Matador

One time the man
fucked me until my skin crawled from the outside
- in and the bin
was filled with ripped sachets of lube
and the smoothness of his flesh left me somewhat distressed that a creature with soft features such as he could do
this. Yet what bliss had cum upon
me, as I was scraping my mind up off his floor
and the soreness of my ring was still swelling.

The most telling piece of me
was my fingers
as they shook from a lengthy climax
and my back ached on from spasming.

One time the girl was twisted and her head-spaces left her in two places
at once, laying there on his bed
yet not quite for in her plight she was one, a bought black-market slave
with an innocent cave
in which to crawl.
She had never done something in the spot where he'd plotted his
every thrust
and yet she trusted this was something she needed and something she deserved,

he told her so.
Another story playing wildly in the corner of her mind,
that of a hooker with nothing that took her by surprise.
Confidence wept from her body,

effort burned in her thighs. After he'd finished,
rolled away from either a victim
or a professional or neither,
and a partner, she laid and waited
for the characters to peel themselves
from her skin and
enter, back,
within the darkest place of a porn-exposed mind.