CW: references to CNC edging on rape play, references to substance use
Every thought that passes through is violent.
Slammed into the wall so hard my head spins and I can taste the fury, your hands uncontained and wild, roving like someone losing the edge of control, the line between want and need nonexistent as you press against me, trapping me between the unforgiving brick and your unrepentant desire.
The rain falls quietly; the cars rhythmically pass with the shushushu of tires on wet concrete. Outside, there is a gentle peace to the falling drops. Inside, there is a hurricane.
My hands on your shoulders, dropping you down to your knees before you can think and the echo of a growl reverberates in your throat. I can think of better uses for that mouth. My fingers in your hair. Grasp and clench, guide your movements. Let me show you how to fuck me.
It’s a decorative calm, but pervasive nonetheless. The kind that leaves the side-by-side houses quiet, the leaves reflecting back a brilliant green, the air still. It’s an oppressive quiet, the kind that makes you want to scream to see if it will shatter the illusion.
Scream. I want to hear the sound of my voice ripped from my throat at your touch.
There’s the thunder. The gentleness was always a facade. The weather reflects my mood. I am glowing with the leaves, but I do not know their luminescent green. I am oxygen tasting blood for the first time, red and sweet and sharp and full of violent desires that spill over onto my skin. My voice is thunder, reverberating and shaking the stillness from the air.
Fuck me until I am begging you to stop, then keep going.
This broken world likes its illusions of peace, and I cannot stomach it. I am choking on rage and desire to shred the fabric of this mirage into pieces. I want to hurt, the way my soul aches, the way the fear sinks into my bones and petrifies my movements.
I want to control the fear that freezes my body by choosing it.
Every thought is violent. I am black-and-blue with desire. I am screaming in ecstasy. I am begging for mercy, begging for anything and everything in bliss. I am raw and choking on rage. Give me something better to choke on. Don’t let me stop.
I am unconscious, getting fucked awake. You’re stoned while I press deeper in your ass. I’m inverted, hitachi firm against my clit, screaming; I’ve already cum twice. You’re bleeding from the edges of my nails. I am tied to your bed. You are in my house without my knowledge.
I want to feel the shattering under my hands so that when we knit ourselves back together, it feels more real than this gentle taptaptapping of raindrops on rooftops. I want to fall apart so that I can remake myself stronger in the places I was weak enough to break.
I want to hurt. I want to hurt you. I want to fuck you violently, pushing through and past and beyond the gentle caresses and plunge my fingers into your intestines and grasp at your spine. I want to scream. I want to find the places where you reach panicked fear and get drunk on the look of uncertainty in your eyes. I want to watch you watching me, wondering how far this goes. I want to go further than you think.
Every thought is violent, but the world is violent and I carry it in my hands and hold it heavy in my heart. But your no’s sounds like yeses, or they will, eventually because you asked for this, remember? Is that you or me speaking? I lose track. Neither of us talk much anyway.
The rain falls harder, pressing up against the calm, your body pressing me into everywhere. The facade remains while the hurricane rages. The world is broken and this is catharsis.
Monomaniacism 