Frances Carleton #12 - If Dexter was a Dom

I feel the need to
To wrap someone in plastic
To see them writhe and squirm
Under my blade

Hot sweat dripping
Shortness of breath
Jerking at the gentlest touch
Wide wild eyes

Anticipation of what’s next
Bound on my table
Layered over naked skin
Head to toe

craving for flesh
Drives me
The sound of blood
pumping in my ears

In position
Above his head
I plunge my knife
between arm and torso

Quivering he begs
 cheeks moving
Grazing inner thighs
Steaming flesh ignited

Fluids spill
But none of it red