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Just wrote this in a few minutes, with our Black Gloved friend in mind:
It should not be this easy. Would not everyone do it, if it were so? So simple and so gratifying, so easy and erotic, who could not do this?
A moment for the memory, I think, as I drag this beautiful creature into darkness and beyond prying eyes. This is an incredibly personal act, in spite of its beauty. It should be just the two of us. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminates her ivory skin and auburn hair. Her deep, luscious brown eyes wide open as she too feels the sanctity of the coming moments. The light also makes the glove covering her mouth seem a thing of elegant magnificence. Pure black, covered with small rivers of rain falling from her sweet face, the light cascades from it to make it seem almost divine.
And it is divine, for it is a symbol of who I am. Dark as night, it is indicative of malice, an embodiment of pure malevolence.
In the soaked shadows, the rain is my ally, and it drowns out all but the loudest noise. But my pretty makes no sound even as I release her from the black glove’s loving clutches. She tries to run, but this dark place was chosen well. There is nowhere for her to flee. A few strides and she is quickly again before me. She stands with her back to the wall which barricades her escape, her voluptuous chest heaving with fear and excitement, her legs wide apart, ready to spring if given the chance. I stand before her for a few moments, watching the falling rain meander down from her hair, past the strong, sensual lines of her face, past her shoulders, and down into the carnal plunge of her cleavage. The sight is made more erotic still as lightning again lights the scene, the course of rain is coruscated and her skin becomes ever more beautiful, lascivious.
In spite of her posture, she offers no immediate resistance as I reach out and caress her face with the black glove. Her heavy breathing intensifies my own desires, and it takes considerable restrain not to spoil her too soon. I press my body against hers, gently push her chin upwards and lean over to smell her neck. Her perfume is clearly expensive, designed to arouse a man’s sexuality. Before pulling back to look her again in the face, I lick her inviting neck and feel a surge of lust run to my groin.
Such a beautiful creature she is. As I pull back to look at her, she cranes her neck forward, lips pout and ready to kiss. I am drawn, and tempted to indulge. She is a stimulating creature, and it is not strange to want such a thing. But the sight of the glove in the corner of my eye as our lips touch reminds me of my purpose.
The glove takes a handful of hair and wrenches her head back violently. I am momentarily taken by the look of shocked betrayal in her eyes before I complete the movement and push with all my weight, slamming her head into the wet brickwork. Any chance for her to resist is passed as the blow takes her breath from her. I watch her slump to the floor, still conscious, but too dazed to fight, and watch rain splash off her enticing, inviting legs before the gloved hand pulls out the knife.
I get down on one knee, a gesture of our coming union, and place my naked hand around her throat. The gloved hand runs the knife lightly down her cleavage, and tears open her dress to reveal yet more wanton ivory skin. Her naked breasts beg for attention but the glove’s purpose remains true. Black Gloved hand raised high above my head, lightning strikes once more as the blade is brought down with force into her beautiful chest.
A few moments later and my work is done. A beautiful creature is now a resplendent piece of art. Something which will terrify and fascinate many for days to come. The glove is quickly clean in the falling rain, and so I tuck my naked hand back inside my jacket, and disappear into the streets, until next time.
It should not be this easy. Would not everyone do it, if it were so? So simple and so gratifying, so easy and erotic, who could not do this?
A moment for the memory, I think, as I drag this beautiful creature into darkness and beyond prying eyes. This is an incredibly personal act, in spite of its beauty. It should be just the two of us. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminates her ivory skin and auburn hair. Her deep, luscious brown eyes wide open as she too feels the sanctity of the coming moments. The light also makes the glove covering her mouth seem a thing of elegant magnificence. Pure black, covered with small rivers of rain falling from her sweet face, the light cascades from it to make it seem almost divine.
And it is divine, for it is a symbol of who I am. Dark as night, it is indicative of malice, an embodiment of pure malevolence.
In the soaked shadows, the rain is my ally, and it drowns out all but the loudest noise. But my pretty makes no sound even as I release her from the black glove’s loving clutches. She tries to run, but this dark place was chosen well. There is nowhere for her to flee. A few strides and she is quickly again before me. She stands with her back to the wall which barricades her escape, her voluptuous chest heaving with fear and excitement, her legs wide apart, ready to spring if given the chance. I stand before her for a few moments, watching the falling rain meander down from her hair, past the strong, sensual lines of her face, past her shoulders, and down into the carnal plunge of her cleavage. The sight is made more erotic still as lightning again lights the scene, the course of rain is coruscated and her skin becomes ever more beautiful, lascivious.
