15 small words - The personal trainer

You call me a whore as you fuck me. Your words don't even touch me.

Tall and blonde

We've fucked a few times and it's good enough. Your cock is big and it fills me up and I come hard every time. But there isn't my attraction.

You are a sexual aid. A wooden horse. A rabbit. A cock. A butterfly. A plug. That fills the gap and I'm sorry for that. But you understand me, Blonde? The way it is.

Getting over you, him, myself and everyone

Make beauty, make sex, make up your mind.

Sometimes, I'm alone and just here. Getting past you, him, myself and everyone. Getting by.  Waiting for time to pass. For the record to play out, and morning, when birds sing in their ringing tones and I then I can leave you, for now, and forever, probably.

And I am beauty, and I am lost and I am a fallacy of who I once was.

And who remembers who I was then anyway? As that artist and a muse. Not me. Barely. Not me. An object of pleasure. Was I lonely? Yes. Say yes. Who can even remember what it was like.

That hold. That hold on me. Please hold me. Hold my hand. Pinch me. And I was... Please hold me. Please. And I was lost. I, a shadow. I, a ghost and art. In a moment of your time. And I was together less and more than now. Now it's over. 

Indie boy - blast from the past

"I remember how good you were at sucking my cock, and by the way I'm married now and all I do is look. 

I think we could have been together. You were special. I was a mess. I owe you an apology. I remember just how good you use to taste, and by the way I moved to Dubai and the weather is lovely there and I became a teacher. 

Do you remember fucking in my car? I remember your beautiful mouth. Your eyes and your cunt and by the way I broke your heart."

All I can remember is pain. 

I'm not laughing

Run your hand up my milk white thigh. Stroke me, kiss me, touch me again.

Make love to me, that's how it feels. Make love but don't love me at all. 

I am no shackle to you, I am no burden. My crime is in excitement. I wouldn't like you if you didn't screw me. I like you best when you do. 

I can't get enough of you. You're fresh excitement. You make me come countless times. It feels like a dream.  I watch your muscles twitch as you breath. I can't cope in binds and restrictions. Why do you get to dictate how it is? 

Unless we're together we're not together. Take each single hole and fill it up. Let me kneel at your feet. Let me suck you. Let me like you. Don't ruin this for yourself. Just let me in. 

Dancing in ghosts

The noises you make are inhuman. They're animal and raw. They are sing song. Mauling expressions of loss and pleasure. Ebb away. Bleed out. Empty yourself inside me.

The pressure of your body against me. The pleasure of it all. That poignant bliss. Dancing in ghosts. Moving together. Hold me until it stops, just hold me. 

Quick jokes

I am bent over rummaging for clothes from the wash basket. I hear him crack his belt and unbutton his shorts. I feel his hand on my hip. I feel his cock pushing between my thighs. He's inside me and fucking me in less than a moment. Hard even thrusts. I watch his toes grip the floor boards. I hear him groan. He pulls himself from my cunt and ejaculates all over my creamy soft skin. My bottom, my back, my shoulder, my thighs. He smears it in.

The comedian - in under 30 words

What is this white and blinding light? It runs my veins from toe to finger tip. It heats up my bones. Such beautiful energy. It binds us together, so tight.

Do you think this is funny?

"Do you think it's fucking funny rubbing my cock with your hand, in front of everyone? Embarrassing me in front of my friends. Do you think that's fucking funny you stupid slut? Look at me. Answer me. Do you?"

Mascara drips down my face. Liquid fear in my eyes. Cheeks red. Breath so short and desperate. He smacks my jaw with a hard open hand, and my teeth score into my tongue. I can taste blood in my mouth.

"This isn't about you. Get on the bed. This isn't about you. You can touch yourself you desperate slut. You can come if you want to. Come. Come back. Look at me. Are you happy? Are you happy that you've made me do this? Why are you smiling at me? Do you think this is funny? Are you going to come for me? Come for me. Do you think this is funny? It's not."

The comedian - metal machine

I inhale your second hand smoke as you blow white tendrils of it into my face. The air is cold on my skin as you run your fingers down my exposed spine.

"This must be humiliating for you"

In front of so many people. It must be. It could be. It makes me pulse. In front of so many people it makes me wet. As a state and as a memory.

You hang my body like a carcass off your hand, as I leak out streams of white sticky fluid.

You fuck me desperately. Harder. Hardly here or there. You screw me and it makes my cunt ache, and it makes my heart race, and it makes my bones hurt.

I come for you so many times. So wet. So near and so far away. In pain and in anguish. In pleasure and froth and desperate exhalation. Moans and cries.

