The Crucible

I sit here alone, wading through the thick river of my thought process sorting out cards of introspective reflection spilled across the floor of my mind. For I feel like i've just gotten out of fight I had no way of winning yet I feel like a victor. My lower lip sore, made apparent as I braise my tongue across it, my fingers, perforated, blistered and raw as if my right hand fool heartedly flirted with a blender systematically spinning dull blades, my body exhausted from running a marathon a I didn't participate in, yet my heart still racing reminds me otherwise. But I sit here, lost in self reflection, battered, bruised and smiling..

If I could imagine your eyes speaking, they do not whisper false notions of romance nor ubiquitous sentiments of love. They scream at me the desire to be fucked in the worse way possible, loveless, devoid of attachment and no remorse, all good currency in my world. For tonight love and affairs of the heart, nor ethics or morality for that matter, have no dominion here in this place of lust and passion that burns as fast as day light, all made possible, blessed and anointed by Venus, our patron saint of pleasure.

As I lay in my back, watching you, I fondle myself as I watch your hungry eyes search my face, made easy to read, for I wear my desire for you as clear as an auspicious blood red moon on a clear spring night. By now, im a book you've read several times, for I love how you strategically place kisses and glide your lips around my face and my neck, as if you studied a cheat sheet on what moves me. My cock needs little encouragement, for the sight of your bedroom eyes, supernatural in so many ways, cast a type of magic im vulnerable, susceptible and willingly submit myself to, as thoughts of penetrating you flood my mind. You begin molesting my ear with your tongue, which can be described in one word, 'fucking sensational' - make that two words, I love feeling your tongue and your lips work in tandem like a seasoned conductor manipulating a complex orchestra. I feel the lament of a heroin's junkie's addiction, as I crave more of your twisted affection, as it turns my body into melted caramel in your passionate embrace. You moan in my right ear, music to my auditory senses as far as I am concerned, your ecstasy at just the right decibel, each moan digs deep into my soul and fillets it with phosphoric white flames of passion. I go into a frenzy when you whisper that your pussy is dripping wet. Sometimes I wonder if it's you who has been working a silver tongue on me this whole time.

My cock is as hard as granite, more eager than  a fucking beaver and yearns for more than just the belligerent stroking of my hand or the delicate touch of yours. With a touch of affection, I compel you to kiss it, a phrase you've come to loathe, but you dive on it with your mouth like flame retardant putting out a forest burning nonetheless. Like my ear, you apply that same magic to my cock, at times wrapping your tongue around it like a leviathan wrapping itself around a tree branch and other times, you suck the tip with your lips, sending me into sensory overload, my eyes must be bruised from hitting the back of my head so many times. Nothing more beautiful as I watch the silhouette of your head in the darkness, slide up and down, a visionary work of live art if you ask any man blessed to have experienced triple A fellatio.

By now, I cant take it anymore and refuse to take one more breath until I feel myself inside you. I ask you to take your pants off, you ignore it, driving me further into my frenzy, I demand you to take it off while I take my growing frustration out on my penis, you say nothing and continue smiling at me through the dark, as if you are satisfyingly enjoying a secret you refuse to share. I start to reach a boiling point where I feeling like im getting ready to tear your fucking clothes off but I try a different approach. I beg in a pathetic manner, desperately trying not to give you the satisfaction of seeing me angry, desperate to fuck you and partially enjoying your prolonged tease. But this time, you oblige me, sliding your pants off like easy to slip off the feet slippers. The hunger inside me is terrible, wanton, and potentially violent, all soothed as you climb atop me. And mother have mercy, as I slide it in, I lose control.

We fuck like a violent hurricane destroying a coastal town with a total disregard for all of its inhabitants. I slide my fingers inside your mouth, one at a time for you to punish with your teeth, you gnaw on it like a starved lycanthrope who hasnt had a victim in days, god it feels good as you apply just the right amount of violence to my fingers. Fuck guilt. We're fucking like sinners, spitting in the face of moral consequence all in the name of curiosity and the physical need to release. I call you a fucking bitch and a whore among a list of endearments to dress the mood. I wrap my hands around your throat, pushing you down onto my granite hard cock, as I try to fuck up your vagina with blunt force trauma, the culmination of weeks of teasing and excessive flirtation being exacted upon you, I fight the urge to throttle you harder despite the look on your face telling me you want it tighter. By now we are fucking like nothing else matters in the world, for me nothing else does, for time and space had already dissolved to the furthest recesses of mind as I travel down this path, indulging in my hedonism with you. I cant take it anymore. I just cant. I explode inside you months of sexual frustration and billions of my potential children, in a brutal supernova that would make an exorcist cower in fear, for this is one crucible that even the most pious of us, could not bear witness to.

After a cigarette and a few short moments later, you kick yourself out, leaving me self reflecting of what had happened... with a smile on my face.