Dancing With Death, Flirting With Passion

I watched her from my car. The windows were fogged with the moisture of my breath, so I had wiped clear a small portion to see her. She walked slowly, as though she were plotting every step.

I knew she was a cutter; I had seen her arms, and it was no mystery to me where the deep lacerations came from. I should clear up why I care: I’m a cutter, and wounds, blood, and violence are my sex fetishes. This girl was a gothic princess. Her short, spikey black hair stuck out from her head in random spears, and her face was white as a porcelin doll. Her breats were fair, and her tight black shirt made them stand out. Her name was Rain, which was not the name her parents gave her, but one an old Indian wiseman had given her when she was six. She was 19 now.
Her and I had known each other for about a month. We met in a local club, the Afterdark, and have seen each other a few times since. Once, I came to her apartment to talk to her, and she came to the door with only a bra and panties on. Obviously, she had known it was me at the door ahead of time, because she made no effort to cover the fresh, deep cuts that covered her arms with dark red blood. I could feel myself getting aroused. I told her I’d come back some other time though, and left. I fucked myself sitting in the car in front of her building that day.
Tonight, she had agreed to meet me, after I had told her what had happened to me that day. She walked slowly down the sidewalk to my car. I opened the door.
“Hey, Rain, Gothic beauty,” I said, as she climbed into the seat. She smiled at me. We had agreed we would fuck that night, and I was excited and aroused.
“Hey, Shy, junkie god.” Her reply was matter of fact. We shot dope together a few times, and she knew I was an addict.
We drove to a park I had known about since I was a boy. I’m 19, like Rain, and it seemed like my boyhood was so far gone. When we pulled into the lot, it had begun to snow. The flakes gently dusted the ground, forewarning us to keep our windows up. We parked in the farthest space from the road. No one else was in the park but us.
“Shyler, I want you to make me bleed. I want you to cut my flesh open and taste my blood. I want you to take me. Now.” Rain looked at me violently. She pulled knife from her skirtwaist. I could feel the junk flow in my veins, as I had shot up while I waited for her. I felt myself getting hard, and Rain saw my tightening pants.
“Now, Shy. Cut me. Cut me and fuck me.” She undid my pants, reaching for my flesh. I took the knife from her hand. My raging erection made me crave her blood. I cut her, deep, in the middle of her back. The blood gushed, and she moaned in delight. I rubbed her life onto my hands, and stroked my cock, once, hard. She smiled. I ripped the rest of her clothes off her thin, white body. I cut her again, this time on her stomach. She moaned and writhed in joy. I felt her slip her red, red lips onto my cock, carressing my balls with her left hand, and bracing my cock with her right. I pulled my cock away. I told her to cut me, as deep as she could. She did, and I felt the blood gush down my chest. I moaned. I opened her legs, wanting her soft flesh. I slipped two fingers in her wettness. I rubbed my blood on her soft clit, and she moaned with delight. She pulled away suddenly, and grabbed my rock hard cock.
“Fuck me now,” she demanded. I flipped her onto her stomach, rubbing my hands in her blood. I pushed myself into her, and she moaned loudly. I could feel her pussy contract and ripple. I fucked her hard, plunging my cock deep inside of her. She screamed and moaned, on the edge of orgasm. I could feel my balls contract as they pushed cum into my cock. I was ready to explode.
With a final push, I let my cum into her body. She came harder and harded, and finally blew. We lay together, my cock still in her.
I drove her home later, after we had rested and talked. She made me promise we’d meet again….

By The Dying Euphoria

I may not be the average junk addict, seeing as I still have a few things going for me, but I'm a slave to heroin just the same. I'm a sad sight, no doubt, but that's the way life is, and you can't help it. So whatever you do, don't try and fuck with it. I like it when people e-mail me and reply to my posts, so please, speak your mind to me, if you wish. I have a blood, violence, and self mutilation fetish, so I'll spend a lot of time in the Erotica section, posting and reading. I write poetry, and I'll be posting thousands of poems. So please, check for my name often. If I disappear, well, I probably took my fetish too far...