Molly and the Anvil

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Okay, so I been eyeing her at night, eyeing 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 sundress showcasing her knockers lush and puffy and hard, the convulse of that juicy butt leaving a trail of pussy so thick, a fellow gets lost in a fog, can't keep his mind where it belongs. She was the demon clad like a whore. She might of looked like the chick next door, but she weren't nothing but a whore. And last night, she stood spank in front of the window, hoisting her glide over her head. Her fingers, those fine, fragile stems, unhooked her bra. The cords glided down slow, like a desire you been drinking 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-fucking-hot pussy, nipples, silhouette of the moon. She plays with her nipples, her bumpers white, half-shadowed. Her assets writhes. That girl's fire in the mouth, a dual glug of white lightening banging like a fap 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 knockers and pussy right against that window, and I witnessed her like a steam, like a mist flowing out into the night. And her eyes fixed on mine, those dark demon eyes. I got her in the truck easy. Whore's are like that, thinking they got a fellow all weak-kneed and wild for what they got between the legs, that sleek cavity, that mammary pussy that gargles a fellow in and don't let go. She thought she was working me. I shivered cause I witnessed older fellow Satan a-staring out at me from those eyes so youthfull and chocolate-colored and lush 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, eyeing the knob palette, the rope, the plastic wrap. "Delivery," I said, slowing the truck down. I was driving the back verge of the coal yards. Nobody around. She didn't blink. Not once. Reached over and unbuckled me sans so much of a satisfy and thank you. She gripped my cock. Satan had a-hold of me, getting me stiff and humungous and smashing up into my eyes. I shoveled her down. I corded her tight, her elbows near massaging in back. She made a lil chirpy sound or two, but I stuffed 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 knockers and soft ass. She wiggled, squirmed. She was like peaches and plums, like you could sink in your teeth and cream would cascade down your chin. Her flesh was silk, like nothing I ever caressed before, like something so superb you can't help but cram your hands, squash and squeeze, fondle. I slammed 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 crappy fuss. Sweet lil whore, I said, whispery and soft while I pricked her puffies with the apex of my knife. demon girl. Cunt. My knife was searching for the devil, drawn like a magnet to her dark, moist 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 exclusive tools, metal, wire, red-hot shavings from the grinder. You got to gauze her mouth and eyes, gauze her Labia shut. You get her dancing, punctured on the treat of a push broom. She cried. Yes she did. Because I was doing my hottest to help that scanty girl, using rope and metal to drive the demon out. I cropped her with wire. I hammer her bumpers red, her Labia rosy and striped, her lush soft, butt marked with red-hot bright lines. I cropped her stiff enough to hammer the demon back. Tonight her window is dark. I witness shadows crawl along the roofline. I devise her corded and locked in a glass case in the lower room. That's where she belongs. I take another strike of white lightening. It's a fire in my mouth and eyes. But she's a mist, a bleached fog that passes thru my mind. Even now, I hear her cries. Seduction bashes 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.