✰ HE didn't just love him, he wanted him. dead or alive, he will make it happen.
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CHAPTER FIVE: KEENAN'S POSSESSIONS.
✰ he could still feel his touch linger upon his exposed body. the goosebumps he felt, made his physique shudder and eyes flutter shut. one small touch from him, was all it took send the euphoric vibes and stimulation of blood flow being continuously produced inside him. master, he would weep, you sink your teeth deeply into the neck. your nails digging into the skin; leaving scratch marks until they bleed.
"your little troubles, actions, and mistakes. desire, want, and need. bow down before me, and get on your knees." a deep voice spoke out, dark eyes narrowing down into slits, only being illuminated by the moonlight that shunned through the window. with no emotion, no hesitation, and no fear, he took out a steer. lighting the blade, he stood up from his shrine, only having free hands in tact, he called upon two guards in time.
the fear descended upon the disloyal, unfaithful, and treacherous. where as love ascends upon the devoted, dedicated, and steadfast. simply call upon he to make the choice, but died a cold ─ heart wrenching, remorse. fear not hold what makes us weak, but the convulsions to vimy ridge ─ only sets us at ease. obey one like a slave, but yearn to be treated like a slag. how can one ask for such, but to satisfy themselves with agony, discomfort, or torture.
"fear peasant, for you have made your master angry. do you know what happens, when disobedient, and ungrateful slaves, make their masters angry?" said male asked, standing up, straightening his poster and taking four steps forward. shoe steps echoed through the room, eyes narrowing down at the weeping soul.
"they get a punishment." fear never meant to make him angry. for he did not know how it happened in the first place. a simple one-two-three upon the analysis of something vague; an amateur game known as rock, paper, scissors. a game played halftime in the school grounds. a game where children would laugh at how rock beats scissors, or how scissors cut paper, or how paper covered rock. in words of understanding; let us not judge the things we see at forehand. for it is a matter of seconds, until something can go wrong.
body bare of clothing; only a rag tied around his head, covering up his eyes. hands tied high above his head, fingers interlocked together; digging perfuiously into the skin, drawing a thin line of blood upon the cold, eerie weather. "you should drown in your sins, and aim for forgiveness. i am your master, you soul should be eaten." all he could see, around him was darkness. fear the wrong he has did, a love ever so forgotten.
said male then took out a steer, aiming for the slag. high above his head, he whipped it as said. a cry emerged, a weep from the slag; lips quivering to no more, pain is now said. "influenced by the wrong, i share no more. strike me this once; your slave shall consume more." laughter prevails, loud but faint. a chuckle only kind, only time can't escape. upon the words, spoken and clear, said male looked down, lips curving into a sneer.
"what's wrong, little prince? you look so needy and lewd. step forward this instant, you really do want master to ravage you." he only called upon he to empower his embrace. strike him at once, for he is the slave. hurt him, he shall feel, for he will not cry. satisfy the need, or else he will die. the sound of an unbuckling of a belt, he stopped only at once. body shivering in need, the feel is to come.immune to dirty talk, for he is a slag. beg at thy once, he wanted it bad. glide your fingers onto his skin, for he fear the devil that is within. empower him with your soul, for he shall take the pain once more.
