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Suffering and Dismay

You have felt nothing for her but hate, malice, and jealousy. Not for weeks or months, but years.

But as your fingers dig deep into the delicate skin of her pussy lips, and then plunge even further into her sacred inner walls of pink, she begins to cry — both with sound and shedding.

As she does, and as beneath you she squirms, desperate to escape your terrible vengeance, you want her.

Not to love, but to devour.

Not to kiss and caress, but to keep and punish for your own sadistic and loathing-born pleasure.

Her every shriek being the most beautiful sound you have ever heard.

Her every tear being the sustenance you never knew that you needed.

Her suffering your heaven. Her dismay your delicacy.

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