flesh rent by talons and teeth in an orgy of pain. All the while her mouth remained open, frozen in the perfectOof a never-ending orgasm.
FEE-FI-FO
I SMELL A HO
BE SHE LIVE OR BE SHE DEAD
I’LL GRIND HER SWEET CUNT UPON MY COCK HEAD
Shut up, leech.
The gore angel hissed.
Was this dream? Or nightmare?
Or vision?
AHH, MEMORIES.
I caught her on the rooftop balcony of my chateau in France, tearing away the dress, corset, chemise, gloves, and drawers with no regard for flesh and bruises. Disposable, desirable when naked, she is nothing but food—food for my cock, and food for my nightmare creatures. They bite and tear as I pummel the girl from behind.
The strap-on metal half-sheath I wear, with the mauve rose-thorn motif, makes her a squeaky, screamy fuck. A bloody one also—the thorns curved, and sharp. A lulling threat. Though nice on the inward stroke, for her, the thorns bite on the outward, but the metal dulls all my feels.
I never use that one again, leave her on the fine tiles of the balcony with the cock sheath in her.
FUCK YOURS LIKE THAT.
STUCK IN A JACKET.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the scene as the creature sank into the ceiling, the paint merging with her until she was gone. The blood ebbed and slipped away.
Normality.
“Val?” Zara sounded scared and small.
Her fear curled around my balls, and I bit back the groan.
I wanted...
MORE
Fuck.
I changed my grip, holding the knife by the blade I squeezed, the pain brought some relief.
Clarity.