Thighs clap together, like hands. Clap hands. Blood on my legs. Spit in my face. You hold on tight to my delicate throat. It makes my ears ring. Smack. Harder. Smack again. It all becomes a blur with you. It evolves like a metal machine. Why can't we just play nice? Why would we.

Funny. Period.

You push your fingers into me, pull them out and draw a thin red line, down my sternum.

I am leaking. Come and blood and embarrassed excitement. Every time you touch me it feels like a shock. A blistering burn.

My body, my blood, my lack of control.

It begins with your cock in my mouth. It starts to unravel from there.  Gag and wretch and drool and dote. You kneel up and play with my breasts. Heavy and soft in your hands. I sink down and you tower over me. You pin me. You smack me back and forth across my little cheeks.

You tell me that I'm disgusting. I am. You tell me that I'm bleeding.

You throw yourself inside me. I can feel it. Do it for me. Lose yourself. You fuck me on my back and on my knees. You plunge your sodden fingers, into my mouth.

Rag me by my hair. I look at you and I spit blood at your face.

It drips off your chin
And down your neck.

I can see the anger heat you up. The sheer disbelief. You gob spit all over my eyes and mouth and force my head back onto the bed.

Strands of perfect red and white ooze from my body. I am ecstatic and perched on the edge. Just sitting, sat there. Riding on it, as you force me to ache.

Blood on my back, bloody prints on my hips and arse. Blood on my hands. There's blood on my hands. We climax in a magnetism. Stuck together and forced apart. Primal and raw and full of disgust. We come and crash like rivers. Rapid and barren and wild.

Red
Your hands
There's blood on your hands

We smoke a cigarette on the porch.  It never tasted so good.

Funny ha ha, funny peculiar

You hand is clasped around my mouth. You're calling me a slut and a whore. You have your fingers between my legs and I am soaking. You tell me this isn't about me. You tell me you don't even want to look at me. What a thing to say.

I could have died then. I could have. I could have crumbled into absolute dust.

You tell me to get up and go to bed. You tell me to take my clothes off.
You tell me that you're going to fuck me.

I spread my legs for you. I comply with you. I need you.

You fuck me so hard. You cover my mouth tightly with your palm. You berate me for being wet and climatic. You make me come so fucking hard.

I free my mouth. I gasp for breath. You drive yourself into me painfully. I bite you. I scratch you. I tell you that I hate you and I pull you into me so close. I pull you in.

The comedian - anticipation of pleasure is pleasure itself

Sitting in crowded bars amongst friends. Hands intertwined with each other. You reach into my sleeve and twist my skin until it burns. I maintain your gaze. You slide you hand underneath my jacket and pinch the soft flesh of my waist, through my thin chiffon shirt.

Just because you can. Just because I'll let you.

You push your body into mine and I can feel how hard you are. You dig your nails into the back of my neck. You push your knee between my thighs, whilst we sit on tall bar stools. It makes me seep.

You blow cigarette smoke in to my face. You curse to me, under your breath. You pull threads out of my heart - make fun of of my feelings for you. I threaten to take them away. You slide you thumb into my mouth and I suck on it like a babe. You berate and compliment me in equal measure. But I am sure of how you feel. I know exactly what you want.

Anticipation of pleasure is pleasure itself.

Funny times

You say such things to me. Such amazing things. You smack me hard across the face and stop me from rolling my eyes. You grit your teeth and snarl at me;

"Where are you fucking going? Come back. Look at me. Fucking look at me. You're a cunt. You're a slut. Feel every fucking inch of me. You're so wet. Am I hurting you? I don't care. Beg me. Beg me to let you touch yourself. Beg me to let you come. Are you enjoying this?"

Yes. Yes I am.

The break up #2

Standing in the middle of the road. I have our cases at my feet. One is yours, one is mine. All the baggage that we ever owned. I can still just about see you, in the distance. Half way down the road. I'm half way back. I can still just about see you. As a shadow, as a mirage.

Just not. Just about. It almost feels like a dream. The ground beneath my feet is hot and you're really far away now. You're not coming back. I can still just about see you, as a ghost and as a vision. Sad and inhuman. As sorrow and loss.

I can still feel you as pain. As a sound, as a whisper. As a ghost and as a vision and as a loss.

The comedian again.

I cannot wait to feel you. You push your body into mine, and I can taste sweat on your neck, and it drips down my spine. You fill up every single hole and I come and go, so many fucking times. It feels so good. So intimate and visceral and innocent and it feels so good. You talk to me, stitching fear and desire into my flesh and wetting my lips. You make me talk to you. I chat in my usual apocalyptic drawl about nothingness and the pursuit of my own dissolve. My acid bath. It hurts, when you fuck me on my back, and it makes me hope I'll bleed.

