Clawing.
Clawing.
Clawing.
His fingertips scrap along her ass.
Underneath.
Needles of pain.
He’s lifting her up.
Feasting upon her.
Damn it all, she’s doing her best.
Meeting His eager mouth eagerly.
Fucking His mouth.
No.
Offering her cunt.
Folding underneath His probing tongue.
That makes her whole.
And marks her slit.
Assaults her clit.
Assaults her sense of self.
Thoughts come, feral and filthy and frantic.
The light in her was but a candle flickering in the wind. By the jagged, scattered edges of its light lay her sense of self.
Her work clothes.
Her dresses.
Her bra and panties.
Her work-phone voice.
Her society smile.
Somewhere on her naked flesh was a loose thread.
He pulled it and she unravelled.
Spilling her secrets.
Her guts.
All that she is.
On display for Him.
He snuffed out the candlelight.
Tugged her by the hair into the dark.
She is but a toy.
An offering.
A gift for His feast.
For that’s what you do, right? You offer a gift upon entering someone’s home.
Somewhere there is music.
Moody.
Warped.
Like a revelation revealing itself in a nightmare.
Scattered demon eyes in the dark.
His moan between her thighs is a buzz that tickles her lips.
Is she pleasing Him? Is she a worthy gift?
Something nips at her nipples.
Ever so gently.
Butterflies tickling, prickling her bare breasts.
No. That’s her hand.
Pinching.
Pulling.
Pinching.
Pulling.
Stretching.
Brutalising.
The breeze comes snaking down her torso, coiling in what feels like spirals. Marking her flesh, claiming her for the dark.
One time she was home for Christmas and was put up in her old childhood bedroom and during the night listening to the whispering trees she pulled aside her summer-sweat-soaked shorties and furiously rubbed her clit.
Not just that. She rolled over to the dressing table, grabbed her hair pins and placed them on both nipples and continued.
She came hard on her tum, grinding, gushing onto her fingers.
Try as she might - did she really, did she really try? - she let out a single startled cry as she came. A cry that would keep her furiously blushing at the thought of being heard for the remainder of her stay.
Pull, she seethes.
At her seams.
Until she unravels in the dark.
A useless, needy bitch.
She doesn’t want to think.
She doesn’t care for the light.
She wants to chase feeling right through the forest.
Resistance comes in goosebumps sizzling down her body - past her shoulders and along her stomach to the tips of her toes.
Her mouth opens, words forming on her eager mouth — I don’t want to be a good girl, I want to be a bad thing.
I want to be a bad thing.
It’s her orgasm that lifts her hips higher, cuts the words in half in her throat.
He doesn’t stop.
God fucking dammit, He doesn’t stop His assault.
And she doesn’t recognise her whimpers.
Her stomach flips.
Her bedroom roof becomes the night sky.
Humming.
A nude woman lays before her on her tum, grinding into the piles of leaves around her.
Somehow in the frenzy of her multiple orgasms, her own eyes travel over the curves of the woman’s pale ass, lit by the glow of moonlight.
Golden hair partially obscures her eyes — but not her luscious lips that lower themselves to her left breast.
But her mouth, it hovers agonizingly close to her desperate nipple.
We know what she wants. We know what she craves..
The words attempt to come.
‘P-please…’
Something searing hot and wet smacks against her cheek.
Spit.
She will not speak unless allowed.
She can barely nod because she’s desperate for the spit to roll down her cheek and hit her tortured nipples.
He accepts her offering of flesh, of sweets, of want and of need.
The golden woman lowered her mouth to her tortured nipple and sucked greedily, moaning around it.
You are His…you are ours. Body and soul. Flesh and nectar.
‘Body a-a-nd soul.’
The golden woman giggled. Welcome sister.
Her ass clenched.
Her back seized upward.
She screamed out a guttural, unraveling wail that shot through the trees as she squirted into His mouth.
Her dumb, overstimulated self.
His.