“She doesn’t belong here,” the others said.
“None of you are needed here,” she said.
A great battle stirred within the Woman.
Desires tossed about and spun around in a twister of rage and ambition she didn’t want to admit all began in her Cunt.
It stirred the debris of longing in her loins and the dust-cloud of a cursed-dry womb. The musings of her clitoris began to sing off-key melodies she knew she knew and tried to forget.
The more she shut it up, the higher the vibrations pulsed. Into her belly in painful agony and regret.
It stayed there for awhile and made friends with discomfort and loneliness.
But the Cunt still cried out.
With a larger muzzle, she trapped it in her heart. A sacred bedfellow of her own creation.
A fantasy became her best friend.
But her Cunt wanted more.
It forgot how to speak and only remembered the soft hum of its old song. Softer now. But more in tune. With a clarity of perseverance.
The Cunt wouldn’t give up.
Into her throat her own sexual demons grew.
Like a cock jammed against her voicebox–she knew the feeling well.
The flavor of stale sexuality was on her tongue.
An odor of rotting femininity arose from her esophagus.
The Woman was dying inside.
She gave herself headaches. And started to depend on them, need them, crave them.
The pain in her head pounded like the memory of a hard dick between her legs.
And all she could do was strip naked alone in the bathroom every night and reach down with cold hands to touch the flaming hell she’d created.
And stop before the fire was out.