|
My voice sings songs of fucking,
and I hum the melodies,
in my mind
without trying.
My sexy demeanor,
proclaims the flashing images,
of
the fucking going on,
in my minds eye.
Oiled, writhing, naked
bodies,
with every orifice, willingly,
raped and ravaged.
There is
a woman in me,
that only likes rough sex.
Steal her, fight her,
take
her, and hold her down.
That woman is so careful,
about letting men
know,
that if they just knock her,
against as wall and take her,
anyone
could have her.
There is a woman in me,
who is everything,
an
outstanding whore should be.
She needs to be paid for,
and treated like a
purchased object.
There is a woman in me,
that is a submissive
mans,
perfect dominatrix fantasy.
She needs to hit, whip,
take and
torture.
She feels a driving mission,
to use men,
and make them
cry,
at her feet.
Rarely, for five minutes,
here or there,
there
is a woman in me,
that is a submissive, tender girl,
She is rarely around,
because the other women,
constantly kick her,
out of
being.
There is a woman in me
that wants to be an erotic earth
mother,
to have docile passive,
sensual people
surrender their
will
and surrender to the desire,
to nurse on my powerful breasts,
and
healing nipples.
There are women in me who want,
to hurt and
heal.
Torture and deliver.
Condemn and save.
The women that are
me,
are fierce and powerful.
I worship and crave,
the ones who
submit,
the ones who desire, need, want,
to be bent over and
teased,
into stinging redness,
from my riding crop.
And yet,
I
am equal parts
cerebral nun and evil priestess.
My voraciousness, my
proclivity
for the seamy, the compliant,
the brilliance of those splayed
assess,
the stunning beauty of a passive,
docile alluring yielding
soul,
with a body that flaunts the marks,
from my flagrant
practicing,
of my souls desire.
To sexual people,
I am the perfect,
bold and undisguised,
fearless, dominant woman.
I find people
respond,
in only one,
of two ways.
They run towards me,
at
breakneck speed,
or they run terrified away.
I don't know which ones,
are the brave and sane one.
I know they don't know.
As long as
there is sex,
there will always be a place for,
all the women in
me,
The ones that have a taste,
for reveling in,
the sexuality of
others.
Even if theirs is a,
passive flame,
that barely
burns,
the moth cannot,
resist my fervent fire,
that burns white
hot.
I am every mystical,
inscrutable, enigmatic
woman.
Definitely,
more female than most.
Or is it that I
am,
just more alive.
My sexuality's voice screams wantonly,
and
there are times,
when my perversity,
will be unleashed,
for just a
moment,
so that I can feed on,
the nervousness, the terrors,
the fears
of the timid.
The brave few,
who will stand their terrified
ground,
are chosen to be the next archangel,
in my worshiping a yielded
will.
The faint of heart,
the timid ones,
the scared ones,
the
ones with no tastes,
for excitement and fear,
they are uninteresting to
me.
The fatalistic, the stoic.
The flagrant sensualists,
they are
my favorite prey.
I am the true Lillith,
the first wife of
Adam,
who was kicked out of Eden,
for refusing to be submissive.
My
erotic power is huge,
my sexuality is massive.
It is a living,
breathing,
thinking, and feeling thing to me.
And yet,
the nun in
me lives on
** |