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.
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