sunlight caressed her spine, her smooth waistline, lithe ribcage shadowed in a cadence of fleshly desire; its festering glow, highlighting every delicious trace of feminine curve and voluptous symmetry; lucrecia, slinking forward, her bodice drenched in reptilian grace, were twisting in a slow, and elegant motion. the dusk breeched, leaving the noon in a harsh breath of eerie silence; and in her imminent solitude, in her lingering and satiated wanderlust. she would contentedly gaze, dream into the deepest ravine, as her slender body mysteriously passed; manifesting, dancing from one shadow to another. she felt the chill of evening curl into her sanguine tresses; its roaming fingertips sliding, and raking, across the supple curves of her creamy flesh. caressing her hips, bathing her skin, in a milky veil of translucent obsidian. her eyes gleaming sweet and divine, misted and amorous by their decided, feminine cruelty. she, in her relentless apathy; her merciless stoicism and devious endeavour - would further masque the violent atonement that lay its possessive siege, within the breast of her pounding heart.



lucrecia possessed a deep, unrelenting hunger; an appetite so morbid and relishing; her soul, so hollow and horrifying - dead; ached to fill its endless, amaranthine void. to sugar her tongue in soiled blood, dried carcasses; to wrap her fangs around sin and erotic venues, where she may fantasize the sweetest of deaths (and just as pleasurable, its insubordination - beg and release). it drove her wild, made her gasping as such writhing hysteria, such madness, pushed her beyond the control of alluring sanity; full of need and bestial surrender. to worship and viciously possess the remnants of flesh, lust - not a mere craving, no; it were the essence of her soul. the very mortal fabrication that defined her existence as a woman, a lover and a sinner. fore your affections, your intimacies and their romantic expressions; they all belong to me.

Table by Azil. Do not use without permission.

now dance, fucker, dance

man, he never had a chance


The lingering dusk brought about a beast to prowl, craving the waxing shadows that clung to his voluptuous figure at each twist and turn, a monster of the night, craving the cover of darkness and the very essense of a cold, vapid exterior. It was the fire that drove him, the narcissistic cravig ofthe very things that granted him idle pleasure and stirred the monster that lingered behind a mask of indifference and tepid despite - an innate annoyance in vehement retaliation to the air he breathes, the despical need to feed, drink, filling his gullet and emptying it, never sustained, never satisfied. Meat did not fill him, blood did not calm him; he was insatiable, impossible to please, harder still to even mildly amuse. He craved something more carnal, something to give him life, to fuel the dying emotions of his charcoal heart, his blackened soul, and it was with his swaying stride that he sought solution to his deprivation of even minute pleasure, hunting ruthlessly for anything that might distract him - might console his dying sense of compassion. But he knew - oh, how he knew - that the next morning would not bring him peace, and his wanton violence would only leave him wanting more, craving the virgin flesh of victims crying for reprieve, anything to make him stop. They knew, even when they whimpered and begged, that they would not find sympathy in those eyes, hardened to life's cruelties and prone to deliver them himself. Driven by vehement apathy, he trundles onwards, persistent only in the manners of his compulsion to harm, slowed only by the silhouette in the distance, catching his eye and holding his stare, tempting absent fascination and bringing his progression to a halt. Hungrily - a predator sizing up his prey - he watches her, drinking in every inch of her ample curves and soft golden curls. She is perfection incarnate, and in that very instant, he loathes her. He loathes her beauty, her simple ability to catch and hold his attention simply by being, and in his silent stillness, he is disgusted with himself, disgusted by the mere fact of his arousal simply because he is male and thus cannot help his woeful urge to sate his loins. Folds of fleshy skin pull back against his narrow muzzle, his annoyance written across an unwelcoming facade as he continues to watch her, unable to turn away now that she has appeared and serves only as an apparition to taunt and rile his nerves, poking and prodding at the meager resolve he has thrown around himself.

Code by Azil, image by Ragur. Do not use without permission.

"you entice me," lucrecia whispers in a gentle, soothing purr - her voice, sweet and tender; caressive in their innate, female sensuality. thirsting for his malicious esurience; his wicked, amoral resolve?his touch, his warmth, and their burning ardor; to bathe the contours of her delicate flesh in the oceans of his pestilential lust. to pull his sinewy body above hers; so powerful and deliciously masculine; where she may see his face contorting with intense pleasure, groaning into her hips with unbridled and passionate ecstasy. she whispers, in all the sadistic glorification to taste his violence, dig her nails into his soul, make him hers. to feel him writhing beneath her skin and flesh laden in sweet desire. his primitive lust. his hatred, the pain and self-destructive lacerations he has endured, relished for eternity, in the ache of his moral coil. "you frighten me," she murmurs again, seething playfully; her lips curving into a lush, and radiantly angelic expression; serenading in a voice so mesmeric, and lascivious, she all but begged for him to devour her. fruits of sin. roses of carnal surrender. she smelled of such beautiful, deadly enticements?a vessel of supreme desire, consummate intoxication. her perfume glistened raw with animalistic love and heated allure. it beckoned and whispered, it offered the sweetest of primal temptations.


