Psychosexual Gratification

By: RDV


The sex wasn't good. The pain was ecstatic. Its repercussions were heavenly. In his ritualistic rapes he never found ultimate satisfaction from orgasm, never, but rather from the pleading screams of the women whom he intended to deflesh afterwards. He might've liked it better if they cursed his mortal soul as he defiled their bodies; but often, entreaty was their invariable resort and thus, his passion increased by and by. He bit their chins. He would sink his teeth on the bone till it bled as he looked straight at their eyes, executing masochism in its most demoralizing way. He could almost die of laughter if tears started to cram on their pools. From down under, his hands and intstrument of torture mutilated their genitals. The smell of blood rising and slithering up to his nostrils was more than enough to keep him from hunger all throughout the night. But nothing sufficed, not when it was the monster leaping inside him. And in doing what is universally perverse, he received an obsession, boundless in its cruelty, insatiable to the last degree. As the night deepened, he would thrust away the lifeless, mangled body of the woman and with his hands clean, without one look back, drive further north in search of another prey.