October 23, 2009

a message from the asylum

Ah there you are! It’s Fornicator. You must remember me; you spurted all over your monitor the last time we were together. You’re welcome, by the way.

Holy Christ, people around here have been miserable. Is it like that out there in the real world, too? The wind howls outside my barred window and I have terrible dreams and winter threatens, my sweet lovelies, and that Winter, she's a cunt. But don't let her get you down. I'll keep you warm, if only for a little while...

I'm naked, straddling you as you lay on the bare stained mattress on the floor in the corner of this filthy decaying crackhouse. People lay around us in various states of intoxication-whores with needles still hanging out of their veins and their tiny addicted babies who won't shut the fuck up, kids high on cheap beer and LSD, bums drunk on Listerine, everybody trying to stay out of that godforsaken wind. It's dark and the place reeks of piss and vomit and sex. I reach down between my legs and feel the thick wetness there and smell the metallic musky smell of my blood on my fingers. I paint my name on your chest in my blood, marking you, staking my claim, and your erection is my reward. I lower myself onto you and suddenly we are alone here in this foul room, and my cunt is alive, slippery with blood, and I fuck you until the heat flushes my body from head to toe and I come in spasms and I feel you come violently inside me and the thought of all those poor sperm surging uselessly forward makes me throw my head back and laugh, banshee laughter rising with the wind.

1 comment:

  1. FORNICATOR is glory at it's best. Keep it. Bring it. I'd fuck myself sideways if I thought it would help. Keep it up, sista.