secretively, she finds his stoic demeanor insanely irresistible; his heartlessness, demonic, as he stared at her in a manner so vexatious, disturbing. fear, o, how the wretched anomaly clung desperately to her hourglass figure; a shiver, unseen, as lucrecia anticipates in her graceful nervousness. she had never met a being so destitute of emotions; devoid, as though he were an emptied chalice, and she, the blood to be poured?the lamb and virgin sacrificed in his satanic resurrections. "and yet, in my fear; i want you." o, how i desperately want you.

Table by Azil. Do not use without permission.

now dance, fucker, dance

man, he never had a chance


She is vicious, carnal in her wanton desire and subtle pleading, her heartless craving of him and taunt to draw him forth, but he remains statuesque save for the vibration of his larynx, deftly enraptured with an irritable growl, resisting in every tense contour of his fibrous body. Her desire, lustful in each beat of her dead, black heart, serves to fuel his fury, to tempt the beast of his despise, his innate loathing and inherent need to drive the stake through her soul, to see her bleed as he has and know the pain that ravages him, the hatred that is carved across his face, exposing the slaving weaponry of a monster - he wants her, but in each foul breath, he refuses her. "You cannot have me," he breathes, the rough purr rasping against his tongue, coarse and unpracticed, the thick insistence that he meant the ludicrous phrase, that she would not batter down his resolve and make him out to be a fool, lost in lust and desire when he has promised himself loyalty - created the one moral of his desires and thus refuses any woman to come across his path; there would be only one, and he would not defile himself now for an enchantress that tempted the fire burning within him, for a woman he did not think could contort to his one-sided views. He is rigid, each tense muscle screaming for reprieve, for him to give in, but he cannot - oh, he cannot! - even though his body pleads, his sinew trembles and his heart bleeds for her, captured by the spell of her mere existence, her subtle temptation and lure to draw him, to taste his supple flesh and devour him entirely in her bestial craving, her plea for his body and soul and his inability to give her either, the latter having all but fled him. He will give her nothing, knowing then that he can lose nothing, can feel no further pain if he keeps his guarded walls, his firm insistence that he will not bend and break, will not be the pliable mold she is searching for.

Code by Azil, image by Ragur. Do not use without permission.

"but i know what you need - i know what you want... i know what... turns you on..." her luscious voice drips, thick, alluring; drenched in enticing promiscuity?a lush, sweet Scandinavian accent deepening the hunger, the invalidating massacre, of her lusty, feminine tone. lucrecia, a nymphomaniac, yearned for his acclamation; begged, lusting for the warrant, the possession, of his heart and soul. thirsting viciously for his eminent praise, his smouldering affections. moistening the edges of her svelte tongue, caressing her fangs; touching her lips in a wild, begging scream that scratched the flesh of her throat; svelte larynx writhing, in a witch's ragged and needy snarl. "o, how i want you, i want you," she would whisper, whisper, whisper. diluted behind her relentless fantasies; pounding her fury, her repetitive appetition, her irate pleas teased against his skull. o, how her blood boiled, hot and rancid; wicked and loathing; "how dare you!" she finally seethes, hissing in a breathless, feline mew; as he rips her heart, and just like that?her apperception; her dream, her perfected idolization of love and eternal romance were infinitely destroyed. lucrecia would passionately ache, simpering in his sheer aversion?his hatred cuts through her body, her soul, deep; wretched, leaving painful, scarring wounds. anticipating his touch, ruminating his love, imagining his affectionate embrace devouring her curves, pushed against the arousing heat of his hard, male flesh. tracing his beautiful, grecian features beneath the adorning veil of her sultry eyes. aching in those intimate seconds, aching?knowing he will never be hers. lucrecia sinks gracefully to the earth, folding unto herself; (crawling on her hands and knees) a broken angel. feeling the wet soil stain her flesh, grating the smooth curves of her lithe ankles, and supple thighs. breathing, sweet sibilation; her frenzied ardor wraps around his image, his abhorrent voice penetrating her mind; a vitiated, and struggling disease. she were feral, a merciless wrath. a predator; a needle; thirsting for a pinprick, a dose of cocaine to soothe her addictive hunger, released as fire and ecstasy through her veins. a touch, a tender moment; a driving cure to fill her heart with love (to fill her heart with a temporary, fleeting happiness) ?however fabricated?if it only reminded her of what it were once like to feel empathic; to feel alive; to be completely, and beautifully, human. yet, in his repudiation, she would find no surrender, so soothing alleviation; he would not feed her web of synthetic lies. and in his hateful absolution, she began to starve. and starve. and starve. "i can set you free..." she whispers, her voice frail?laced in a delicate, and savory venom; her voice, tender and deceptive; caressed in an undertone of female sexiness, gorgeous malice. her eyes glistening with a renewed vengeance?an immense, fresh hatred, that would rival and consume his own?as she lifts her elegantly sculpted head, casting her gaze towards him in a harsh, unrelenting glare. flashing him a provocative smile, she slips along the ground, (crawling on her hands and knees), revealing her submission. bowing along his feet, a slave to her master. breathing at his chest, begging for his touch. his grace. his mercy. "i can make you feel alive..."

