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Subject: {ASSM} from TxM6 Forced Dream Journal II
Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000 15:10:28 -0400
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From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/ (updated August 13, 2000)
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher
1035XDreamJournal1.htm
Laurie Catherine Fallon
Stream of Consciousness
Day 50th: May 29, 1992
Laurie Fallon:
In my dream, in the female blood of my menstrual cunt I held
pieces of my skull. Inside the crease of it, in the place
where the ax cut the stone, I became Hamlet's bare belly and
my mouth made his cock my bone. Don't deny that sexual
shimmy, that throb that opens doors faster and faster than
the balls cupped can be felt or not or with my mouth dangling
from the pink hood of his Lordship's prick.
Yes, I let my fingertips tingle them to sensations as
exquisite as my fingers thumb or crisscross my clit to marvel
at the ages of men borne from the Saddle of the Cross let
down to ache without any squire or bar child to hump at beck
and call for fucking car hop, down and dirty bar girl blow
job behind the bathroom door as filmed in action color.
Have you ever looked at any human skull of any age or gender
inside out or upside down?
Inside inner roof, grooves writhe within the belly of it.
Behind the trees, inside the moss, a thousand paths wander
outside calm mystery. Feeling, they stretch death too far and
the match boxes struck for fire place romance suddenly are
more risk than pleasure. Yes, I think so now. I would give it
up. I would blank pleasure allowing those male dense walls to
encircle soft insincere words uttered more as perfunctory
scales practices as will tames attitude: his becomes the tame
space and I exorcise all the petty gods and dance above the
rape barely letting my whistle ricochet from back of my cunt
to the front of the flap of my clit and the pubic bone that
pressures it all making my whole body cry. I want more than a
whistle. I want to be tiny nipple tits with cunt shaved. I am
his child again in a field of scams. I want abuse to be
viable. Step father saints gather in childhood crib to
measure the depth of my dark cunt hole and feeling two and
three fingers there, I am held.
What kept me alive through all of this. I knew Henry believed
in my life. His tenderness kept the possibility and retained
my triumph. At first I imagined Henry's hand replacing Abel's
and Angela's Lilith, then I forgot differences and allowed
myself to be caressed in every space known to my pain.
How Henry would laugh when we cuddled into a new position.
What about the times that he and Aaron fucked ass and cunt at
the same time, or Angela helped by licking the joined cocks
and finding the bulb of my clit and sucking it into her lips
to feel the round swagger of its pumping up the iron as she
said using a body builders term because she liked large men
who had huge cocks. She told me her preference after I had
fucked her husband in her presence, and afterwards she said
wasn't he powerful. I agreed but though that his cock
ordinary in size but his manner of movement the best I had
ever known.
I wasn't afraid of Able. My child churns inside, now awake I
know my account of the dream pushes backward to bang against
the inside of my mouth as I fell the slip of a cock inside my
mouth to know my throat can close and breathe through its
stem as if inside a man is a reservoir beyond seeds.
I am not empty. My cunt is filled randy racing up and down
the merry-go-round, knowing that pulse, the thick push and
drag inside of air, making the pulse shift between Abel's
huge cock and Henry's more modest surprise that always rocks
its head against my cervix and feeling Henry's uncut skin I
can make his pink head bounce out to flatter my face with
that ache or grimace he floods when the semen shooting not
like a star but a wad from a pump gun lands in a burst on my
tits, or Angela quick to the draw takes it all inside.
Inside my orgasm, I watch the skull emerge, more horrible
than the clean artifacts. I fondle mine, hold layers of skin,
eyes, veins, and in the empty cave, the brain having drained,
the ordinary paste of blood and rotten meat has set the
switch for me to genuflect as Henry or Abel making me suck
their long thick cocks feeling the twitch and then choking on
the stream until it dribbles, just a small line from the
corner of my mouth, and then that exhilaration after when you
look into Henry's and now Abel's eyes and realize they would
do anything to keep that sensation. Perhaps Abel might make
me live.
When I was done sucking it all, letting my teeth gnaw on it,
feeling his protest, pushing my head away, making it so hard
and uncomfortable Henry would murder almost to stop it, but
not Abel. The brother of Lilith loved the after come chewing
and never satisfied he would open my mouth, put his fingers
inside and feel the edges of my teeth and the remains of his
semen would bark at him, he said. I became a magician and I
swam within these shift of mouth and gum and marking on his
prick the vector force of momentum and angle I became that
great fortress holding his place as the bed rock foundation
of bridge and its lip contained by rock bottom for bridge
tower.
When I was done filled, I imagined my arms extended and
holding fingers with Angela we were the fucking cock sucking
bridge in an imaginary world built to last as a monument for
pure reason and a fake, fabricated amusement.
I knew I could do it all, as I warbled my lips and then
returned after letting go, biting at the air my hands
supporting my head at my neck upholding my skull feeling the
pump of dick and the passing through the message, almost an
imaginary waste pit of undigested remains.
When I stopped when I was done, I trembled waiting to start
again. Knowing there was only a soft dog of meat I had a
vision of life not death. I wanted more a dam had stopped and
the log jam opened and I was rising in the cream of it
imagining the explosion like a musical war of notes or a
painting of clashing values and darker hues made blank.
Leaning forward, demanding more, my hands holding his dick
and balls tighter, I pulled my voice back. I tensed,
released, clasped and then pushed open, extending my
diaphragm, as if that helped to relax my arse.
Taking deep breath like a long distant runner I let go from
my lips the whole of the prick, and after quickly seizing
and releasing several times the empty bags, and never done I
pushed the veil of my cunt out not noticed by the selfish
Abel
Appreciated by Henry, I imagined Henry say thank you. I heard
Abel pet my hair, and softly touch my breasts. I heard Able
but imagined Henry sitting at his feet mesmerized. I can hear
Henry say it. I can.
More American Adventures in erotica and other works by Sean Farragher:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/
Sean Farragher
Poetry Site: http://www.farragher.com (updated 8/13/2000)
TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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