≡ if i beg if i plead

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?"