Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Consumption frightened her. Surfaces with protruberances terrified her. She'd be threatened with the possibility of engulfment. The tumescence that filled her mouth robbed her of her inner being. As the prick traversed the crenellations of her mouth she experienced a sense of dispossession so complete, so irrevocable that she collapsed into nothingness before its visitations. Her will leaked away, as did any volition. It was a dismemberment so searing that after each incursion, each visitation of unyielding flesh on benumbed mouth she marvelled that she lived to see another day.

The prince enjoys what he does to her. Her wide eyed terror is redolent to him of inexpressible ecstasy. As he disgorges his seed he sighs with pleasure, replete, expended, Regardless of the discomfiture he engenders he enjoys these pleasures. He is mindful of a compunction in that he is oblivious of her terror . Had she articulated it he might abstain from forceful inveigling. But being unillumined his depredations protract ceaselessly.

She loves him. She is but a poor country lass and perhaps it is this love that keeps her from expressing animadversions which, she fears, would destroy their relationship. He has promised marriage to her and she believes him though his father would oppose it. Being on his deathbed ,however the king has a limited life span. They both await his death. Sometimes, she excuses these brutal penetrations as  his expedient way of achieving satiation without impregnating her. But love him as she does she cannot feel any concomitant desire in fellatio. She finds it degrading. Her recoil is visceral , rooted in primal revulsion of anything that threatens the secure boundaries of the self. She has a hazy idea that fellatio exists, had even imagined pleasurably ,in dark fantasy moments, the thrill of silken lips wrapping an engorgement, enclosing it and savouring, like sacrament, the juices expended. But real life experiences are too traumatic and unconscious desires, though pleasurable in the imagination, horrifyingly inimical in real life.

The king dies, they marry. On the bridal night he fucks her. She savours the coruscating gyrations of desire that course through her. This is her territory, this her space for equality. The prince , now the king and she, the erstwhile beggar maid, now the queen. Already she imagines, as comeuppance, a life of deference to her from him. She has discovered the route to this man's love which is through the phallus. She picks his limp penis between thumb and forefinger. She induces desire in his jaded member. And without further aplomb wraps her soft  lips around it, draining to the last lees and beyond, the remnants of his spattered, shattered malehood. 

No comments:

Post a Comment