Hate me, break me.
Stab me, wound me.
Let your silver blade drink deep from the black well of my heart
until the crypt of this chamber echoes with our damned communion.
Through all the shattered glass within this forsaken room you shine,
pale and beautiful,
a marble revenant risen from some forgotten tomb.
Moonlight bleeds through cracked Gothic windows,
casting your naked form in cold silver fire—
breasts like alabaster sepulchers,
nipples hardened to obsidian points,
the shadowed cleft between your thighs already weeping nectar for the darkness.
I am broken, I am shattered
a ruined lord of crumbling stone and rusted iron,
my soul a cathedral long since desecrated.
Yet you stay,
kneeling amid the glittering shards like a penitent whore at the altar of pain.
Your eyes, luminous with unholy hunger,
lift to mine and beg in that velvet voice:
'Hurt me, Master. Break me open. Claim what remains of my soul.'
The riding crop descends
a serpent’s tongue of fire across your arched back,
each lash painting crimson sigils upon your flawless skin.
You cry out, a gothic hymn of agony and ecstasy,
hips rolling like a succubus in heat,
your cunt glistening, dripping slow rivulets down trembling thighs
to pool among the broken glass.
I seize the whip
black leather braided with silver thorns
and let it kiss your flesh in savage benediction.
It coils around your waist, bites into the soft globes of your ass,
then higher, curling around your heaving breasts until they bloom with welts
like roses on a grave.
You arch, offering everything: throat, wrists, the slick, swollen petals of your sex.
I plunge two fingers deep into your velvet abyss,
curling, stroking that secret infernal spot
until you convulse, squirting your sinful offering across the stone floor
in hot, shameful arcs.
“Beg,” I growl, voice like midnight bells tolling in a derelict steeple.
Your lips, bruised and trembling, obey:
“I am your eternal slave… even when the night takes you from me,
I shall feel your mark upon my soul.”
I drag you by the hair across the glass-strewn floor,
shards biting into your knees and palms like jealous lovers.
My cock, thick and iron-hard, breaches your dripping entrance in one brutal thrust
burying to the hilt inside your clutching, infernal heat.
I fuck you like the devil claims a bride,
each savage stroke grinding glass into your skin,
drawing thin threads of blood that mingle with your arousal.
Your walls flutter and spasm around me,
milking me with desperate, rhythmic contractions
as I choke you lightly, thumb pressing the frantic pulse at your throat.
You come undone with a wail that could wake the dead
body seizing, cunt gushing, tears of rapture streaking your pale cheeks.
I spill inside you, flooding your womb with molten seed,
branding you from within.
When the candles gutter and I withdraw into shadow,
you remain
collapsed among the ruins,
fingers tracing the livid welts and bite marks
as if they were sacred scripture.
Your body still throbs with the memory of my invasion,
cum and blood leaking slowly down your thighs
like wax from a black mass candle.
You will never forget your place.
Even in my absence,
in the cold silence of this gothic tomb,
you shall remember me
the sting of leather, the bite of glass,
the cruel, tender, eternal control
that shattered you so exquisitely
and made you mine forever.