Please note that this content is sexually explicit. We recommend that you should not read this content if you are offended by sexually explicit material.
‘Double up sister.’
‘You got fags?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
Five sticks are presented like sickly finger extensions. A brigade of minions, selfless souls lusting to combust, hankering to capitulate their paper vessels to the cause of our Cherry le Smeg flavoured gloss.
Magic, be magic, be magic, be magics.
‘Will he care I look like a 13yr old boy?’
‘Na he’s pure filth love.’
Heart throbs and pussy swells. Meow for the win. I haven’t had breakfast yet. My insides howl a guttural growl for the sumptuous repast awaiting my gluttonous gullet.
‘Man, this is Lady. Lady likes to watch.’
A green velvet throne awaits my quivering boy catcher. The heated room coats, batters and fries delicious bite sized sweat snacks. Blurs of incessant movements. A Shellac tipped Master looms over cock; it’s withering furiously in capture’s clutches. He squints his rat eyes through bottle caps. Come quick Ma’ the freaks are in town. I summon a ritualistic bathing. Gaffer my mouth and force the oxygen from the bars of my chest cage.
A king gorging on the circus charade, I sit with my legs slightly parted. Excrescence of happiness lines the phantom’s white panties I found stuffed in my locker.
‘You like to watch lady, you a dom or a sub, you like pain, shall I call you mistress, what do you like to do? Do you like to watch?’
I’m done with your gasps, your desperate grasps.
‘I like to watch.’
‘Man likes to be treated like scum, don’t you Man?’
‘Man likes to have ciggies ashed on him, don’t you Man?’
‘Man likes pain, don’t you Man?’
‘Come and have a look at the piercings on Man’s cock.’
Member choking naught to cease. A cosmic gesticulation. The slapping and spluttering gracefully trumps the hostile pan flute. Two metal thorns, like devil horns protrude from Satan’s throbbing skull. Skin a flutter, heart rumbles to the pounding. I am nettled by the stillness of a studded leather strap. It was a slut’s waist belt in a previous aeon.
I grace my moist palms with its delicate neck. Spumescent at the bit, Man’s inaudible screams are a beg for impalement. My arms begin to ache. Rocks of salt avalanche down my back. There is no where to run. Royalty don’t work for dimes. But it’s springtime and the roses are in full blossom on his upper thighs.
‘Man is scum, I think he deserves it harder.’
Animal, on animal, on animal, on animal.
Kitten’s delicate mittens put flame to the Queen. Her lips a passe-partout to the abyss of her souls rotting cavities. I watch her inhale. The sweetest pussy purrs as she ejaculates her sickness in a foul sweep of serenity.
The physical labouring over this man creature is tiring my vessel. I reach for the left over sticks spreading themselves on the cummy carpet. I suck a fuck of smoke in and choke on the dryness, mind an instant vortex of confusion. I’m never near a VIP visitor to the nicotine dream. Bum puffing till I dry reach, my eyes obsess with the throbbing cherry; the glory hole at the end of the damage.
This piece of shit will pay for my own self harm.
© Dylan Dire 2014
Dylan Dire is a 24-year-old Melbourne based creator, sex worker and filth extraordinaire. Her erotic stories are based on real interactions with clients and are a colourful insight into the darker exploration of people’s uninhibited, honest desires.
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