A Chick in the Nest


She gasps and sticks her tongue out, tonguing some invisible entity by my left ear. Looking out the corner of my eye, I see nothing, but to her, there’s something there. It infuriates her. Perhaps it’s some lingering demon from her childhood, or the spectre of an ex-lover she wishes dead—it’s hard to say. Baring her teeth to it, she spits out a mouthful of gob which flies into the air before falling onto my back with a squishy splatter. As punishment, I thrust into her that bit harder, causing her tits to bounce up and down beneath me, much to my greedy, leering pleasure. Grimacing, she shifts her vision from that which can’t be seen to the sweaty, greasy skin of my wrinkled forehead. Giving me the evols, she spits at me. Cackling, she does it again, but it’s okay because I like it this way.

“Bastard,” she growls.

The growl comes from the back of her throat. It’s raspy and in stark contrast to her milky, angelic features.

“Your bastard, always, and forever,” I say.

Nibbling at my ear as if it were a piece of chicken, she says something else, but the words don’t leave her mouth. Outside, some exotic beat reaches us from a passing car. The beat sounds youthful, and therefore, something I don’t recognise in the slightest. I can tell the smell of food rising from the sidewalk is making her hungry, and although we’ve barely started fucking, the focus of her mind is already beginning to swing. She loves it when we fuck, and yet food will always be her main love. Sometimes, she makes me feed her things while we do it—sugary treats and cream. Sweet fluids and curious candies. I purposely smear the lot over her face. It drives her wild, and more often than not, she’ll come without me even trying. Reaching over to the bedside table, I take one of the muffins I bought her from the store and with my other hand placed over her neck, I bring the muffin to her lips but not close enough for her to lick. Sticking out her tongue, she desperately tries reaching for it yet can’t. She resembles a chick in the nest crying for a juicy worm.

“Bastard,” she croaks again before digging her nails into my buttocks hard enough to draw blood. Squeezing her neck even tighter, her face goes red, and the veins in the side of her head pop out.

“I’ll stop if you want me too?” I ask, but the mere mention of it is enough to make her dig those nails in even harder.

“You dare,” she says, her voice barely audible due to me squeezing her throat tighter and tighter until she can barely breathe. Holding the muffin upon the tip of her tongue, I let her taste the tiniest amount before rubbing it over her nose and flushed cheeks. When I do, her body shudders and her hips thrust against mine telling me it won’t be long at all until she comes.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US

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