I could have cut her throat while you were doing it, killed her... I remember you said how much you liked that last time... [He rubs himself through his pants, groaning.]
[The memory draws a harsh exhale.] I did. I shouldn't have. [He laughs breathlessly.] But being inside her when she died made me come. I'm becoming as twisted as you.
Fuck. [Jaime's in boxers, which means he hangs out when he gets hard, and he's hanging out. He has to wrap a hand around it, stroking himself slowly.] Ah, I could make you feel good. Make you moan my name, beg for it.
Bend you over a bed and fuck you blind. Make you beg me to cut you. [He hesitates slightly, and then:] Maybe if you're good I'll slide the knife between your ribs.
Don't pretend you don't want it too. [Jaime's breathless, now stroking himself hard.] You've asked me for it. The pain would be perfect with the pleasure, don't you think? My cock making you feel so good...you'd come as soon as the knife went in, wouldn't you?
One day I will. [Jaime bites his lip and shudders.] One day you'll be full of my cock, moaning my name, and then you will taste your own blood. [There's a ragged gasp as Jaime bucks his hips.] And you won't be sure why you're breathless, whether because I'm fucking you so hard or because I've punctured a lung. And then you will die with me inside you.
I already know I'm sick... you're getting off to the thought of murdering me. You'll come just as hard when you shove that knife in, when you feel me dying around you.
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If you'd wanted.
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Jaime, mon ami, you are not becoming as twisted as me, tu es déjà.
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What are you doing now? [Jaime wants to picture what's making him groan like that.]
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[He strokes himself slowly, his voice low.] Que pensez-tu? I'm jerking myself off and wishing it was you.
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That would be the ultimate, right? Killing me while you fuck me, god, you sick bastard.
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I want you to finish it, Jaime.
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