It is warm here. It is hot. He smears the sweat from his forehead with his filth covered hands. He breaths in all the pollution smouldering out from between her thighs. Oil is dripping from the core of the mechanism.
He lays his head between her open legs and starts to feel that steady drip return. It rests on his philtrum, that gap between his nose and lip, perfect for catching fluid and blood.
He has split the epidermis of each outer lip in half, with a scalpel, two straight thin lines that don't quite meet at either end. The blood pools in the cuts and rivers down to drip into her cunt (It is that central cog. Which bubbles with effluvium), and on to his face which is warm and wet and red and coated. He slides his tongue between her splits, artificial and genetic. Iron, sour, metal.
She is probably crying, more than likely snivelling, wet and stupid, but trying at least.
He nuzzles his face into her cunt, pulls her lips aside as he doesn't want to get her dirty blood on his cheeks. Or nose. He cranks out yelps and twitches with every twist of lip and tongue. He runs hs fingertips along the wounds. He talks into her. He says. “Im going to sew you up”.
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