Page 9 of Our Monstrous Hearts

I falter, questioning if this is what I want.

My lips part as I make my decision and seal my fate. His tongue is savage and unrelenting, marking me with every stroke. He steals the breath from my lungs, ravaging me without mercy.

He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, drawing blood, and I cry out before his long, slimy tongue laps over my lips, smearing viscous spit everywhere it trails.

He pulls back, a trail of saliva connecting us. He looks down at me, admiring my form. Hair wild, face flushed, body trembling. All for him.

My body mourns the distance, the warmth disappearing, so I reach out—slowly, cautiously, wary of those sharp, sharp teeth. I need him closer. I want him closer.

I want him.

“Please,” I whisper. Desperation clings to my words, but I’m unsure what I’m begging for. “Please,” I ask again as he grips my wrist, bringing my fingers into his mouth. With hooded eyes, I watch him suckle on my fingers, slurping, leaving each digit glistening.

“What do you seek, my wicked angel?” He leans down, holding both hands above my head with a firm, yet gentle grip. His bulge presses against me, and I mewl, writhing, arching up as the wetness between my thighs becomes unbearable. “Do you need me to satisfy your ache? Do you need me to fuck your cunt until I split you in half? Do you want to scream for me?”

“Oh God,” I moan, his dirty words shooting down my body to ignite something fierce within me. He grips my face to squeeze my cheeks together, teeth bared. Surprise strikes me momentarily as I realize––I’m not scared. I know that the monster won’t hurt me, not in a way that would traumatize me or leave me wishing for the end. Not like he did.

“God will not hear you, wicked one. There is only me, for you are mine.”

When he first stood all-imposing and sinister within this room, I was afraid that he would make me feel like I was chained to the bottom of the ocean, that it would begin anew the same cycle of abuse I faced with Clayton. Only now, I’m finding that I crave it—his obsession, and how his desire makes me feel.

I feel special.

My body softens. Perhaps I have been misunderstanding him. He looks evil, but true evil can be found in husbands who hurt instead of protect. Husbands who lie. Husbands who make their wives wish for the end.

“What is your name?”

His grin is fiendish as he moves down my body. My breathing stutters as his clawed fingers brush along my bare leg, exposed when my nightgown was hiked up over my hips while he ground against me.

“Izcacus.” He leans down to my pussy, takes a long, deep breath in, and moves his hands to my thighs, ready to part them.

“Wait!” I cry out, slamming my legs and eyes shut. “You––you can’t.” I quietly admit, “I’m on my period.”

The words leave a sour taste in my mouth, my stomach churning as I remember how much Clayton hated it when it was that time of month for me. His words echo through my mind—I am disgusting, my body is repulsive. No one would ever find me attractive.

My chin trembles, and the urge to punish myself returns. Clayton isn’t here to beat me, but I want to do it myself. I’m just not good enough.

My body readies to flee, and I begin to pull away.

“You are my perfect, exquisite little thing.”

I peek out at him through closed eyes. My breath hitches when I see him before me. Izcacus kneels as if readying himself to worship at the temple that is my flesh, as if preparing to pray to the savage god that is my soul. “Let me venerate this divine cunt. Let me feast like a starving man to replenish my essence with your sweet nectar.” He says it with such ferocity that my eyes fly entirely open, mouth dropping down, and while it surely cannot be possible, Izcacus isn’t leaving room for argument.

My monster pulls my underwear down and off before bringing the fabric to his nose. I watch with a strange fascination as he inhales, eyes rolling back in feral rapture.

My pounding heartbeat drowns the melancholy, the ache between my thighs washing it away with a fervorous, throbbing need.

Izcacus looks at me with a primal, lust-darkened gaze like he can already taste me on his tongue. He looks at me as if I will be his favorite meal.

With one talon he lightly brushes my center, his frown causing me momentary panic. What if he finds me repulsive…down there? I’m hit, suddenly, with the need to be everything he craves, but before I can spiral further, my alarm is interrupted by a familiar weight leaving my body.

He presents my dripping tampon by the string, and I grimace. It’s not a pleasant sight, but before I can think too long on how the large, gelatinous clots that cling to it must disgust him, he surprises me. Instead of revulsion, there’s a gleam in his eyes, and I watch, bewitched, as he places the tampon in his mouth, wraps his lips around it, and sucks.

The wet sounds of cotton being drawn through lips and teeth fills the room as he sucks on it like a lollipop, swallowing until it runs dry. His eyes drift closed, and the faintest of smiles graces his gaunt face.

My eyes are wide, equally parts disturbed and oddly turned on. When he turns his attention back to me he drops the tampon, hands quick to latch around my ankles so he can pull me down onto my back. I squeal from the playfulness of the movement and almost smile in return.

His breath tickles my center, forcing my back to arch off the bed in anticipation. Izcacus hovers as if he’s teasing me, and I wiggle, thrusting my pelvis into his face. He huffs with amusement and a dramatic whine leaves my mouth.