I have a very little cunt. It is very little because it does not get fucked. I fuck. I fuck good and I fuck hard. People suffer from how I fuck them. But I do not get fucked. Nobody is allowed inside. They smell, they taste, they smother under’t. On my command. They are not allowed inside. But I let Him in. That much is true. They left Him lying there once He was all used up and that was that. But I have a key. Yes, I keep my key, locked around my neck, they never took that from me. I am very little. I waited a week, two, but I couldn’t wait forever. I wanted to know Him. It wasn’t fair. I had seen Him, I had watched Him grow more Master with each passing day gone faster. But He never Mastered me. I had seen the dumbest sluts reamed and worn on Him like heads on Traitor’s Gate. I had seen Him stand firm atop a mountain of strong men made weak and useless. The same mountain I would stand on. But never together. No.

I used my key to go that night, and there He was. Just as He was left. The candles still burned. He was still and silent but there was no peace here. No, something else burns instead. I dropped my clothes to lay at His side as he was. The ooze and miasma had begun, but I didn’t mind. And alone, finally, at last together. And with Him, in death, the nights would last but longer. And above Him now I leant to place my lips on His, black and crumbled though they were, I used my tongue to lever them wide and swallow whatever breath was left inside. Rivers are less wet than I would become. Nobody but myself gets me that way. But did you ever see such a thing as that? Did you feel it grow as I did? Life in Him yet? Yes. New Genesis pulsing against the inway of my thigh. Isn’t it funny? The miracles we have? Yes.

My hands stretch wider than my mouth. Yet as it grew yet further in my palm, not even both hands could fully grasp it, not even at the helmet. I am small. And I used my tongue to trace the length of the thing, yes. I have the palest azure eyes and a tiny little mouth underneath but I needed to consume Him. Whole. If he had the life still in Him, He would no doubt have made the adjustments Himself to see Himself satiated. But it was in my hands. I would satisfy Him. I tied one end of my belt firm around the ridge of his glans and the other end through my mouth until it was pulled tight nooseways around my lower jaw. And as I continued to stroke and caress that behemothic fucking cock and see it grow yet even even further large, yes, I felt the belt tug against me and it was working. Yes, I kept my head very still like a good little girl. I let the pain consume me as I would Him. It was for the greater. And as I wondered whether it even could grow further large, the belt pulled down and sprung my jaw clean from its sockets. Yes. Now I could be the serpentine he deserved.

And as I took Him in my mouth I tasted the residue of a thousand cunts, mouths, asses, festering as they would. How many had there been? I took Him further down my throat until my neck bulged out like a bullfrog and I felt His head probing the insides of my very stomach. You come to a point where breathing no longer matters. And then, quite suddenly, what was this? A surge and stiffening oolady and then my stomach being filled. Tears streaming from mine eyes as an unholy lymph deposits directly into my gut. Yes. I had brought Him back to life. And I wanted Him back. Yes, I wanted Him back. I removed Him from my stomach, retrieving whatever of the linings and bits He fancied alongwith. I stood above Him, caressing the head of that fucking thing all over my tiny, little cunt. This is against nature, against all science. This is an outrage, this is unsavory. And yet then plunged. Oncewise, twicewise, threewise, then puncture, scream, vomit, cry. My cuntblood a vermillion lubricant yes as I slid down and down and yet further, further downer, until I felt Him again throb against my gut from the underside. Does anyone still live here? They would hear my screams. Yes I did and plunge upwards then downwards. My tiny cunt and yet even tinier asshole becoming one, yes, hark baby hippopotamus yawn. And then the throb again, yes, that stiffening upswell surge, gloaming my inner sanctum walls. My torn and gaped sex tighten as much as possible when again He came His Great Fetch inside me. The louchest pig cums not as long and hard as He.

I didn’t cum. I never cum. I just smiled so hard through severed lips I thought my heart would burst open. I just wanted Him to love me. And in Death, I suppose he grew to. Yes. I wonder if He would have loved what we made that night, knowing that Great Papa was watching over us from above as He did. Yes. Something was made. I feel it grow inside of me. It moves. It has a self already, I’m sure of it. I don’t know what to expect of it, borne of incest twixt life and death as it was. In love, the tears streaming down my cheeks dry up, as with each passing season. It hurts so deeply and the kick inside is crying too. But I hold down the vomit like a good little girl. I am destroyed, but I am love.

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