Four writers for the price of one blog
♦ I don’t quite know where this came from. Maybe it’s the steady diet of fashion/health magazines I force myself to read when I’ve forgotten to take a book to work. Everyone can can be thinner, happier, more stylish…and some go to darker extremes to get the attention they feel they deserve. – X
“You have that revenge fuck look in your eyes,” he said. He was still, but his restless eyes took her in.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The former fatty thing. You want to fuck all the people you felt could never get, then leave ’em begging for more.” She slapped him and made to walk out, but he dug his fingers into the hollow of her hip bones. “It’s okay,” he whispered.” You can use me if you like. I hate to tell you now that you’ve shed the pork, but fat women are better lays anyway.”
Her face flashed hurt, but it was quickly replaced by righteous indignation.
He turned so they could see their reflection in the dressing room mirror. He licked her earlobe and sucked the fat coral bead of her earring into his mouth. His eyes danced.
She bucked off of him. Her fingertips still tingled from the force of the slap. Half of his face was covered in her crimson hand print.
“You think you’re so fucking clever,” she said, kicking her shoes off. She pulled the bobby pins out of her messy chignon and her bronze hair fell to her waist.
He leaned against the dressing table, waiting.
“You’re smug, and crass…” she said as she reached underneath her dress and pulled down her panties. It was bright enough in the room for him to see how shiny the crotch was before she kicked them aside.
His cock swelled.
She sat on the questionable sofa and spread her legs. “I’m too tired for games tonight. Stop smirking and come and eat me out.”
He stared at her glistening delta. He waited, swallowing his own saliva until her mouth twitched tellingly. Only then did he kneel and blow at the wet heat between her legs.
“Plea–” She stopped. “Come on. We don’t have all night.” She spread her newly slim legs wide. Her scent made him strain painfully against his fly, but he waited a beat longer.
“I don’t need all night.” He squeezed her [still very much so fat] tits over her dress and felt the pearl button-hard pebbles of her nipples. He pinched. Her lips parted. “Show me your tits.”
“We don’t have time for this bullshit.” Her cheeks were now redder than his. He felt the rush of her blood underneath the skin of her thighs. He licked until sweat was replaced with saliva. Her feet were flat on his shoulders, trembling. He gave her a questioning look. She pulled her stretchy minidress up and off. “Happy?”
“Yes,” he said and moved up her body until his mouth found hers. She wrapped her legs around his hips and licked the ridges on the roof of his mouth, trying to divine his thoughts. He opened his mouth patiently and let her lick. He bit the swell of her breast and watched as her areola tightened and her nipple hardened. It was as visual as an erection, and just as beautiful in its way.
She groaned when he finally got back between her thighs. He never grew tired of looking at pussies – he’d looked since he was nine, and he still couldn’t get enough. Plump lips or slim, almond or alabaster, he liked to feel himself quicken as he looked and imagined what it would feel like sucking eagerly at his cock.
And he made sure they were eager. He was secretly proud of that.
She was flushed from belly to cheek. He had not noticed he was massaging her lips as he stared. Her clit was a profane exclamation point at the top of her pinkness where his thumbs had not rubbed. She gave him a peevish look and pretended to close her legs.
“You’re mean,” she said.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied and pressed the pad of his thumb directly below the pulsing bud. She gasped.
Her wheedling turned into a moan as he sucked her clit into his mouth. He slid his broad tongue into her opening, licking up and sucking and flicking and repeating the action until her whole cunt was a swollen, pulsing thing. She dripped so freely his finger had no trouble sliding into her asshole. He knew the power of his gaze and he used it, staring into her eyes as he licked. A periodic flash of tongue made her hips buck. The shallow cup of her belly gathered his sweat.
She didn’t taste like garden variety whore, a maddening mix of woods and exuberant musk. She was white flowers floating on clean warm seawater, a long-forgotten flavor.
He hesitated mid-lick and just breathed her in. Her thigh muscles trembled against his neck.
“Fuck me,” she said. Her sweet voice made the words all the filthier by comparison. “Fill me up.”
He’d perfected his special brand of poison over the years for a certain type of woman. Imperious. Beautiful. The kind made overconfident by the bumbling attentions of countless men. She did not know that the reason he’d known her secret is because it was his own. Pain calls to pain in all its many iterations, per omnia saecula saeculorum…
He didn’t notice that he had continued to tonguefuck her until her cunt tightened around his tongue and filled his mouth with wetness. She filled the room with her white flower scent.
His third eye wept.
She reached for his fly, squeezed his hardness underneath. “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered in his ear, still breathless.
“I want you to go.” He tried too feebly to pluck her hand from inside his pants.
Her body would not be able to fight off the curse…she was too fragile. He felt it, tasted it, saw it in the ultimately kind shine in her eyes. He didn’t want her to suffer, but she was begging him with voice and sweat and maddening musk. It had been too long since he’d felt compelled to resist and his fifth limb refused to obey. It craved innocent flesh.
She sank onto him with a hiccup and a moan. She was still tight with orgasm and her [still very much so] fat tits bounced with her eagerness. He closed his eyes tight, tried to imagine the wooden caresses of past loves gone wrong to cool his ardor but he still clung to her. He wanted to watch her take him so greedily, but he couldn’t hearten himself to do it.
She’d have *that* look in her eyes – the glassy, empty look that they all got once he’d been inside them.
It wasn’t pleasure that made them cling to him like spider silk, it was something else. Something darker. As she ground her hips into his he knew the poison would soon be in the wound. She’d come scratching at his door like they all did, crazy with a lust that wasn’t really her own…
A millisecond before the fatal pulse she twisted her hips off him. He watched dumbly as he twitched and spilled on the questionable carpet. Her tender hollow was still rosy and ripe as she got up and gathered her things. Her look gave him goose bumps.
He stuffed his stinger back into his pants and stared at her as she dressed. She had an unusual grace that he knew was inborn. He started to feel resentful that she hadn’t fallen for it…fallen for him. He was curious about her, but how would he get into her head any other way? He was out of practice.
He cleared his throat. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because you were done.” She stepped back into her heels and smoothed her dress. He kissed the hollow of her neck. His ambition made him stir and harden yet again. He rubbed himself against her ass. “You’d best put the safety on that,” she said and she pulled her hair back up. “You’re dangerous in this condition.”
“You wouldn’t believe how much,” he said into her neck. His hands turned to claws on her waist. She reacted to the sudden pain with a sigh.
She looked in the mirror and wiped the bleeding mascara from underneath her eyes. Although she said no, she arched her back and she spread her legs just enough. He pulled her dress back up slowly. “I’ve got to go,” she said, but she was still as a doe in headlights.
His tender pity was dissolving into the something else that frightened the good girls away…but he had this one firmly in his grip.
“Oh no. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”