You are such fun. You chastise and berate me and make me feel like a very desirable whore, like a fleshy ball of sex and shame, a cute sweet innocence. An equal player in a game. You make me drool. You push your fingers into my mouth. You make the room beat and sweat. You shake my flesh and smack my cheek. You stall my breath. Every time I talk to you. I stall my breath

The comedian

Sweet, you are, the nicest thing, right now and that's the way it always starts and never ends.

That anticipation laden thick like butter between my lips and it's heady and needs to begin.

I am so soaking wet. So wet. Desperate to get what I want out of you but it doesn't quite feel that cold this time. It doesn't quite feel like that. It doesn't quite feel like nothing.

You slide your fingers between my thighs. I stare at you in desperate grace and stifle cries, whilst I cover my mouth with my hand and we fuck and we sleep.

The break up

Why would you tell me that you're in pain? Why would you tell me that you're sad? I won't tell you that I'm suffering. I won't share. I was never very good at sharing anyway...

I never knew that you would hurt. I never knew it. I hoped that you would. I hoped that it would burn. The loss would scald you. The regret would smart. You cannot sleep. I hoped that you'd feel sick. Throw up. Mop up.

I hope that one day I can purge you from my body.

One day you'll stop being in my head.

The first thought that I have in the morning. The last thing 'I think about at night. You've already left my dreams. You've already left.

15 small words - Sir - oral sex

Hours or head. Why do I deserve this?  It almost stops feeling good, not quite.

Tom - a cheap hotel

My back arches and I push my cunt against your mouth. Greed and satisfaction swarms in my head. The penetrating buzz of pleasure.

Give me what I want. Give in and fuck me.

Your body joins mine and it fits so well. We blend together, conjoin and evolve. Become something important to me. It blunts out the bits of you I don't like. It feels delicious. I know you want to fuck every hole I have. I bay you "Fuck my arse. I know you want to. Just do it". You don't really need to be told. Hearing you come is like beautiful music. Hearing the desperation and satisfaction - it's the most exquisite sound.

Wrapped up in each other's placid kisses afterwards I can see a thought in your mind. I wish I knew how to spell it. I wish I knew what it was

Later I am on my knees on that hotel room carpet. Head pushed hard against the wall. Face smacked. Mouth full of cock. You pull me up by my hair and deftly pushes yourself into my arse again. You rag my hair and makes me howl, fill up my body with seedy satisfaction.

I need to come. I touch myself. You get dressed to go smoke a cigarette. I ask you to push your fingers inside me. Which you do. Jerk them in and out of me. I come and gush all over the bed. Glad it's not mine. I make so much noise. It feels so good. My eyes are wide and my heart races. It feels so good. It would be easier to like you if you let me. It would be easier to like you if all we did was fuck.

Too gone Tom

Fuck yes. Get in my bed. I push my lips hard against his. Ripping, ragged kiss. Jesus Christ I have missed this. Fuck me. So wet. I frantically unbutton his jeans. So hard, so wet, so so. He almost whimpers when I touch him. He touches me. Plunges his fingers into my tight, damp hole.

I beg him to fuck me and he pushes in hard. Deep and hold. Fuck and twist me up. I come desperately.

He screws my head, my throat so hard, I can barely breath. Rack up that oily spit. Bring it up. Urgh my head is spinning. He throws me back down and screws me again. Comes deep in my hole. In a plastic bag. My my. I never needed you more than I did right now.

He holds me. Chats to me. Gets dressed. Tries to talk to me firm. I don't listen. I'm cunt drink. I don't care. I don't listen. I try and book him in. Appointment to view. I need him to fix all the bad shags and lack of. The fixer. I'm probably in too far. I'm probably in.

The brain and the waster standard

"I don't really kiss" he said.

I don't care about your pleasure was the implied thing.

I don't care about your cunt and I don't care

If you don't care for my body then who will?

If you don't sustain me, I'll go hungry.

Ravenous and wild eyed, chasing a fuck that never comes or a come that never happens.

Dark spirited and sour. Full of resentment as I pleasure myself, fill myself up as full as I can. Make myself hurt.

If you wont feed me, I go hungry. You don't care. I starve and whither, If you don't feed me.

I'm so hungry.

