| Current mood: |  restless |
| Current music: | Natalie Merchant - My Skin |
...I need the darkness.
Hmm... if only I knew a whore. Ah, here's one.
He stood over the whore, watching the way the light shimmered over her coffee brown skin. He chuckled quietly as she writhed before him, and then fell silent as his eyes caught the small trickle of blood working down the edge of her palm from her wrist. He stood over her, transfixed by the sight of her dark skin and her blood, darker still in the half-light of the abandoned warehouse. His thin lips curling with a delighted smirk as the woman sobbed before him. Helpless, terrified and his. He stood over her, his dick gripped in his hand as he moaned softly, watching her. Watching the way the ropes cut in against her now swollen wrists, the dark mottled blueness to her hands from being bound before him for hours on the rough, dirty floor. A fitting place for a whore like her. His smirk twisted into a slow snarl as a low groan ripped from his throat, his hand tightening as he shuddered, splattering the whore with his shame.
“You dirty slut.. look what you made me do.” He let loose with a scream of rage as he drew back his booted foot, kicking out hard against her face. Her sobbing silenced with a sickening crack as her nose breaks under the brutal assault. Whimpering, he fell to his knees and sobbed, burying his face in his hands, his hair falling through his fingers, catching the light in a shimmer of blond highlights. “…Look at what you made me do…”
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