≡ if i beg if i plead

"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..."