A Holy Promise Written In the Ink of Her Womb
Vis-à-vis they stood, immersed in the secrecy of the voyeuristic night's embrace–The Dragon Master and the governess of his heart–the one they called Lasciva Libido.
At last the tension was released as she opened the gates of the city and ushered the silence out as she spoke thus:
"A Holy Promise I have written in the Ink of my womb upon a parchment of Kotex. A Holy Promise that, if broken, reeks of consequence as pungent as the Vampyre's feast I have thus shed."
"DO NOT break this Promise", she admonished.
The Dragon Master retorted:
"Verily, I say unto you, I have tasted the sweetness of your cherry delights, and I suckle upon your seed. And what of your slender stem you ask? HA. My tongue will meticulously explore the path of its line and shape, touring and twirling its possibilities–twisted geometries that will yield enchantments for our insatiable appetites."
She smiled with wanton pleasure, as He continued His verbal provocations:
"Your cunt is my spermal mausoleum. May I rest in peace in your womb tomb. All HAIL Lasciva Libido!!"
A flash fiction collaboration with: @Its.Cherry.Sister
The Consummate Lover
She sat on her throne abreast of My memory, not as My aristocratic subordinate, but as My vital accomplice.
Romance, sensuality, tenderness were of no significance to us, for we were assassins of the meek and mild.
Our daggers lay concealed, as we walked alongside the docile and domesticated with murderous intent.
We found satisfaction in eradication.
Eradication of surplus meat.
Eradication of rotting ideas.
Every meeting, our love was consummated in the blood of others, and it brought crooked, cruel smiles to our feral faces.
Phantasmagorias of a Cerasus Empress
As I approached the city's gates on horseback, I could see the antlered heads of decapitated gazelles blooming in the hillsides.
Thickets of anonymous, outstretched arms distended from the soil, creating the occasional embolus on My path. They reached for the multi-colored mysteries on her body–mysteries that were known only to the hedonism of the night, and My tongue.
The Empathic Tongue of Lasciva Libido
Half-asleep, and weighed down by lethargy, I somewhat awakened to the molestation of what felt like a female tongue glossing over My exposed skin.
Her empathic tongue initiated its route on the crown of My head, and proceeded to glide down, figure-eighting My orbitals with an undeniable consideration. I felt the moisture from her stroke linger on My brow ridge and underside of My eye lids, as I recoiled back to sleep.
When I awakened in the morning, I was stricken with horror to find My head absent of its lazily-curled locks.
I looked in the mirror, and to My dismay stood a pallid and befuddled salamander in the reflection, speckled throughout with benevolent poison that worked relentlessly on its enemy.
During that stretch of time, I had entered into yet another density of understanding that would thrust Me into the unconscious briny deep.