60 lines
3.4 KiB
Plaintext
60 lines
3.4 KiB
Plaintext
Archive-name: Violent/dont.txt
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Archive-author:
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Archive-title: Don't
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Don't say it. Not even too sure that she knew how she meant that at the
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time but we all learn soon enough. Don't say it because that means admitting
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that it's worth risking rejection and embarassment; don't say it because if
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you do it's not just a matter of fucking, it's a matter of promises. And
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promises can be painful to keep. Sexually they teach it in the classroom now,
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but emotionally it's on our own that we learn about protection. Better a
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hastily broken hymen between classes than a slowly, langorously, beautifully
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broken --
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I remember some others, particularly the ones I was cruel to. The summer
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after; a few times I went to visit her. I'd walk semi-announced into the
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cramped little box of a house, crane my neck around as I clambered up the
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stairs, tentatively call out her name, then her mother's. Usually no answer;
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usually I'd wait an hour or two.
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Once I walked in, walked up the stairs, heard bedsprings creaking, heard her
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moving and keening, couldn't stop myself rounded the corner: She was up on
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all fours on the bed by the window ass held high head held high back arched
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between the two like the cables of a bridge but this bridge was moving, moving
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back and forth, cables flexing, head tossing, arms and hips giving a little,
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tension, compression, torsion all driven from the rear legs spread wide thighs
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pressed apart secretions running down action and re-action the force providing
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the accelleration applied through a driving rod like the side-rods on a steam
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enging this penis this flesh-piston appearing and vanishing as its owner knelt
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behind her working her back and forth with one hand held around pressing at
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her crotch from the front, fingers running back and forth over her clitoris
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and labia as if working at the keyboard of an organ flesh-piston legs spread
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wide stomachs clenching breasts swinging back and forth mad ecstatic bridge
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the air in the room smelled like cunt and semen thirteen or fourteen I think
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he looked, she liked them younger and older it was maybe twenty seconds I left
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before they saw me watching but she'd known of course I'd be there.
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Flesh-piston back arched breasts swinging fingers working at her crotch cunt
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and semen six hour drive home without the courage to skid off the highway and
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be a statistic, a statistic with one hand on my cock and Schubert on the tape
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deck but back home of course one can always find a party and a girl who'll go
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after innuendoes it was a quick one that night and she said she liked it rough
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quick to the bolts in the bedframe quick to the teasing and the tasting and
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the denial quick to the whip and the wax and the brink of the safeword and
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back again she had never been to these places before I didn't get off, not
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with my cock, she was useless for that but the pain, flowing from me to her
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and as I tore at her body my load was lessened the pain: therapy for me,
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self-realization for her. And inevitably she thought she'd fallen in love
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when it was all over the light was coming up glaring into my eyes over the
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curtains I hit her one more time not gently and saw the expectation rise in
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her eyes like nectar in a wineglass "Look, just get the fuck out, you're
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worthless." Nectar from the eyes falls easily. On her way out "You bas--" the
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command look; she will wish she did not need it so. "Don't" say it.
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-- heart.
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--
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