Tears, blood, blurred vision, spit, rope burns, char marks, welts, red flesh on red flesh, swelled veins pressed into holes ready or not.
There are days that these things are all I can think about. I might be listening to you bitch about your job or talking up your weekend or your new car, but the reality of it all lies a few layers behind, deep inside my skull. It sits like a toad in my frontal lobe, stroking my hypothalamus, generating a deep emptiness in my stomach that can only be filled by an indulgence in flesh.
trying to earn her collar
The hotel room was every bit as cheap as she was.