Ask

He called to me.

He knelt before me.

His tears wet my bare cold feet.

Stumbling on the words, he asked me to hurt him.

To love him.

I gave him silence. A long exhalation of moist breath.

He told me that he needs to be gently choked.

To be slapped, spit on.

To be overpowered.

His shame is great but his desire, greater.

To hear names of filth whispered in his ears.

Each word making him whole.

Every syllable washing away his false persona, his outer shell imposed by society.

I closed my eyes. Presented him with the curve of my lashes, my still lips.

His fingers wrapped around my ankles.

The outline of his spine under his smooth pale skin.

He begged me to to take him, penetrate him.

Take away the world, obliterate his boundaries.

Please. He said.

I replied with a lack of motion. Rooted in place.

I waited, like the statues in a hushed an dark church, until he pulled away.

His lean and spare form, fading from my downcast view.

He wants.  He aches. He dreams.

I am not an idol.

I do not want worship.

I sent his prayers into the skies, gossamer ribbons floating.

To be caught and answered by another.

Distance

Two of you.

Kneeling, waiting. Anxious. Afraid.

One is to be used, the other discarded. Left empty.

I take you, the male specimen. Lean, sinewy, slightly furred along your runner’s legs and arms.

You fail. Your mind rebels as your body hopes, struggles, begs to accommodate.

Your sphincter pushes against me, the strongest indication of how you are not worthy.

With a push, I move you, tears running silently into your mouth. The salt tastes sweeter than your defeat.

With the slightest flare of her nostril to indicate her contempt, she consumes the spot where you were. Her knees fit into the warmth yours left behind.

Made for this, eager for this, needing this.

I easily take her, the only sound is the smack of my hands settling onto her hips.

She is rounded, soft, silky. Shaven, as I directed.

We slip down , so deep, into the rhythm that is natural to us by birth, and is alien to you.  You are the subject, not the object by the rising of the sun and throughout the day. The verb, not the adjective.

Both of our eyes are upon you, cloaking you in derision and shame.

The steady gaze penetrates you, slowly turns your remorse into loud gulping sobs.

Faster than I entered her, you register the sharp crack of my hand against your cheek. With a slight shake of my head, I tell you to stifle your cries.

Chastened, you freeze;the shock binding to your disappointment, like how butter creams with sugar.

Then. There. How. Why.

I show you what a woman can do.

You cannot go the distance and it fills your heart and mind with gall. Coasts your tongue, ashes crumbling in your mouth, the acrid grit stinging.

What use are you to me?

Envelope

When you take my ass, I assume that your cock will enter my brain.

Like a sword, I felt you cut through me, slicing my defenses and protests.

Deeper you go, whispering that I can take it.

I take it, because you wish it. What am I but your fucktoy.?

With every bit of pain, I come one step closer to salvation.

Yours.

Dissolved

On my knees, I pause. Waiting, anxious,scared.

You whisper against my neck: spread wider.

I do. I push my legs apart until I feel my hips creak the muscles gently whining that they are at the limit.

Slowly, you take my ass.

You tell me to not be afriad, your cock loves my ass, it needs it.

it is not my ass i am worried about being bruised.

My heart is the fragile orifice.