Beautiful Death
She is death, and she is
killing me.
Her hands are a painful
fire ripping and tearing apart the last of my resistance. Her mouth is liquid
lava, drowning my objections under the heat and power of it. I can hear my own
voice begging, pleading with her, to make this quick, to make my death as
painless as possible, but she ignores me, intent on causing me as much torment
as she can, before killing me.
Am I justified in my
need for dying? Could I have even stopped this? I doubt it.
She is heat, and passion,
and love, and everything else that I need, but can't think of at this moment.
Her touches quicken, and I brace myself for the end, knowing that it will come
hard and fast, just like I need it.
I cry out her name as
she enters me, swift and demanding, like always, and she fills me completely. I
can't help but wish for death at this point, flexing my inner walls, and my hips,
bringing the center of my being close to this raging fire she has created for me.
I can feel it coming now, the shudders, the chills, and all the telltale signs
that I am going to die by her hands. . .
. . . but it stops. Her
hand leaves me, and I actually weep at the loss of contact. I want to yell at
her, to ask her why she has done this to me, left me here, hovering above,
almost ready to fall to the rocks below.
I feel cool metal touch
my lips, and she shakes her head at me, knowing my thoughts. I want to weep at
the sheer need she has inspired, but I don't. Death will come soon enough. . .
I must be patient.
Her golden, silk-spun
hair cascades down my stomach, following the trail that her impossibly hot mouth
is making down to the apex of my thighs. The first touch of her tongue brings
tears to my eyes, my hands tangle in that glorious mass of hair, and I breath
her name as a benediction, thanking her for killing me so sweetly.
She is eating me alive,
sucking my very soul into her mouth, and mingling it with her own, binding us
more completely together than any contract, or situation.
Oh God. . . It's
starting. I can't stop shaking, and I feel something deep inside of me explode,
and I break into a million pieces. She has killed me, and it was a beautiful
death. Every time she kills me in this manner, I am reborn with a part of her
written on my heart, and she owns a little more of my soul.
"Kathryn. . ."
I open my eyes at the
sound of her voice, and am transfixed by the brightness in her ice-blue eyes.
"I love you Seven." I
tell her, and watch the face above reflect that love back onto me. She kisses
me again, with her super-hot mouth, and I know that now is her time to die.
Fin