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Reading more. Akasha, the original "Venus in Furs", Atheris, my own crap, everything I can get my hands on. Reading hungry. Reading to make the hunger build, reading to feed it, to draw it down. Reading because I can't have the reality.

I've just torn through a good 20 Akasha stories. There aren't words for this, this flame. Hurt. Ache. Need. Lust... gods, lust. I haven't had sex that didn't hurt in... hm, how long? Three weeks? Four? I haven't had a pleasant orgasm in nearly that long. I haven't had any release.

Kadin... gah. No. I won't bitch about that. Nor about Nre, nor about anything happening right now. Caleb just rolled over on the bed, still asleep... he has no idea. He doesn't know. Doesn't feel it coming.

There are brand-new shackles sitting in the living room. There are scarves and ropes and sturdy leather belts. There's a bed with a well-built wooden frame. Pillows. Velvet. Satin. Silk. And a boy sleeping in the middle of all of this, unaware of his current resemblance to a roasted suckling pig on a platter, just waiting to be devoured, eaten up.

I have a feeling that if Kadin were here, sleeping there, he would have been awake already. Up with me. Curious. Worried. He'd know this look.

He'd know my tone. See the sharp way my fingers move, as if attacking the keys, not caressing them as I do at times, not merely using them or ignoring them... but typing as if I want to tear them apart.

He'd be scared.

Caleb? He's oblivious. He thinks I won't hurt him. Thinks I won't use him. Thinks that because I know he has things to do today, that I'll spare him, as I've spared him every fucking time before for how long now? Months? A year?

I think he's wrong.

I think this just hit the boiling point.

I think he'll have bruises today... poor boy.

And guess what?

I like that thought.