Even though she doesn’t want me to speak, I can’t help but spit words into her ear. Some she hears, while others are distorted as the ever-increasing crackle of electricity fries her mushy, mess of a brain. The electricity rises from her clit up the length of her spine before flowering inside her jigsaw piece skull. The pieces she’s missing aren’t lost, they’re with me at all times, and I do my best never to let her know where they reside in case she tries making herself whole again. Her eyes are wide open, yet they’re as empty as black holes in the sky, and the more I gaze into them, the more the darkness looks back at me. Nietzsche said that, right? Opening and closing her mouth without sound, she gasps and swallows and chews her tongue as if she were in the throes of throwing a fit. Pinching her fleshy bit as hard as I can, I bite her neck. I bite it so hard it sounds like I’m crunching my teeth into an apple.
“Show me a wonder, sweet Meeko.”
She tries telling me to shut up, but she can’t get the words out.
“Shh…shhuu…shuup…” is all she can manage before gasping again.
“Let me see you,” I grunt. “Let me swim in you.”
I’m not sure whether or not she can hear me, but the more I beg, the quicker her breaths get.
“Come come come, sweet Meeko, let me see the waters of your womb.”
Thrashing her head from side to side on the sweat-drenched pillow beneath her head, I toss the pillow to the floor. Kicking the sheets off too for good measure, all that’s left is our slimy bodies, and the more I pinch her, the closer I can tell she’s about to let go. I can hear the rushing of water coming from inside of her, and when I place my ear against her breasts, the echoes of her inner tides come to me as loud as the rumble and roar of thunder.
“Give it to me,” I beg, “drown me in you.”
Snapping her teeth like a turtle again, she growls and groans and as the smell of her sex makes me twitch and heave, the door inside of her begins to open, and with it comes the slice of wonder I so desperately seek.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
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