Status: hiatus
I am Oliver Sykes and I am an Evil Psychopath
If you trust me, you’ll take my hand.
These were the eight words I said to the girl now laying in my bed, we had had an amazing time pleasing our most carnal and darkest desires. She was wild, with wavy black hair and bright emerald green eyes; lightly tanned skin with an olive complexion made her rather desirable when I had first set my gaze upon her. The girl had told me that she had run away from home, from her avidly drunk mother and a father who had abandoned her as a child. She was a perfect prize. Vulnerable, had daddy-issues and completely isolated from family ties.
I scooped her up into my arms, drawing her close to my chest, I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent. Tangerine with an undertone of some sort of other fruit. She snuggled in close, pressing her smooth forehead to my collarbone, a sigh escaped her. I smiled as warm liquid was gushing out.
That lovely, hot and sticky liquid.
And no. I don’t mean that precious gift after a nice jerk off.
Blood.
Blood was pouring out of the wound that now made itself a home in her back. Her body was shuddering as she realized that there was something wrong. Something so irrevocably wrong and that everything was being drained out of her and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
This only made me grin wider as I sat up, clutching a knife in my right hand, colored red. Her blood was blooming across the white sheets like a large, crimson rose.
So beautiful. So perfect. So incredibly erotic.
I could not stop watching as her body went to even deeper shudders while she gasped for air, unable to scream, but whine and clutch at my left arm, which has me propped up. Hardly taking notice, I continue to watch this spreading blood.
Her eyes are beginning to gloss over, tears streaking her cheeks. I lick my lips before leaning in and giving her a gentle kiss then cutting her throat wide open, blood spatters me on my face and neck and chest, like a glimmering coat over my tattoos.
Nothing is more stunning than blood.
[x]
These were the eight words I said to the girl now laying in my bed, we had had an amazing time pleasing our most carnal and darkest desires. She was wild, with wavy black hair and bright emerald green eyes; lightly tanned skin with an olive complexion made her rather desirable when I had first set my gaze upon her. The girl had told me that she had run away from home, from her avidly drunk mother and a father who had abandoned her as a child. She was a perfect prize. Vulnerable, had daddy-issues and completely isolated from family ties.
I scooped her up into my arms, drawing her close to my chest, I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent. Tangerine with an undertone of some sort of other fruit. She snuggled in close, pressing her smooth forehead to my collarbone, a sigh escaped her. I smiled as warm liquid was gushing out.
That lovely, hot and sticky liquid.
And no. I don’t mean that precious gift after a nice jerk off.
Blood.
Blood was pouring out of the wound that now made itself a home in her back. Her body was shuddering as she realized that there was something wrong. Something so irrevocably wrong and that everything was being drained out of her and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
This only made me grin wider as I sat up, clutching a knife in my right hand, colored red. Her blood was blooming across the white sheets like a large, crimson rose.
So beautiful. So perfect. So incredibly erotic.
I could not stop watching as her body went to even deeper shudders while she gasped for air, unable to scream, but whine and clutch at my left arm, which has me propped up. Hardly taking notice, I continue to watch this spreading blood.
Her eyes are beginning to gloss over, tears streaking her cheeks. I lick my lips before leaning in and giving her a gentle kiss then cutting her throat wide open, blood spatters me on my face and neck and chest, like a glimmering coat over my tattoos.
Nothing is more stunning than blood.
[x]