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Mine

There's a monster tattooed on her thigh and black lace covering her hips. A heavy mask is fixed to her face, stripping her of all identity. It turns each breath into a rasp, a hiss, a sharp sound in the other wise silent room.

I circle the bed, like a predator getting ready to strike. Her shoulders are tense, arms raised; in defense, defiance, an attempt at acting strong. But that's all it is. An act. Silver circles her wrists but it's less about binding her and more about marking her.

Gothic model of Oklahoma City
Model: Ryynagade

Mine, mine, mine. She needs to be told that. I need to tell her that. This game we play is twisted, dangerous, but it's the only thing that keeps us sane. Our addiction, if you will. No wine could ever be as sweet, no high could ever be as lifting.

I run my fingers over her shoulders and down her back, tracing her spine. Her skin is cold. She shudders beneath my touch.

"Be still," I tell her, even as I press my palms against her sides, wrap around to rest on her stomach. The mattress sinks beneath my weight when I join her on it, pressing flush to her back. "Be quiet."

Gothic portraits in Oklahoma City
Model: Ryynagade

She answers me with a rasping breath. Reaches over her shoulder to press her hands against my cheek, long black nails running lightly over my skin. There's resistance in her eyes but love in her touch - this will be a battle and the thought makes my blood race, my heart pound.

Nothing good is ever given freely. The most amazing things in life...the little wonders that make the world keep turning...they have to be taken by force.

So my voice is stern and my hands steady, wrapping around her wrists and shoving them back to her front. "Be still."

And just like that, the fight begins. Nails, trying to rip into my flesh. A body writhing against my own. There's blood in my mouth and blood on her fingers and blood on the sheets as madness takes hold of our minds. I can't tell if it's mine or hers or both.

Ryynagade Goth Model in Oklahoma
Model: Ryynagade

All I know is that I want her to listen.

I want her to submit.

I want her to admit that she's mine. To take the best thing that has ever been in my life and keep it close, hidden away where the world can never tarnish it. I'm the only one allowed to harm her. The only one allowed to bring tears to her eyes.

That's exactly what I do. I can see them welling up behind the lenses of her mask. Her back hits the mattress and I am so close to her that it burns. With each wheezing breath that she pulls in, I can hear her laughing. It's a pretty sound but it makes my blood boil all the same.

Dawn is very far off. By the time it arrives, I will have claimed her as mine. I always do. I always win.

Written by: paintedzipper

Professional Gothic Photographer in Oklahoma
Model: Ryynagade

If you are looking for a creative, Gothic photographer in Okahoma City, I'm available for booking. Let me know when you are looking for something different.