When I see him crawl into the room on his hands and knees, I have this incredible urge to kick his ass. I want to kick his gut, smack his face, step on his throat with my heel, cutting off the air supplying this absolute bastard. ....Yet I control it.
When I see him lift his face to meet mine, and his lips parting to let a feeble excuse escape their confines, I resist kicking in his teeth with my boot.
When his extended arm tries to grasp my calf with it's undeserving fingertips, caressing what was once an object wrapped around his neck, I fight my will to set his cock afire.
Yet...
He deserves everything I desire, and knows damn well that he does. Perhaps this is why I can't give him these things. The purest torture for him is walking away. |
