ole betsy (an environment of product) excerpt

Searing minds razing the tips of nerves, fingers, the heads of beasts, the pecking cocks. She likes to fuck them in the bathroom, she can't help it. The door stays cracked, her crack stretched mouth gobbles the mean thrusts slapping her innerthighs. She loves to pork dirty - dirty pork. She's on course, the main course, she's coarse and a little mean. Her voice is horse, her worn gag reflexed, thick spit drools pendulating teasingly, finally falling, running down, teasing the fixed eyes of her mate-victim, straddled on the toilet, pumping amid the wafting aroma of other peoples piss, besmirching sensuality, soiling the cleansed soul of some random target sex. Who is this person? It's a slut-toy found in the thick of some dirty city crowd. A bastard's daughter and a abused stud ram in time to the fire alarm, clapping loudly and rapidly, moaning like dying herd, a chorus of death in a coffin lowered into the dank murk of sludge grudge fucking. Who is the victim? Who actually cares? Are VD mites crawling and frothing up and down thigh valleys? Looking for a fresh slab of cunt fuck meat to fester in? God! WHO FUCKING CARES? The toilet seat is clanking against the rim porcelain. Palms are stuck flat against the cold and grimy walls of this public shit zone, bracing themselves feverishly as the pelvic pounding nearly snaps wrists. She thinks of love. She swallows the sweat of unbathed balls, and hand-fucks the giant cock like water pump in a fire, hungry, burning, dirty flesh in hell, blistering skin kisses. He's ready for round two as her thoughts turn to her husband and children. Her cunt then releases a gasp of dirty fuck air, and she stretches her lithe back pining for more stranger cock. Who needs a mask when your eyes are closed. Maybe this criminal really is the butler. Maybe it's just another work-corpse routed back to banalland dreary dinner-at-five fucklessland. The running water of the broken shit facilities sound like last rites. He frowns and sneers as he slaps her face hard as his head suddenly punches her baby balloon. She clenches her fists around the handicap rail, and her eyes squinch tightly. Her pussy is tired and looser than ever. The smack of fuck reverbeats all the way down the hall where a few kids are gathered noisily, stomping ground, laughing. This fuck fest may never end. Her red knuckles go white, like her face, as she approaches her record for fuck-gasm sessions. Her proud dad fought the japs just so her milfy ass could enjoy the right to fuck street gypsyniggers. Dad loves the milky hate sticky sticky spider webbed between her legs! The latest young gentleman's name is Who Knows Who Cares. He's a favorite amongst cum gurgling slut-whores like herself.    
   
This nasty rotten beef cake hasn't showered, or thoroughly wiped his dumbass for at least a week,  The sweat itches all over his gross body, a lean fetid mass of taut stink. Her pussy smells like zoo gutter. What slutliness. She's a dog fucker cunt hole just like her dear old mother, whose corpse smells better than the confines of this back room-hole. The summer wretches up heat waves of sweat glistening soil-black sweat beads as slime-wet skin slapping hump-thrust spread the skin liquid disease globules throughout the royal fecal-mess suite. Who notices finger poop wall art when they are being pummeled into a state of transcendental  brain death stupid-ultimate stupid-hypnotic skull bashing wall cracking neck choking ass bruising stupid. A lone rivulet of mouth-drool dons her reddened stressed face.. Her empty eyes, bleeding pain from each masked socket-wrinkle, focus on a particular zen-ultima of physical pain that runs throughout every nasty crevice of her long-ago bewed body-husk impurities. Every painfully hard fuck smack is the drum of the wild slut-cunt promise breaking gape hole whore beat, beat up fuck-skin, beating back at the balls of the beast man stranger fuck bludgeoning crust-crud muck ramming horse-hind vaginal ripping grind. A tender moment ensues for the spark of a couple of seconds as she remembers losing her virginity the second time, to her first boyfriend, second in line after  the guy who through her down in the dark of the bike trail and popped her cherry goo virgin slut-bubble. He was a tender boy, soft as a babies pussy, mama's favorite little wuss forgotten quickly amid the pound of bruise making on the bitch-meat. Her swollen labia stung, the hidden layer of raw flesh now bare to open stale air, drenched in skin-salt, tiny wound-stings stinging like no other pain known to slave bitch cunt-hood. He squeezes the lips together and gives them another pinch as a new stream of treas roll down her nerve-red flecked glistening cheeks—another hard kiss of the palm on her beaten face, his forearm pins her neck as she chokes up a strangely non-human gasping gag. The toilet accidentally flushes, as he throws her to the tile floor. She rolls over, away from her tender love, towards a few boys who start to kick her. The rapid succession of steel toes riddling her worn flesh feel like a tapping punch medley of hate revelry glowing black and blue swollen red to the tune of limp limb crackling, rib bashing, stomach-trauma, head-crush stomp, and the gurgling of vomit. The trumpeting of a couple of guttural hacks lead to the blackland of unconscious orchestrated rape fuck exploration. Her anus stretch rips are but wisps in the oblivion of her lost cause comatose throes of stilled silence that buries awareness in a fortune of unknowingness; body-mind feigned silence realized in the false hush of quiet. Such shroud of sleep truly comforts no victim entirely. Deep inside there is a spirit killing riot of violent rip-tides that rise and fall like giant corpse covered crosses, reminders of grief, extreme hurt, the throb of life secreted within the outer realm that contains the thrashing assailants the brought the toll of punishment ringing deep inside the slut-soul animal sacrifice to the almighty cunt splitting thrust-fuck of god.