See, I wouldn’t say I’m into snuff. Dying forever would suck. But like, I’m not saying I’m not into it.
I am, however, saying that if we didn’t take the last turn back home. If we just kept going. If you told me that you have a surprise for me, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer, telling me it doesn’t matter how long my day was. That this surprise was special.
If we went out to the middle of nowhere in the forest that I grew up around, feeling a comfort from them. A comfort with you. Someone who wouldn’t hurt me, right? Someone who I’d never think would flash a gun at me. Someone who stops the car and starts ordering me out with a revolver aimed at my head.
If we walked into the forest while I am yelling at you, confused, scared. Shaking. You come up to me. Your Prey. And you place it on my forehead, as my protests suddenly wash away. I look betrayed. Terrified. I’m practically already crying.
If you put one bullet in, and spun it around, seeing my expression drop even further. I give into the panic, and start pleading, begging, whining for my life. If you watched me realize that the only thing separating me from being shot is a gamble.
If you rubbed it against me, and you notice how desperate I am. I’d hump it like it’s the one thing keeping me alive. Hell, maybe keeping you entertained is what’s keeping me alive. Maybe you realize that. Maybe you start to get bored.
If I heard the hammer cock.
If. If you pulled the trigger.
Well, if I still have a dick, I’d probably cum… but that doesn’t mean I’m into it.
