I am drunk on screams. I am filled with them, like whisky, like fire, like a rainstorm on summer ground I am drowned in them. I hear screams in my sleep, soft gasps and high sweet cries. I cannot close my eyes but I see them, see their brown eyes looking love at me, see the curve of their lips, see them shudder and melt when I promise to hurt them. I see endlessly that moment when I held their breath in my hand and their flesh in my teeth and they jerked and writhed and could not scream and lust ran through me like blood.
The memories crowd around me of a hundred moments. I wound their plaited hair through the bars of a cage and held it there while I scratched them, and all unbidden they called me sir. I ran ice over their skin, across their fresh bruises and down the gap in their corset. I cradled them in my lap and dug fingernails into their chest. I laid lovebites along their spine. I took a metal claw to their feet and they flinched and grimaced and never quite pulled away, took it to their arms and body so hard the welts came up white.
I spent the night with them, and there in the dark they whispered sweet surrender, and even the memory makes me shiver.