Sunday, November 1, 2009

Goodbye cruel world, I'm off to join the circus.



Sitting in my half cleaned room, with a half dry shirt on, with half an hour to kill and I have blood on my hands. There is alot that can, or could, be achieved by not just letting time pass me by.

So I decided to write some erotic fiction.
For some.

Kathy was dressed like a clown, with her ovaries ripe. Her vulva, pulsating to the rhythm of a skipping record. She sat, legs akimbo, atop a cloud of poisonous smoke, strumming at her bean guitar. The labia, tightly tucked like she was a virgin, were being casually splashed with urine and whipped cream.
"Bring out the whips" screamed Kathy.
Each stroke left a welt, a red rising welt, that looked like a myriad of pink threaded spider webs on her thighs and her buttocks.

As she cut her finger and let the blood drip into Victor's mouth, there was silence.
Drip by drip she held Victor down with her knee and let the blood trickle down her finger, slowly, and into and around his mouth. Drip.
The IV drip was inserted haphazardly.
Liquid ounces of love, being delivered straight to her bloodstream, then into Victor's craving mouth.

Even though Kath was pregnant, she still fucked like a demon. Her hair was just another rope to pull tighter, another way to get the ship to shore.
For sure.
Anyway, Victor stood up.
Standing over Kathy he pulled out a pair of forceps. The cold, silent metal began its journey. It slowly pried apart her vagina, and he inspected it with a stern knowledge.
The whip lashed.
Her juices gushed down so profusely Victor had to take another swig of Vodka.

A sharp, shooting pain was felt by both of them. Kathy, with the forceps hanging out of her rectum, and Victor self mutilating himself with a Zipppo lighter, watching Kathy squirm in pleasurable pain.

Darling, stand by me?

As Victor nailed Kath into her coffin, he left her a rotten cucumber and a electric toothbrush to remember him by. She gasped one last breath as Victor hammered the lid down, secretly knowing when he returned the next day, or next week, he'd have a present for her.

Join the motherfucking circus.

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