The Butcher

It is no rumor that men think about sex every six seconds. My days are spent contemplating about the multiple ways I want to have HER. It all begins with a kiss, as our navels meet, my hands explore, I grip her tightly to become acquainted with every square inch of her skin. I want her to FEEL my thoughts. I want to bring them to life and use her body as the canvas for my masterpiece. With each breath she takes she will understand what a real craving is. She will get to know my essence, my desires and my power. She need not want for more after I’m finished. Convulsion after convulsion her body will be spent, depleted of all its energy. I wish to leave her lifeless, drenched in sweat, dripping with ecstasy, wanting to stand but paralyzed by pleasure. My name will echo in her mind and my face will be scattered across her vision. Not a word will be uttered for she will have no breath to speak with. I’ll be the reason for her sleepless nights, for her mental exhaustion and her physical desires. Not a day goes by in which my mind does not devour her. The way she creeps across my skull leaves footprints that don’t wash off, and in the midst of her walking she will meet the butcher that will tear her apart. She is all I want and the only thing that will satiate my needs.


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