A love like this, where your words pierce heart-shaped wounds into my flesh, is the only love.
Nature created us this way; perverse, animalistic, trapped in a swelteringly lush landscape and you lay me down in dew-sodden grass as green as poison and part my thighs and excavate my fear and restlessness until I am a blank paper shell, a doll for you to breathe life into – wet at the cunt and sore and trembling at the breast.
A fuck is never just a fuck, not in this fevered forest glade where a whore bends at the waist, parts at the cunt and displays across the valley for prying and private eyes.
“Wretched little toy.” Your lascivious voice loops around my chest and tightens until I cannot breathe unless you command it.
We are apart.
A fuck is never just a fuck when I need – NEED – you.
”In the dirt.” you say, and I fall and fall into your words.
Hands in the mud.
“Sluts won’t be satisfied.”
Arse in the air.
“Obedient little dog. How slick your cunt is. How it whines and pants. Desperate little cunt wants feeding.”
“Spread your thighs.” ringed with filthy handprints.
Spunk goes here. Drips into the fertile soil.
Spunk goes here.
Deep. Deeper. Deeper still.
I can feel you in my cunt. Feel you in my throat, around my neck and under my arms.
A fuck is never just a fuck, with your knees in the dirt and my heart pounding with every slithering thrust. Every grunt and slap of your skin on my skin.
Your skin on my skin. Your hair. Your sweat. Your body is a temple. Your body is the temple. Your body is my temple and this garden is a burial plot for past lovers, past loves, broken promises and broken hearts.
This love is a pure and necessary love.
There are red welts on my hips where your hands weighed heavy.
Spunk goes here.
You come on my face. Spit on the mess. Smear crimson lips into sable eyes and then your palm – burning heat, white noise in my ears. Ow. Pain. Ow. Red. Ow. Red. Red. Red.
B l i s s.
“Little dog.” You sigh, pulling my hair. “My love.”