Author S. K. Nicholas

Seductive cunt. She’s got a name, but I can’t remember it. It’s not important. Shouting lovers uninteresting. Stream of misplaced thoughts, gone. Layers of porno and saliva that drip from my mouth to hers. Legs raised upon my shoulders, I’ll give it to her hard. Squeezed tits. Cursing always. She bites as I pull her arms back, but the patterns of stars outside make me lose my train of thought. The sideboob. Magic and insects to keep her toes warm. Long walks in the fall. Lights that remind me of Christmas. Bedsheets and tobacco. Illness brought on by undercooked chicken. Pathological liar, and the smell of bottled beer. Glass ornaments to send me to sleep. Temporal lobe devils as my cock goes in deep. From behind. Sometimes above. Never below. Whatever. Intimate destruction. In and out at a thousand miles per hour. The heaviest elements. Love and death. Light years as my stuff goes furthest by far. Your hands on the wall as mine remove your bra. Black mass. Black stockings. lift them up, take them off. Folds of flesh. Flowers always flowers as your sex ruptures from sordid guilt. Witch doctor. Nut allergies whilst abusing your ankles. It’s a matter of discretion, yet I’ll have you just the same. Screams always screams. Your fingers do things you’re too ashamed to admit. Yet they do them, and I’ll allow it every time.