SadisticExcess

There is something beautifully erotic contained in in a drop of blood. It falls in glossy crimson beads from your skin which weeps sadly for the loss, yet rapidly works to repair the damage. It perishes as it falls, that blood, the life it contains slowly withering away as the moisture evaporates, leaving only red-brown flecks of DNA, a sad memorial to its former glory.

It aches to find another place to fall, another moist cavity so that it can burrow and live once again in your skin. Instead all it finds is the humid moisture of my breath as I inhale its scent; it finds the flat of my tongue as I lave the spot where it writhes in agony upon your skin. It lives again for the brief moment on my tongue before my saliva dilutes and disects the spicy metallic flavor.

Swallowed, it has no choice but to be absorbed by my body, caged, eternally separated from you by my flesh. Soon, it is devoured by its captor, no longer a part of you, but now a part of me. It works to fulfill my needs, feed by body. Yet somewhere, the need to return to you remains.

Like a foreign agent, it labors twards its own end. It whispers insidiously of sweetness, of pliant flesh, warm skin and silky black hair. It works until it taints my blood with its own desire to go back to you.

I want to give in. It would be so much easier to give in - to silence the screams made by each drop of my blood. My hands curl into fists. My knuckles whiten and the veins in my forearms pulse with rage at my unrelenting control.

I will not yield. As much as it screams at me, it will not break my will. It is too strong, and has seen me through harder times. It is jaded, my will, and will not give in to pretty words or even the sincerity that taints your voice.

Pride is the only payment it will accept. Pride, paid with checks made from tears.