In spite of her posture, she offers no immediate resistance as I reach out and caress her face with the black glove. Her heavy breathing intensifies my own desires, and it takes considerable restrain not to spoil her too soon. I press my body against hers, gently push her chin upwards and lean over to smell her neck. Her perfume is clearly expensive, designed to arouse a man’s sexuality. Before pulling back to look her again in the face, I lick her inviting neck and feel a surge of lust run to my groin.
Such a beautiful creature she is. As I pull back to look at her, she cranes her neck forward, lips pout and ready to kiss. I am drawn, and tempted to indulge. She is a stimulating creature, and it is not strange to want such a thing. But the sight of the glove in the corner of my eye as our lips touch reminds me of my purpose.
The glove takes a handful of hair and wrenches her head back violently. I am momentarily taken by the look of shocked betrayal in her eyes before I complete the movement and push with all my weight, slamming her head into the wet brickwork. Any chance for her to resist is passed as the blow takes her breath from her. I watch her slump to the floor, still conscious, but too dazed to fight, and watch rain splash off her enticing, inviting legs before the gloved hand pulls out the knife.
I get down on one knee, a gesture of our coming union, and place my naked hand around her throat. The gloved hand runs the knife lightly down her cleavage, and tears open her dress to reveal yet more wanton ivory skin. Her naked breasts beg for attention but the glove’s purpose remains true. Black Gloved hand raised high above my head, lightning strikes once more as the blade is brought down with force into her beautiful chest.
A few moments later and my work is done. A beautiful creature is now a resplendent piece of art. Something which will terrify and fascinate many for days to come. The glove is quickly clean in the falling rain, and so I tuck my naked hand back inside my jacket, and disappear into the streets, until next time.
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Just wrote this in a few minutes, with our Black Gloved friend in mind:
It should not be this easy. Would not everyone do it, if it were so? So simple and so gratifying, so easy and erotic, who could not do this?
A moment for the memory, I think, as I drag this beautiful creature into darkness and beyond prying eyes. This is an incredibly personal act, in spite of its beauty. It should be just the two of us. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminates her ivory skin and auburn hair. Her deep, luscious brown eyes wide open as she too feels the sanctity of the coming moments. The light also makes the glove covering her mouth seem a thing of elegant magnificence. Pure black, covered with small rivers of rain falling from her sweet face, the light cascades from it to make it seem almost divine.
And it is divine, for it is a symbol of who I am. Dark as night, it is indicative of malice, an embodiment of pure malevolence.
In the soaked shadows, the rain is my ally, and it drowns out all but the loudest noise. But my pretty makes no sound even as I release her from the black glove’s loving clutches. She tries to run, but this dark place was chosen well. There is nowhere for her to flee. A few strides and she is quickly again before me. She stands with her back to the wall which barricades her escape, her voluptuous chest heaving with fear and excitement, her legs wide apart, ready to spring if given the chance. I stand before her for a few moments, watching the falling rain meander down from her hair, past the strong, sensual lines of her face, past her shoulders, and down into the carnal plunge of her cleavage. The sight is made more erotic still as lightning again lights the scene, the course of rain is coruscated and her skin becomes ever more beautiful, lascivious.
In spite of her posture, she offers no immediate resistance as I reach out and caress her face with the black glove. Her heavy breathing intensifies my own desires, and it takes considerable restrain not to spoil her too soon. I press my body against hers, gently push her chin upwards and lean over to smell her neck. Her perfume is clearly expensive, designed to arouse a man’s sexuality. Before pulling back to look her again in the face, I lick her inviting neck and feel a surge of lust run to my groin.
Such a beautiful creature she is. As I pull back to look at her, she cranes her neck forward, lips pout and ready to kiss. I am drawn, and tempted to indulge. She is a stimulating creature, and it is not strange to want such a thing. But the sight of the glove in the corner of my eye as our lips touch reminds me of my purpose.
The glove takes a handful of hair and wrenches her head back violently. I am momentarily taken by the look of shocked betrayal in her eyes before I complete the movement and push with all my weight, slamming her head into the wet brickwork. Any chance for her to resist is passed as the blow takes her breath from her. I watch her slump to the floor, still conscious, but too dazed to fight, and watch rain splash off her enticing, inviting legs before the gloved hand pulls out the knife.
