M - daydream milk and genocide.
#34
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Rapid pulse pushing against his teeth; blood separated only by a thin layer of skin. It would be like sinking his teeth into soft butter, and the reward would send sweet cherry juice to further stain his frame. He longed for that, but there would be a birth and he would make his own version of her supposedly true words. She was a mere object—he would carve out his own destiny with her body. Stained jaws ripped as he twisted away from her throat and admired the leaking marks he had bestowed her body. He felt her hips thrust against the working fingers playing her strings and the continuously blooming warmth within her as her muscles worked and carried her higher.

With a vision shrouded with soft red he watched the fine muscles in her face twitch and squirm like the body under him. His fingers withdrew from her soaked depths and pushed her working hand away from his pulsing member, though he felt insanity and lust race instantly to fight for the space in his brain. Although he often found that he preferred fear tossing their bodies around, the sight of her continued to add to the struggle to fill his lungs enough to comprehend the fire she so foolishly had lit deep in his stomach. It was thrashing wildly now, clawing away his insides like an obsessed animal. Clawed fingers dug into her hips and lifted her closer, roughly and without any concern of her wellbeing.

He was nearly blasted away the moment her silky warmth enveloped his entire length. His teeth sought her flesh again with the never ending greed he cared little to hold back anymore. He could feel it rising up through his core—twisting and raging higher for every plunge into her body. So sweet and beautiful—he drank from the red oozing injuries all across her front—drawing more red from her body with his jaws as the climbing orgasm slammed into his thrusting body. A vicious snarl rose hot against the woman’s drenched fur as the sensation boiled his blood so thrillingly as he pushed his way towards the toppling quake.


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