(Belongs in horror. Thank you for your consideration. Sick site, by the effin way)
There is a distinct pleasure to be had hunting. There are cries, sweats and moans all ending in blood and screams.
Alert! A Murderer follows you in the night beneath a wicked moon. There is a howl in the air as your tight candy ass walks feverishly, guided by madness. Your heart, my mind. Your fingers, my spine. I know you can sense me like a hell on wind. I saw you in the nightclub you were far too young to be in. I eyed you by the bar talking shit about things you haven’t experienced. I saw you drink again and again, your veins and blood soon saturated with insanity and warmth and sin. You know now, as I follow you, that sin is what I like.
I can smell you ten feet ahead, two blocks ahead. A full fucking mile ahead. The faster and harder you step the louder and crazier you taste on the wind. I can gleam your short black hair rustling drunkenly against your spooky kid concert tee. Fuck you. Soon enough I guess, but not before I torture you. I can only see night now; I am walking faster than you. Your tiny legs can’t keep up, slow up, choke up; soon I will bend them back behind your smooth neck and plunge a knife into your gut. I can already feel the wetness of blood as my fist hits your nose and red splatters my shirt.
There are others I ignore, all for the love of you. The love of sprawled kid in an alley staggering drunk and knocked near dead; head and shoulders smell sticky in my hands as I wrap your hair between fingers and bone. I feel a left middle finger in a fleshy, beautiful green eye and a thumb pressed against your groin. There was a scream just now. Did you HEAR that shit? Memorize it and recite it to me later.
You turned the corner. Can’t feel my chase on your back anymore, can you? Wait… give it a second; I will catch up. The moisture between your legs is a rugged scent I can follow for a hundred thousand years. I’ve got you now. Even as you feel relief the heart is trepidating and knows; when I approach, it will all be over. End life, knife throat, veins cold.
This was a ::wrong:: turn. No where the fuck to go; you sped down the alley to escape me. I hunt you. All fifteen years and ninety pounds of you smack into a metal pipe, held by a homeless man. Another crack against your stomach, ribs, chest. There is screaming now; with pain and those sighs I love way too much. I see another man grab your head. Fuck. You don’t even reach his stomach. He is going to kill you. Eventually, but not yet. You don’t even bother screaming for help; you fear that I will hear you. I heard you already though; three hours ago, you asked for me. Here the fuck I am. NOW what?
Pipe man lets an open fist across your face. Died raven bangs dart across your forehead. There is confusion, searing pain, a hand on your firm little ass. There is a sharp object poking your lower left rib from behind, as a palm presses firmly against your back and pushes you into the humid back alley cement.
The taste of grit and piss fills the corner of your mouth. Something is pissing on you, doll. Pucker up and flush it down. You are flipped over; on your back. Mr. Pipe is holding your arms out and kneels above your head. The bigger fucker presses his thumbs into your inner thighs respectively, spreading you all apart. There is a knee in your stomach and he is mounting you. What the fuck? You are a horse. Giddy up.
The knee is a big round pain crimping your organs up; your wrists wriggle against two grimy hands holding them down. So many punches. Fuck man removes his knee; the prophecy is begun… Dr. Pipe is insane you see; the urge to press his thumb into that big beautiful green eye is irresistible; IN it goes…. Thucking and mucking and squishing around and NOW you scream. …What the shit did you just say? Jesus can’t fucking hear you. But I can.
He who lives to fuck removes your black jeans down to your thong. You FREAK. He is gentle now; thumbing and pressing filthy fuck hands in and around you. There is a siren in the distance. There are knees on your little handjob hands now; and the filthy Dr. Pipe sits cock relieved three inches from your lips. Yep. A slimy hand pushes down on your chin and lets your mouth open; another inserts a beaded, fetid dick into your mouth. There is a thumb pressing oddly into your abdomen…
A car screeches off in the distance. Fucker is inside you now. Holy fucking shit it’s like a baseball bat! Home run mother fucker; you are out of time. Something is squeezing your tits so hard that pain is oozing out of what room there is left from every orifice (what with greasy sore infested prick in you and all) in raw, energetic spurts of hell and flesh. Everything is a blur. There is a smell like ass and vomit all around you. There is a thumping and a banging; nothing more. You are blind in one eye and very near death, near the end, near me. Something cold… no more rod in you; but something freezing like ice from your throat, spilling out very fast. There Is a greasy, wet hole in your lower stomach which bleeds as earnestly as your neck. The two get up and run. You pull yourself together to stand up; half naked. That blood won’t stop kid; it’s fucking EVERYWHERE.
There. I heard you. Take my hand; the fun begins now. Smell that? It’s Egyptian musk, my favorite bride. I will dress you in black and red and chain you to my wrist. I count you amongst my most blessed of slaves. You should have stayed home and baked cookies with your sister.