I get down on one knee, a gesture of our coming union, and place my naked hand around her throat. The gloved hand runs the knife lightly down her cleavage, and tears open her dress to reveal yet more wanton ivory skin. Her naked breasts beg for attention but the glove’s purpose remains true. Black Gloved hand raised high above my head, lightning strikes once more as the blade is brought down with force into her beautiful chest.
A few moments later and my work is done. A beautiful creature is now a resplendent piece of art. Something which will terrify and fascinate many for days to come. The glove is quickly clean in the falling rain, and so I tuck my naked hand back inside my jacket, and disappear into the streets, until next time.
It should not be this easy. Would not everyone do it, if it were so? So simple and so gratifying, so easy and erotic, who could not do this?
A moment for the memory, I think, as I drag this beautiful creature into darkness and beyond prying eyes. This is an incredibly personal act, in spite of its beauty. It should be just the two of us. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminates her ivory skin and auburn hair. Her deep, luscious brown eyes wide open as she too feels the sanctity of the coming moments. The light also makes the glove covering her mouth seem a thing of elegant magnificence. Pure black, covered with small rivers of rain falling from her sweet face, the light cascades from it to make it seem almost divine.
And it is divine, for it is a symbol of who I am. Dark as night, it is indicative of malice, an embodiment of pure malevolence.
In the soaked shadows, the rain is my ally, and it drowns out all but the loudest noise. But my pretty makes no sound even as I release her from the black glove’s loving clutches. She tries to run, but this dark place was chosen well. There is nowhere for her to flee. A few strides and she is quickly again before me. She stands with her back to the wall which barricades her escape, her voluptuous chest heaving with fear and excitement, her legs wide apart, ready to spring if given the chance. I stand before her for a few moments, watching the falling rain meander down from her hair, past the strong, sensual lines of her face, past her shoulders, and down into the carnal plunge of her cleavage. The sight is made more erotic still as lightning again lights the scene, the course of rain is coruscated and her skin becomes ever more beautiful, lascivious.
In spite of her posture, she offers no immediate resistance as I reach out and caress her face with the black glove. Her heavy breathing intensifies my own desires, and it takes considerable restrain not to spoil her too soon. I press my body against hers, gently push her chin upwards and lean over to smell her neck. Her perfume is clearly expensive, designed to arouse a man’s sexuality. Before pulling back to look her again in the face, I lick her inviting neck and feel a surge of lust run to my groin.
Such a beautiful creature she is. As I pull back to look at her, she cranes her neck forward, lips pout and ready to kiss. I am drawn, and tempted to indulge. She is a stimulating creature, and it is not strange to want such a thing. But the sight of the glove in the corner of my eye as our lips touch reminds me of my purpose.
The glove takes a handful of hair and wrenches her head back violently. I am momentarily taken by the look of shocked betrayal in her eyes before I complete the movement and push with all my weight, slamming her head into the wet brickwork. Any chance for her to resist is passed as the blow takes her breath from her. I watch her slump to the floor, still conscious, but too dazed to fight, and watch rain splash off her enticing, inviting legs before the gloved hand pulls out the knife.
I get down on one knee, a gesture of our coming union, and place my naked hand around her throat. The gloved hand runs the knife lightly down her cleavage, and tears open her dress to reveal yet more wanton ivory skin. Her naked breasts beg for attention but the glove’s purpose remains true. Black Gloved hand raised high above my head, lightning strikes once more as the blade is brought down with force into her beautiful chest.
A few moments later and my work is done. A beautiful creature is now a resplendent piece of art. Something which will terrify and fascinate many for days to come. The glove is quickly clean in the falling rain, and so I tuck my naked hand back inside my jacket, and disappear into the streets, until next time.
Your name and tagline rhyme
Wow. I'm blinded by your genius.
I see - you are one of his apprentices. Bit mean of you not to share your artist material, keeping the model to yourself.
huh?
Good stuff.
You've done us all proud.
Well, the few of us who actuall write around here instead of communicating through a slur of constanants.
thtz wll kwl!
You've done us all proud.
Well, the few of us who actuall write around here instead of communicating through a slur of constanants.
thtz wll kwl!
*wriggles fingers* - the Black Glove is pleased.
But seriously, thanks "Bane" for dedicating this my way, it was most enjoyable.
But seriously, thanks "Bane" for dedicating this my way, it was most enjoyable.
I guess that means he is favourite for the Black Glove fan club president.
GAH!
GAH!
*cries*
good, t'was good
good, t'was good
Bane wrote:
> Wow. I'm blinded by your genius.
> Wow. I'm blinded by your genius.
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