Romance is dead. Hedonism is the call of tonight, when lovers become fuckers and fuckers become hunters, preying on the weak.
Fuck the flowers and the corporations, I just want you all over me. Your taste and your scent and your willingness, draped over my body. The only pink I care about is the one lusting after me. Show it to me, slowly.
Grit your teeth as I aim to please and make fists in my hair. Don’t call for God, call on my tongue to continue on in sin because it feels so good. Beg my fingers to make you sing like cello strings and ask the dull ache in my pants to take the pain away.
This is our dance, so sing along to the rhythm of the savagery I unleash upon thee. Our hips collide in time until you wrap your legs around me and pull me in close, so they can never part.
I will dominate you. We’re not leaving here until satisfaction holds little meaning anymore. We will transcend that, as our bodies explode into fantasies we never even knew we had.
(Source: mister-selfdestruct)
