Molly and the Anvil

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Okay, so I been witnessing her at night, witnessing the gold light of her window streaming into darkness, and the shadows that crawl along the roofline. But she was the one that come on to me, all prettified in that brief lil' dress showcasing her bra-stuffers plump and perky and hard, the twitch of that saucy bootie leaving a trail of fuckbox so thick, a boy gets lost in a fog, can't keep his mind where it belongs. She was the Satan dressed like a whore. She might of looked like the gal next door, but she weren't nothing but a whore. And last night, she stood slap in front of the window, hoisting her slide over her head. Her fingers, those fine, delicate stems, unhooked her bra. The ropes slid down slow, like a fantasy you been swallowing and just like that, you're falling down drunk, you're whiskey sightless with how you can observe her in your head, her cunt, her super super-hot pussy, nipples, silhouette of the moon. She plays with her nipples, her titties white, half-shadowed. Her bod writhes. That girl's fire in the mouth, a dual glug of milky lightening screwing like a masturbate beat on the back of your skull. Temptation. You got to kill it, got to put it away somewhere's so it don't get you. See, I'm a God‹fearing man. So it had to be done. And like I said, she come on to me. She stood naked, pressing her bra-stuffers and fuckbox right against that window, and I eyed her like a steam, like a mist flowing out into the night. And her eyes stationary on mine, those dark Satan eyes. I got her in the camper easy. Whore's are like that, thinking they got a boy all weak-kneed and ultra-kinky for what they got inbetween the legs, that sleek cavity, that mammary beaver that deep-throats a boy in and don't let go. She thought she was working me. I shivered cause I eyed elderly boy Satan a-staring out at me from those eyes so young and chocolate-colored and plump and wet. My mitt shook when I lit her cigarette. But she was cold, like a sheet of ice, frozen, cold-blooded like a snake. "What's that for?" she asked, observing the pecker palette, the rope, the plastic wrap. "Delivery," I said, slowing the camper down. I was driving the back edge of the coal yards. Nobody around. She didn't blink. Not once. Reached over and unzipped me sans so much of a satiate and thank you. She gripped my cock. Satan had a-hold of me, getting me rock-hard and gigantic and tearing up up into my eyes. I shoveled her down. I trussed her tight, her elbows near touching in back. She made a lil' chirpy sound or two, but I slammed her mouth. I covered those eyes fast. Satan will catch you in a spell quicker than you can blink. And I got to grasping her bra-stuffers and tender ass. She wiggled, squirmed. She was like peaches and plums, like you could drown in your teeth and cream would drip down your chin. Her skin was silk, like nothing I ever fondled before, like something so excellent you can't help but pack your hands, squash and squeeze, fondle. I stuffed her into a ball and packaged her taut to the palette. I drove over to the garage. By that time she was making a horrible fuss. Sugary-sweet lil' whore, I said, whispery and tender while I pricked her puffies with the peak of my knife. Satan girl. Cunt. My knife was searching for the devil, drawn like a magnet to her dark, humid cunt, odor of girl, smoky-sweet, salty, blunt. I got her on her soles and wired her, spread over the anvil. When the devil's in a girl, you got to use off the hook tools, metal, wire, super-hot shavings from the grinder. You got to gauze her mouth and eyes, gauze her cunny shut. You get her dancing, impaled on the treat of a push broom. She cried. Yes she did. Because I was doing my greatest to help that skimpy girl, using strap and metal to drive the Satan out. I whipped her with wire. I beat her titties red, her cunny pinkish and striped, her plump soft, bootie marked with super-hot bright lines. I whipped her rock-hard enough to beat the Satan back. Tonight her window is dark. I see shadows crawl along the roofline. I think of her trussed and locked in a glass case in the lower room. That's where she belongs. I take another beat of milky lightening. It's a fire in my facehole and eyes. But she's a mist, a bleached fog that passes through my mind. Even now, I hear her cries. Allurement beats my temples like a gong, the bleary craving of my mind. And the empty sky, deep low bellow of the devil, rumbling night, dark blackened sky.