…if you need me I’m the one that’s a bundle of ‘meeps’ in the corner….
I called her prey.
I called her prey, and her reaction woke something in me. Primal. Rough. Sadistic. Hungry.
Clearly, we were onto something.
There’s a wonderful freedom to being a predator. You have nothing to be afraid of, because you are fear. You are the shadow in the forest, the thing lurking in the dark, the barely-heard growl just below the register of hearing. Your hunger is part of you. Your senses are sharp.
And they’re full. Full of her scent, the sweep of her waist and the fall of her hair, the way she trembles when she hears your footsteps behind her. Everything in your being is focused on her.
My prey. My hunted. The girl I want to pick apart until I can devour every last scrap of, because I am that hungry.
It’s a headspace I love sharing, and I love that we can do so so easily. It’s a mix of power, lust, and the desire to hurt and rend all bundled up together. And I can only get there with your help. Because the predator is nothing without prey. The hunter nothing without the hunted, the victor nothing without the vanquished.
Step into the darkness, Angel.
He called me prey.
He called me prey and I reacted.
Scared. Aroused. Wet. Curious.
Clearly he was onto something.
There’s a sinister subtext to an idea like being prey, a step in a slightly different direction from simply being helpless.
You can be scared and helpless, but if you’re prey?
Hunted. Watched. Studied. Observed.
Prey never wins, at least, not the prey I want to be.
Prey knows it’s going to be hunted down and that said hunt will end in defeat from the start. Premeditated. Expected.
I’ve loved playing into that role. I love that it’s not a role I’m put into, a head space, rather than a choice.
I love that it’s a head space that mixes naivety and fear and lust all into one intoxicating state of mind.
Predator and prey.
Hunter and hunted.
Winner, and conquered.
…Daddy, have I told you how afraid I am of the dark?