My Fetish

Room smells of blood, sweat, and hormones; it's erotic
Innocent, naïve eyes looking at me scared
I smile, but not in reassurance
She turns to walk away and I grip her
Hold her; she is soft like a doll
Fragile as an old porcelain record
Her mind spins like that same record
Not yet forceful I convince her to stay
Stay on my plate, ready for my feast
I speak words to her, same old bullshit
Words are too hard for her, yet too soft for me
She looks down; I pull her eyes to me
Already in her mind, forcefully fucking it
Tears spill out of the polychromatic eyes
I advance, she pushes to no avail
I continue towards her; not yet using all my force
That spinning record in her mind moves faster, and faster
I reach forward, grab her shirt; she scratches at me
I bleed, but I never retract my hand
She looks at me; she thought that I would stop
Stop? Why? Cause I'm bleeding? I know I'm human
Well, as human as a monster like me can be
I grip harder, she scratches again, my grip holds
I pull, she pulls back; shirt rips, she is surprised, I am glad
Black bra is slightly exposed, I'm becoming more excited
I still hold tight with the right, reach in with the left
She wears satin, nice tastes; ha ha taste… I will taste
She pulls back left hand looses grip, but not before feeling
Feeling the soft (I prefer them hard) protruding tit
She has gotten away from me, but I still have her torn shirt
Her record is spinning wildly, I've scratched it
I won't chase her, have to save my energy
She can run but only I have the room's only key
She pulls at the doorknob, bangs on the door
Stupid bitch has turned he back on me
Split-second decision: try to undo the bra clasps
Or, do I knock her down, so that I may straddle her
She turns in time to see my arm come her way
Arm hits head, head hits door, head hits floor
Why'd she turn, I don't like to bruise their faces
Fuck, stupid bitch, why'd she turn, Fuck
Have to get over it; she is hazy but not fully unconscious
Now is the time to finish the stripping
Bra tears but leather pants need to be peeled
Naked we embrace; well I embrace, still hazy she pushes
But it's the most affection I'll get
I reach for the soft flesh, record is chipping
I tie the hands behind her, before she is fully back
Like the artist that I am, I set to work
She is naked, soft, beautiful, and fragile (slightly damaged)
The records scratches are now becoming fault lines
I hover: grotesque, tough, and erect
She is back and kicking, I can't do this with her kicking
She is already damaged, so I smack her
She's out cold, hit harder than I thought
Conscious would be better than not
But submissive is fucking better than feisty
I check, she's alive: good can't have her die,
I couldn't continue if she died, that would be sick
I'm not sick, just very kinky