foregone conclusion

(via divara)

He never felt quite as much of a pervert as he did when he sucked on her breast, the hard nipple stirring between his lips, a hard nub among a sea of soft flesh. Teeth grazed it, tongue flitted over it, and all the while his cheeks would hollow ever so slightly.

The perversion didn’t lie in the action, per say, but more in the symbolism it immediately conjured in his head. To be all but nursing on his girl, his girl, someone who he controlled, Dominated, looked after, seemed like an odd juxtaposition. It seemed a little wrong, in a way, but in the right kind of way. It almost, if he squinted, made him look a little submissive.

Like he said, perverse. It was that very feeling that made him enjoy it so much, and that he could subvert that perversion with pain, and just the twinge of violence. To bite down, feel her gasp underneath him, or to put his hands at work, either twisting and pulling the other nipple, or surging up to grab her jaw, her neck, her face. To hold her, controlling her in a physical, immediate sense, all while he suckled.

Perverse.

But then he was a pervert. And so was she. They weren’t sticking to the norm, the accepted, the commonly held beliefs. It was those very things that they were fucking with, interpreting in their own brilliantly warped way. Perversion as an art form, their bodies as the canvas.

Hey, they never said they weren’t clichés.

(via interstellar-psychedella)

Postato il Maggio 14, 2012 via |WSSS|RSCHN| with 4219 note

Fonte: weissesrauschen