WARNING: Torture, NonCon follows. Don't know what that is? Message me.
~
You are beautiful.
You don't think to reply – after all, why would someone like you say anything to someone like me?
You're huddled beneath the trees in the dark, stray beams of moonlight making their way through the leaves and dappling your skin like the bruises that will be there in time. Your eyes are wide with what could be some unreasonable fear – your chest heaves under a thin white dress shirt and your breath turns into white mist on the cool night air and disappears. You are shuddering profusely, and I can only imagine the chill that has been sinking into your bones and flesh for the past half-hour.
Are you alright?
Of course, you are only cold. I am the only one who thought to bring a jacket. You were the one who had suggested we stay inside this evening; in fact, you even named the places we would go to.
This is our first time meeting. We have known each other through emails, chat rooms and instant messaging for so long… Now is both the first and the last time we will ever see each other face to face. Now is the last time I will ever drive with you through an overgrown forest road, and it is the last time you will ever witness me lock the keys in the car while we stretch our legs.
I'm sorry.
And no, It's not okay. I should have been more careful. Locking the keys in the car… I haven't done that since high-school!
I sit next to you, pulling you next to me and half-under my winter coat. I feel you shiver beside me and put your cold hands around my waist. You are comfortable with me touching you, like you already know who I am.
That's sad, isn't it... You don't know a thing about me.
Your lips are soft as I push my own to them – you don't resist. Instead, you lean further into my touch and open your mouth to me.
I pull back; look into your eyes for a second before kissing my way down your throat. I make my way to your collar bone and suck before pushing my teeth down hard enough to leave a mark.
I know it hurts. And no, I'm not sorry even if I said so.
I slip you past the tree that your leaning on and onto the forest floor.. You still don't resist me, but your eyes have that fear in them again, and this time I know why. It's the way I'm touching you. It's the way I've firmly placed my hands on either side of you so that you don't hurt, but you wouldn't be able to escape if I tried. It's the look in my eyes as I slowly unbutton your thin white dress shirt and slide it over your shoulders.
I rest my head on your chest, still cold from the brisk night air and not at all warmed by my hungry caress. I can hear your heartbeat, quickening as my fingers unbutton your pants and slide between the tight fabric and cool skin.
I can feel you getting nervous – I know your movement from many times before. I hear the gently uttered pleas that pass your lips; I see the beads of sweat that form on your forehead even though the evening is a cold one.
I smell your fear.
Now you are completely bare on the forest floor; I may do what I wish and I will not neglect to. This is my night and this is your last…
I bury myself deep inside of you and watch as your face spasms before you let out a groan. I watch tears leak from under your closed eyelids – you are trying to block out the pain… pain cannot be blocked. I know this and the switchblade in my pocket will make sure of this.
You are beautiful.
Beauty is not pure. Beauty is wild and random and emotion. Beauty is you underneath me, writhing and screaming yourself hoarse as I pound into you and blood runs over the smooth pale curve of your cheekbone. Beauty is the way contusions appear like magic over your skin; like wild black roses sprouting form a field of snow – breathtaking and awe inspiring and impossible…
Beauty is the fact that you cannot struggle any more. Beauty is the way that your eyes widen and your neck twists in my tightening hands. The way you gasp needily for breath and your pulse flutters like a caged bird…
You rest, silent in the moonlight; a broken angel forsaken by his lord and left unprotected and destroyed. I, the demon, take my spare set of keys from my discarded coat's pocket and open the drivers' door of my truck. I start the vehicle and continue my drive down the overgrown forest road.
I notice a spot of blood on my right wrist and bring my hand to my mouth.~
~end
Author notes
A/N: *hides* I'm sorry! I'm a prose writer at heart! *sniffles*
Please comment - I want to know whether I freaked y'alls out or if people are actually okay with this.
A contest entry
- Murderous, Gruesome, Sick, Twisted....... by Synthetic-Nightmare.
1600 points, ended June 8, 2007, 35 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
...
Comments
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WOW......
THIS IS AMAZING! I am absolutely speechless, you did such a great job with this. It really draws the reader in and makes you WANT to continue. It holds your attention to the end and does NOT dissappoint. I'm astounded at how well done this is, kudos and good luck in the contest!


