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Let him tear you apart and put you back together all wrong.
Let him teach you the limits of the human body, and how to surpass them. How to bring someone to the edge of death and keep them there.
Teach you the exquisite pleasure of a blade against skin, the wet heat of blood on your fingers. Let him smear that blood across your throat, fingers curling around your neck.
Let him hold you down as he fucks you, drags those bloodstained fingers over your skin, bruises blooming in their wake, the marks of ownership that you crave.
Let him hurt you so good, whisper praise into your ear and press it into your mouth, curl filthy endearments around your tongue, while he fucks into you mercilessly and coaxes shameless, desperate noises out of you.
And quizzes you on the best way to dismember someone, which is totally inappropriate because you can barely get the words out, stuttering and gasping and whining through every rough thrust of Peter’s hips.
And then he tuts, and slows down, and bites you hard on the back of the neck and demands an answer.
And you feel that spark of rebellion that you know he likes to fuck out of you, and you calmly and coolly tell him exactly what he wants to hear -
- the precise amount of pressure it takes to slice through flesh, saw through bone; how to drain the blood; how to get rid of the body responsibly -
And with every word, you hear him inhale sharply, and he speeds up, fucking you too hard and too fast.
And then somehow it slips out. You weren’t planning on it, and it feels weird coming from your mouth, and you worry that it means you’re more fucked up and broken than you ever imagined.
But you say it:
“Daddy.”
And Peter shudders, and digs his fingers in hard enough to draw blood, and says your name like it’s all he knows, and comes all over you.
And that sets you off - that badge of possession you never knew you wanted, needed, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train.
And then you’re trying to catch your breath, when he pulls out and slithers down your body, and eats you out until you can barely stand it.
And then he says, “Again.”
And you look at him uncertainly, and he catches you by the jaw, firmly and completely sure, presses his thumb into your mouth.
And says, “You’ve been so good, Isaac.
I liked the improv. Unorthodox, but effective.
I need you to be good just one more time.
Can you do that for me?”
And you nod, because you can, you can totally do that. What’s more, you want to do that.
For Peter you’ll do anything, you’ll do everything.
And Peter’s eyes gleam when you say that out loud.
This hot, intense, possessive look that makes your spine tingle, that makes you bow your head in submission.
And you let Peter have you again,
and again,
and again.
Until you’re both a fucked-out, bloodstained mess on the floor.
Twined around each other so tight you can’t even begin to separate your body from his.
And that’s how you like it. That’s where you belong.