now dance, fucker, dance

man, he never had a chance


He sways, vile and venomous, reveling in her despicable attire, her need to entice him, to tempt him to delve into the atrocious attire of her desires, her craving soul that bleeds for him, taunts him and makes him hiss and spit with all the fury of a cobra. "You know nothing," he snarls, vehement as his muscles coil, writhing angrily beneath supple flesh, heated with his fury, unwilling to be disrobed by this woman, little more than a harlot, a whore who desired him just for one night, craving what he might have to offer, but he would give her nothing, would not succumb to her grotesque charm and maliced attempts to woo him. She falls, wounded by his apathy, his lack of love for her and his inability to please her how she so desires and craves, slaving against the earth in the bedraggled shadow of a woman who might have known pride once, but is demolished to loathsome groveling in the face of denial, of failure. It is nothing short of disgusting, a crime worthy of his most abhorrent punishments, and he thinks he might ravage her then, in every definition of the word except the one that she wanted, the one that left her panting in pleasure and craving more -- that was the one thing he would harshly deny her. She heaves on the earth before him, a broken angel (though he sees only the devil's sins), clawing at his door, begging his forgiveness, his love and wanton lust, but he has no love to give her, no craving for her flesh, for the feel of her supple curves leaning into him, for he knows it would not last, knows she will return to her habits the moment he is done with her, and so he denies her again, revealing enamored fangs with lips peeled back, coated in a thick film of his frothing saliva, his fury insurmountable, though he is restrained, and he recoils, slinking back, slithering away from her before she can reach him. He leaves her there, thrashing on the earth like a rabid animal, crawling towards him and never depleting the distance he retains, feral and agonizing over her disdain, granting her a macabre grin and a guttural growl. "How many?" he muttered, the low husky drawl of his voice laced with his annoyance, his despise, "how many men will it take until you are truly satisfied?"

Code by Azil, image by Ragur. Do not use without permission.

"if i had a heart, perhaps then, i would anticipate satisfaction; if i had a heart, perhaps, only then," her hiss envelopes a passionate violence, seething murderously. her song lurid - her voice, enticing malevolent cruelty; vindictively invidious, lustful and poison-imbued, dripping hotly against her curvaceous, silvery fangs. she is pained, whispering hatefully; her vexation gleams against the soft moonlight. such wanton conciliation drips in silky endeavour, her lithe throat puslating in a gentle vein. obsidian lashes, fluttering, her eyes glistened in moist abstention; and her heart aches, tearing her breast - pining in a warm memory, fore his malice eats her alive. denying the aversion to lament, to fell melancholy tears at his encroachment - his assailment on her delicate pride. lucrecia would remember these few seconds, they were hot as fire; and her vindication, were hotter than hell. when she feels his warmth slowly evading, relinquishing in a shadowy liquid against the smooth contours of her bodice; lucrecia shimmers in pure, unadulterated rage. a rage she smothers, rapidly synching her breast in a furious yet silent sigh. smooth chin would curl, enticed in savage eloquence; turning away in a lush shiver of dark, blonde curls, their satiny tendrils felling across her narrowed, frail shoulderblades. she slips, swiftly averting her gaze and dancing beneath his masculine subjugation, submissive at last. his withdrawal forces her eminent retreat, and this moment - bitterly afflicted, burning in womanly scorn - lucrecia refrains from following the czar into his precious darkness. she remains desolate, devoid of advancement. the scarlet succubus lays, breathing against the earthen splendor; swelling beneath his receding animosity. her slender hips swaying, lush-toned limbs slithering in lithe curls and sharp, carnal curves; sliding forward in smooth, elegant movements to pronounce the beginnings of her abandonment of him. "seeing that my presence is completely undesirable, perhaps, i shall leave you in the company of silence. forgive my, bold intrusion. i will never dream of fucking you again."