My Beloved One

My Beloved One

I loved this girl. I loved to fuck her and I loved to imagine we would be together forever in every clichéd way possible; but deep down I knew she was nothing but a whore, and I a john. To her I was nothing more than a place to crash until she could hook up with somebody with a nicer car and a fatter wallet. I told her I loved her when we were fucking, and I meant it; but she thought it was just words like any other used during sex. I loved her more than I had ever loved anything, but after the act I always felt so awkward around her that I couldn't muster up the gall to tell her.

Her lips were pursed as she was visibly straining to remain silent. The look on her face was so beautiful; it was arousing in the same way her face was when she was near orgasm. I wanted her to have that anticipatory look on her face forever. However, I couldn't help but be amused by the situation we were in, and I accidentally let slip a stifled snicker.

"Fuck you," she hollered at me as she tugged my hand out of her vagina, "you piece of shit, I knew this was as joke to you." She angrily pulled her panties and jeans up quickly, irate and screaming obscenities at me as she stormed out of the room.

She had lost one of her small dildos in her vagina hours before, and had become so worried that she finally enlisted my efforts to help get it out after I promised not to make fun of her.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself, remaining on my haunches. I just staring at the wall, wondering at what I had done with my life.. "I'm sorry," I finally yelled to her. I waited for a response but heard none. I slowly rose from the floor and looked down at my right hand; it was slippery from the lubrication and from her menstrual fluids. The cherry-colored streaks looked the way a wiped bloody nose would. I tentatively licked the blood-streaked sauce off of my right index finger. At first it was dull, but a couple seconds later was pure ecstasy as the salty aftertaste and deviousness of the act hit me like a meth high. It was so wrong and arousing at the same time that I couldn't help but get hard. I hungrily licked the rest of the fluids off my hands and then turned the sink faucet on. "Fucking whore never told me she was on her period," I said under my breath to myself, as I began washing off in the sink.

"You sick fuck," she gasped, standing at the door, "that's the nastiest fucking thing I've ever seen anybody do in my life."

Taken aback, I jerked my hands out of the sink when I heard her voice so near. I didn't know what to say; I felt the way I did when I had been caught masturbating as a child. My erection shriveled. My mind raced but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just finished washing my hands off and then deliberately dried them on the sink towel as if I hadn't a care on my mind. She just stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a look of incredulity on her face. Embarrassed as I was, I refused to give her any satisfaction by responding. When it was apparent to her that I wasn’t going to say anything, she turned around and went into her room, where she spent the rest of the day reading one of her Wiccan books.

Things were different now; there was an eerie silence between us. We didn't fuck that night or the next. We didn't speak a word to each other, though I wasn't quite sure why. She spent most of the day in bed reading her books, and was becoming pale as if she had the flu or AIDS. I spent hours at a time in the bathroom, brooding and wondering what was wrong. I pooped a lot during those days. Then, one day late at night, while pooping, it hit me like a bolt of lightning. What, I’m not quite sure. I shot up from the stool with a large piece of poop hanging out of my ass. As I lurched towards the door my sphincter tightened pinched the log off; it fell on my clean briefs, leaving an awful brown blot. This was the least of my thoughts, however. I grasped at the door and threw it open, then ran to the bedroom where my love lay in wait.

Her hollow eyes pierced through the ghostly veil that now surrounded her. I was horrified by her appearance; she looked like a corpse. I jumped atop her and told her I loved her. I screamed at the top of my lungs and she but stared back at me. I shook her and shook her and her head banged against the wall, but she did naught but stare. I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach, but was at the same time aroused by her lifeless beauty.

