There’s a moment, for a while, where I don’t think I’ll be able to come. My face is pressed firmly against her neck, her hands tightly clasped on my shoulders, sighing each time I sink into her. I wonder what would be perfect to say to her in this moment. I want to reach into the rancid blender of teeth and knives I call a brain and pull out the wickedness in its most delicious form. How good would it feel to gasp into her ear, “Last night, I killed a deer. The blood was so warm. No, no, shh… listen to me... it felt just how your pussy feels right now.” The thought sends me into a shuddering
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