Molly and the Anvil

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Okay, so I been observing her at night, observing 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 little sundress displaying her boobies plump and perky and hard, the grimace of that jiggly bum leaving a trail of cooch so thick, a fellow gets lost in a fog, can't keep his mind where it belongs. She was the devil clothed like a whore. She might of looked like the girl next door, but she weren't nothing but a whore. And last night, she stood slap in front of the window, raising her glide over her head. Her fingers, those fine, delicate stems, unhooked her bra. The cords glided down slow, like a desire you been guzzling and just like that, you're falling down drunk, you're whiskey sightless with how you can see her in your head, her cunt, her warm pussy, nipples, silhouette of the moon. She plays with her nipples, her fun bags white, half-shadowed. Her figure writhes. That girl's fire in the mouth, a dual glug of milky lightening pummeling like a jerk strike 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 boobies and cooch right against that window, and I saw her like a steam, like a mist flowing out into the night. And her eyes fixed on mine, those dark devil eyes. I got her in the van easy. Whore's are like that, thinking they got a fellow all weak-kneed and mischievous for what they got inbetween the legs, that sleek cavity, that pearly beaver that deep-throats a fellow in and don't let go. She thought she was working me. I shivered cause I saw elder fellow Satan a-staring out at me from those eyes so youthful and brown and plump and wet. My forearm 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, seeing the schlong palette, the rope, the plastic wrap. "Delivery," I said, slowing the van down. I was driving the back verge 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 seized my cock. Satan had a-hold of me, getting me rigid and thick and pummeling up into my eyes. I shoveled her down. I roped her tight, her elbows near touching in back. She made a little chirpy sound or two, but I plunged her mouth. I caked those eyes fast. Satan will catch you in a spell faster than you can blink. And I got to capturing her boobies and soft ass. She wiggled, squirmed. She was like peaches and plums, like you could bury in your teeth and fluid would run in rivulets down your chin. Her flesh was silk, like nothing I ever fumbled before, like something so supreme you can't help but cram your hands, squash and squeeze, fondle. I jammed her into a ball and packaged her cock-squeezing to the palette. I drove over to the garage. By that time she was making a awful fuss. Appetizing little whore, I said, whispery and soft while I pricked her nipples with the apex of my knife. Devil girl. Cunt. My knife was searching for the devil, drawn like a magnet to her dark, raw cunt, scent of girl, smoky-sweet, salty, blunt. I got her on her soles and wired her, stretched over the anvil. When the devil's in a girl, you got to use sensational tools, metal, wire, super-steamy shavings from the grinder. You got to gauze her hatch and eyes, gauze her cooch shut. You get her dancing, impaled on the treat of a thrust broom. She cried. Yes she did. Because I was doing my best to help that skimpy girl, using string and metal to drive the devil out. I flagellated her with wire. I strike her fun bags red, her cooch pink and striped, her plump soft, bum marked with super-steamy bright lines. I flagellated her rigid enough to strike the devil back. Tonight her window is dark. I see shadows crawl along the roofline. I devise her roped and locked in a glass case in the lower room. That's where she belongs. I take another strike of milky lightening. It's a fire in my hatch and eyes. But she's a mist, a bleached fog that passes thru my mind. Even now, I hear her cries. Temptation hammers my temples like a gong, the bleary craving of my mind. And the empty sky, deep low scream of the devil, rumbling night, dark blackened sky.