The solar eclipse

So I get on the bus. Walk to the back to get a space and sit by this guy. It's those seats where you face each other. He's got his legs wide open. I settle myself. I can smell his cock through his jeans. He's got that heavy smell like sweat and unwashed denim

I have to cram my legs inbetween his. Wide open. It's obscene for 9:23. I can still taste alcohol in my mouth from last night and this other guy to the side of me has a neck so thick I can see all the lumps and bumps in it. All the veins. I can see them all.  I gag in my mouth. Thank god it's Friday

Tom - fleeting thought

He's covered in drool and effort, he has my head in his hands and he's repeatedly jamming himself into my throat. I'm gagging and coughing and wet eyed. He has his fingers between my thighs. He raises his hand. I watch his eyes flicker. I see a thought of smacking my cunt slide swiftly through his mind. He doesn't do it though, and that's a shame.

Tom - 15 small words

"Tom, I love sucking your cock". That's what I tell him. Thats what I think.

Tom - the join

The deft eager push as he slides his cock into my arse. I hiss between my
teeth as that swift pain hits. Grab his hand. It's been a while. Nudge nudge. Painful itchy split skin. Forcing past it in my head and then we join.

I come hard whilst he's fucking my arse. We come together. He leans over my body and twists his fingers into my hair like he's going to scalp me. It fucking hurts. I don't care. He sounds in anguish and heaven.

The heat of his body against the curve of my spine. His breath on my neck. The smell of sex and sweat and perfume.

Tom

A tentative kiss. A whisper of distance between tongue and lips. I have missed you. Even though you tease me, I do.

I'm on my knees in front of you. Your hard dick in my mouth and hand in my hair. You smack my face so hard my ear rings like a bell, and I lose myself. For a second. Stop myself from fainting. You pause like you're afraid. But in not afraid. Nothing can scare me. I am always terrified.

Take the world away. Tom.
Take the world away. Or don't.
You already did that to yourself.
You still do it and you try to pretend that you don't. You judge me like I'm a woman you could have. You judge me like a girl. But I'm not. I'm barely human. I'm not a woman when I'm with you. I'm not a woman.

Tom Pretty Green

I kissed you like that. Green and hopeful. How I kissed you. I don't know if you're good for me but I can't stop thinking.

It's hard to sleep in bed with you, right now. It's hard to sleep. Comfort is a gradual growth. It's a cancer in a delicate balance.

You spread me open wide, I sprawl apart like a spreading weed. Green shoots. Meat thighs and wet lips. Your tongue and teeth are on me. There's a lot of sex and the fit is good. Both physical and head. Both physical. You drive into me and we cover each other up.

Comfort grows gradually. You stroke my face. Tease me. Smile at me. Ping my strings, like school yard stuff.

You run your fingers over my lips, push then into my mouth, rub yourself against me. Wind your body around me. Entangle. I give in and I crumble into earth. Into the earth. Every time. I give in. I adore you right now.

Rhyming Tom

I watch your mouth. You stroke my face. The air is think with awkwardness.

Who wants to pull the trigger? You first.


I am a mess, a bleeding and bloody mess. An oozing machine of swollen flesh.

I convulse and purr like an old car. You smear my cum into my hair. I don't want us to leave it there.


Drink makes me inhibitions non existent. You offer minimal resistance.

You take advantage in my bed, you fill me, I'm sodomised, I yelp, I hurt, I beg. I give you head.

I am smeared, coated, covered.
In love, in lust, unbothered.
Sex does that sort of thing, when everything around you stops existing.

Time stops ticking.
Listening.
Ticking.

I curl into you, stroke your thigh. Harden up, with no surprise. A whisper in your mouth and then, it sort of happens all again.

Tom the revelator

I'll probably write about you. God knows, I'm thinking about you. You're almost perfect. So flawed. Not even beautiful, but I don't need that. Your lips meet mine in an electric blur, your hand on my throat. Your tongue on me neck.

You tell me your blues. You were a junkie. Crack and brown. You've still got all your teeth. You still look good.  You use to be a junkie. That addiction still sits in your soul. That all encompassing desire for more. I'll give you more. I'll feed you. I'll shoot you up. I'll become irreplaceable. I could be everything for you. I could be everything. I feel so fucking powerful. Chase me.

Sunday night

Standing in front of him. Exposing myself. Drip on the floor. Our wooden floor. Feed it.

His thighs push against the back of mine. Bent knees. Filling me up. Fat little cunt. Filling me up.

Noise and squelch. Red with embarrassement. Plain red.

Full of cock. Head down and wanting. Upstairs now. Back on my knees and drenched. Coming everywhere. All over him. Soaking us. Some desperate mewling mess.

Watching him smoke. Please don't make it over.

I can hear him snoring gently next to me. The shadow of his body in the dark. I jerk myself off aggressively. Watching his chest move up and down. Listening to that peaceful breath. Heavy cunt. Pathetic and so hungry. I come and it's silent and lonely. It's content and then it's sleep.