that murder look

This is made of sex.

The latest Softer World made me laugh painfully at myself. Usually they make me happy, but this one? This one’s preciously nasty at me. Occasionally, I love it best when I find something beautiful that makes me ache. Speaking of hurtful happiness, I’m stripping down right now and setting up camera equipment. I may not actually sleep tonight. I’m in Kismet’s good graces – Alistaire‘s lending me gear. Heap praises upon his head. I’ve still a hard bitter knot of hate in my belly, but I can at least take the pictures that have been pestering me for a few weeks. Cloth and ribbons,  the best I can do in my not useful bedroom.

This is going to be tricky.

Someone is slated to die.

for Dominique, the summary by her request:

If she had it tail, it would be swishing. A feline hungry and hunting. She’s been waiting for him forever. The beat of her pulse is loud to shake houses. She needs him, she’s slick with it. The air is musky with her wanting. She hears him, her eyes fixing to the turning knob. She pounces as he’s opening the door, her nails tearing the cloth as every button is popped off his shirt. She pivots, still pulling him, and tosses him onto the waiting bed. With her other hand she slams the door behind him. The image of a cat comes back to mind. Her grace is deadly as she purrs her way up his body, cutting his slacks off with a knife she’s pulled from who knows where. “It’s been too long lover”, she says, “You’re going to pay”. It is war. It is the greatest of all battles. When he’s slipped inside of her there is blood and fire and the shrieking of raw voices. Her rocking the low tide of the moon, bright and high and primal. By the time she is done, his ribs have been bared. Her nails stripping him of flesh as her final spasm shuddered through her. There’s no life left in his body, he is done. His face is slack, his eyes glazed, his expression cloudy and stunned. She takes his flesh as an offering, a gift. Dinner afterwards, instead of before. She knows the rules, play with your food, then eat it. Her hands gracefully grip his femur before snapping it, her nails still perfect.  Licking the fluids from her skin, she thinks a moment about her now messy bed. The remains of the man need disposed of. Taking up the sheet at all four corners, she bundles the broken body into the filthy sheets and drops the resulting package out the window. Out of sight, out of mind. Mechanically, she puts new cloth on the waterproof mattress. “When will he get here?” The day is stretching on to night as she picks slivers of shattered bone from her slender fingers. The doorknob rattles and her attention flickers up, toes curling in anticipation. Soaked with it. “Next please” She’s been waiting for him forever. 

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