apex crow 02
You feel her moving for a long, long time. Longer than she has any right given the way her struggles force long, luxurious belches up your throat. You sway yourself to the minibar, swollen like a whale, and take both mini whiskies together in one hand. The other idly strokes your dick, keeping yourself hard. It would be impolite to be finished before she is.
Something wooden cracks when you collapse backwards onto the hotel bed, but it still bears your weight. Momentum shifts her palpably beneath your flesh. For an instant, internal nerves reveal her shrink-wrapped form inside you, clear as an X-ray. Her head is trapped beneath your ribcage, near your heart. Her arse is the curve topped by your belly button. Her knees roll with a xylophone rap over the nobbles of your spine, softened by toned layers of muscle and soft visceral fat. Then she settles into place and her motions are again small, desperate, easily contained by your powerful body.
As she grinds away on her journey to what you suspect will be a memorable shit, you allow your mind to drift. She’s inside you, completely yours, and you know the taste of her mind. If she were a fly in your web before then now she is liquifying in your cocoon. Pain and terror make her malleable. You press down on her with your soul and engulf the struggling spirit that is not quite yet done living…
but it’s dark and the dark hurts and I can’t get out but if I close my eyes I see him. I see his eyes. I see kissing him, tasting his face. He’s hot and I want to eat him up but the way he’s looking at me God I can’t catch my breath. So I open my eyes even though it’s dark, even though his juices burn my eyes. I don’t want to go through it again. I’m going to soften up and melt like all those guys and that one chick and I never wanted to end up some guy’s bowel movement but I’ve got to close my eyes they hurt so bad and God he’s right there look at his eyes his red eyes look at the way he’s staring into me and I’m kissing him
You twist the lids off both those bottles and drain one, letting it glug its contents into your mouth before swallowing in one slug. A pleasant overharsh heat traces the path your dinner-date took. Will she even notice the whisky?
You toss aside the empty and give her a back massage, digging your thumbs into your own stretched belly. Soft body hair glides beneath your fingers and your layer of pudge depresses to let you feel her within you. It feels like she’s softening and you feel the process. Just like you’re helping her mind to soften. This time you got her to relive the tryst to the point that you penetrated her. Your massaging hand slips down to grip yourself, stroking with three fingers underneath your shaft and your thumb above, a heavy tease on hard wood.
thrilling the way he lifts me and throws me back I don’t bounce because I’m heavy but the way he looks at me I don’t feel heavy I feel small. He makes me feel small and I kind of like it but I’m hungry and he’ll fill me ooooh he filled me alright, I swallowed him alright, he’s hot inside me and so heavy on top, didn’t think he was so heavy I’m trapped but I don’t want him anywhere else. The little rock, the little scratch of public hair as he grinds me I love it, makes my feet tingle, makes my belly flutter
You taste the way her belly fluttered. Yours is fluttering now. Hopeless fingers, maybe worn down to stubs, trace the folds of your stomach in between squeezes. What would she do if she even found the entrance? Her shape is degenerating. You’re rounder than you were even five minutes ago, and when you run a hand up and down your belly you slosh…
Then something gives. You feel it. An artery is eaten through and enough blood enters the person-soup that she flatlines. Her soul shudders and tries to maintain its fraying grip but there’s nothing to hold on to and she is yours. You drain the second whisky single and commence the process of digesting her awareness and folding it into your own.
thrusts blurring into a pulse train of hot insistent pleasure, buttocks aching with effort of taking him, but — oh, oh God, my heart, it’s air, and all around me stars! Some distant, like cities in the sky. But most stars right here. They’re him. Somehow I’m in him. I move my arm slowly, like in treacle, and try to speak but he floods in with awesome pressure and—
blurring into a pulse train of hot insistent pleasure, buttocks on fire with the effort of thrusting into her again and again. My cunt blossoms open for each thrust and my dick traces holy secret pathway, crushed in silk, scalded in fine heat. When I withdraw the ridge of my head catches against her narrower entrance and the squeeze/stretch is golden to me. I want it again, so I must go deep, he comes deep inside me and fills me up, I’m so hungry, I want him to grind my clit and kiss me keep kissing me lick you lick me open wide but fuck me first
You’re almost delerious with lust, your memories and hers combining in a vision of priapic intensity. What is captivating for you she drowns in, being forced to relive the event and being pumped full of your recollections, all to keep her fixed and helpless while your soul bleeds her dry. You grip yourself in your whole hand and drink in the murderous fantasy. Each stroke causes the soft, wet mass in your belly to slosh back and forth, a triumph of your stomach over her living flesh. You wank yourself off as she gurgles into your intestines and falls apart in the maelstrom of your soul.
underneath the shaft most sensitive feel her opening like a good scratch an itch unlike any other. Wet wet wet, she’s so wet and the glide is like acceptance and love. I want to go so deep he’s so deep fuck he’s inside me no he’s inside my head I can’t stop him I can’t remember so much. He fucks me and each thrust takes I can’t remember where I live I can’t remember my family my cock practically glowing with heat and lust, giving, taking; my pussy, taking and giving. A growing pressure deep within, sitting in the pelvic floor, a need to express, to output, combined with a feeling of being filled from toe to chest with glowing golden liquid. She came first no I came first I’m her but if I cum now I’m going to come apart I’m going to melt and his cock is going to take everything suck me up jizz me out melt me down
She’s coming apart like her body did, chunks as soft as rose petals and raw as kidney submerging beneath your lethal undertow. You have beat yourself to the very edge of climax and now you hold just your head, stroking beneath it at the crux, firm but as slow as you can to let you live a little longer in the vinegar gold anticipation of orgasm. It hurts like the stretch of prey freshly swallowed. It demands resolution. When you do, the tiny core of your prey that remains will shatter and be absorbed. She will be no more.
You gasp. No longer. Can’t hold. A bloody-whisky burp pushes you over the edge and you begin to beat yourself as fast as you can, as tight as you can. Restraint to the wind. Take all you can, give all you can.
The poor woman never had a chance.
He’s cumming I’m cumming like pressure from swinging balls to pelvis to pulsing dick, a brief, intense clenching. I take it all and spasm, clenching down on him like I wanna crush him, I do, I do but he got me, I’m dead, I’m all his, this is it my eyes roll back in my head and I burst in pleasure and silky-sticky wads run through me, touching my last secret parts. Every part of me his or bound to him, and then he pulls and I flow in, bulging the head of his dick and along the underside and I’m smaller with every one till I’m swallowing the last of her. She’s no longer struggling. Submitted wholly and dissolved permanently. Mine.
You clean yourself up and catch your breath. Maybe a shower is called for but right now you want only to collapse into sleep. She’s there inside you but not there. Her body is crawling on liquid form through your intestines, no longer really her body. Her soul is subsumed entirely into yours, no longer really a soul. You are blessedly full, sore and satisfied.
The waxing gibbous moon shines down on your exhausted form through open curtains.