My hand lands hard. Your skin ripples from the impact, colors red, the pain accumulating with each slap across your skin.
You writhe. You cry out. You cry. I do not stop
until I sense the emptiness you crave.
It is not your pain I desire. It is your cleansing, and the tender, almost whispered “thank you” as you are emptied of the malignant clutter of your mind.
Jerseyg2 reborn 