I want to see you cry.

When you test my patience, I simply smile, but my fists clench, and I twitch inwardly. I keep my darkness hidden. I keep my shadows bound.

But this isn't rage that drives me here; no, anger would drive me to leave in disgust, or to become a beacon of annihilation, and I don't want to annihilate you.

I do, however, want to show you not to trifle with me. I want you to stop that feeble squirming and look at me. I want you to know that my patience is over with.

I want to grab you by the hair and slam you against the wall. Drive my knee into your gut and throw you to the ground. When you get up, I want to bend you over and strike your ass until it turns scarlet red, and I want to hear you whimper.

Those pretty eyes of yours are gonna burn with tears. That makeup you put on is gonna run. Your body will be covered in emblems of pain, and when I spit on you, when you lay on the ground whimpering, I'm going to grind the heel of my foot against your hot, wet cunt and remind you exactly who I am, who you are, that you should know your place and look at me.

Then you're gonna be in too much pain to think.
Then you're gonna be too horny to think.
Then when I throw you over the counter and ravish you while you can't move you're gonna be too used, and loving it way too fucking much to think.

Then you're gonna cum, and with your climax I'll rip apart any resistance you had left.

And when you come to, covered in bruises and so worn out you can barely move, you better remember, or else I'll have to remind you.