I considered my life in an eternal moment, and then gave in to the sickening urge. I unzipped my pants and pulled them down. I pulled my hardening penis from its restrictive cloth cage, and shoved it into her face. Not into her face like a collision, but well within the “6 inch voice” range that my elementary school teachers had always urged. My pale, anemic penis is a 4.5” behemoth, and nearly thrice as thick as a pencil. Despite its powerful stature, she remained unflinching; she stared straight ahead. Now fully aroused, I slowly closed in on her mouth with the mammoth. I brushed its head against her lips, hoping for a reaction of some sort. She showed no life at all, and when I parted her lips with the tip of my penis a small glob of drool found its way out of her mouth and onto her lips. I swooped down and kissed her and sucked her drool and dead flakes of skin into my mouth. I gargled the morbid fluids, tasting her death. Her lips were cool and her jaw loosely closed. I swallowed the cocktail of fluids I had drawn from her, and loved her even more for the coerced contribution. All this gave me a sickening emotional orgasm, which left my mammoth begging even more for a physical release.

I suddenly and violently grabbed her jaws with my hands and parted them; then I slipped my penis into her oral cavity. I let her jaws come back together slowly, after tucking her lips in to shield my penis from her sharp teeth. I went back and forth, with the pressure from her clamped jaws bringing me ever closer to ejaculation. And then, right on the brink of the release when I was sliding my penis out, her lips simultaneously slipped out of her mouth. Utter pain racked my body as her jaws clamped down just below the head of my penis. Her eyes suddenly sprang to life and her head arched up at me. A slight grin parted her lips as blood from my punctured penis drooled out of her mouth. I screamed in horror as she clamped down with deliberate intentions, all but severing the head of my penis. I hit her in the head with both of my closed fists, trying to coax her into releasing my penis; but to no avail. My eyes darted around and I caught glimpse of a hanger lying on the night stand. I stretched as far as I could and snatched up the hanger, which I immediately swung at her face. I slashed and smashed her face and head with a ferocity I had never known. Every puncture I made in her skin began to seep a black, dead blood. Her grip refused to loosen, so I dropped the hanger and pried at her jaws with my bare hands. I finally managed to pull them far enough apart to withdraw my mangled penis; no sooner than I was free of this demon’s bite than I retreated to the other end of the room. I looked down at my penis head; it was barely hanging on.

I refused to live with this – with a mangled penis that only a mother could love. My fear and terror was abruptly replaced by a deep anger. I picked up the nearest object I could find, which happened to be a tire iron, and lunged toward the cock sucking vampire. Her eyes were once again dead and she flinched not when I came near. I stared at her beautiful, blood-streaked and tortured face. I felt regret and sadness in that brief moment. Then I swung my weapon down upon her face, splattering brain tissue and bone fragments all over the head of the bed and the wall behind. I hit her over and over again for several minutes, slower each time, until my muscles refused to move any longer. I know not how many times I swung upon my dearest lover, but she was no longer recognizable. I dropped the tire iron and lowered myself next to her; my anger wore off and the adrenaline retreated, leaving me full of regretful hopelessness. I was becoming weak, as my penis was losing much blood. I tried to slow the loss by wrapping my penis in the sheets of the bed, but nothing helped. I was aroused.

I felt my consciousness drifting away slowly, and knew that I surely would not wake. I turned to my bloodied and faceless bride and felt contempt for life. Not the exhilaration that my initial self-imposed exodus from the world had brought. Emotions collided in my head and I gave in to the loudest one. I tore the sheets down and her pants and panties soon afterwards, with what seemed like my last bit of strength. I lowered myself onto her and shoved my mangled penis into her cold but comforting vagina. I let my full weight rest on her body, unable to support myself any longer. I moved my penis in and out of her for what seemed like hours; the massive blood loss at times left me unsure if I was asleep or awake. I could no longer feel the head of my penis; it probably tore the rest of the way off inside of her. My bloodied mammoth spit out the last remaining blood offerings as lubrication, until I finally had my release. I ejaculated a delightful mixture of blood and semen into her deepest place. I looked down at my bride’s bloodied torso and head, and felt instant sorrow that I could no longer look upon her beautiful face. I began to lick the blood from her petite body. I felt myself fading into oblivion. It was clearer now than ever that there was nothing after this. I wouldn’t be joining my soul mate in the afterlife. The sad shock of this in my last moments broke my heart, as I knew she no longer existed in any way. I couldn’t feel anymore as I drifted…

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