Posted by: zorathegreat | January 5, 2013

Metaphorical

She stood before him, as quiet and expectant as the pause between movements of a scintillating performance of a Bartok String Quartet. Her hips moved with a delightful syncopation, and as he stared at her he had impure thoughts about the analysis of her internal rhythmic motifs.

She gazed at him with eyes as moist as huevos rancheros, and the tiny pink bud of her lips was like a perfectly formed rose on the top of a birthday cake, artfully sculpted, reminding him of his birthday candle which he imagined her blowing out, wondering what her secret wish might be. Her body was full and soft like a ripe peach, and her perfectly round breasts bounced languidly like buoys on the surface of a calm sea. The look on her face was one of the most intense desire, and sensing the fire in her loins, he leaned down to that sweet furnace and lit a cigarette.

All he could think of as he sucked at that blatantly phallic tobacco pacifier was the nearness of her grotto of infinite satisfaction, and grinding out his non-lubricated Camel Light filter tip with the toe of his boot, he stepped forward to seize her shoulders in his meaty hands.

She devoured his kiss like a snow cone on a hot August afternoon, their mouths locked so tightly that Houdini himself could not have escaped from between them, their tongues dancing a moist tango. He groaned like the finest of leather seats as she melted into the buttery smoothness of his upholstery and she drove the kiss ever forward, speeding down the highway of their desire, reaching down to shift him into gear. She pulled on his lever firmly, like Dr. Frankenstein bringing his monster to life.

Looking into his wild eyes, she sank to the floor, going down on him like the Titanic crashing against the iceberg of his passion. He raked his nails along the ground, furrowing deep rows in the earth as she pulled at his wild oats, readying his seed to sow. Able to stand it no longer, he attempted to fling her down and hogtie her, and she squealed and squirmed away like a greased pig, but not for long. He rode her like the worst kind of monkey on her back, and she raged and churned beneath him like a wild bull trying to buck a cowboy. He gripped her thighs, his nails like spurs, holding himself in the saddle, wanting more than just an eight-second ride.

She cried out the Miranda of her passion, making him aware of his rights to her criminal need. He frisked every inch of her body, his gun pressed firmly into her, the bullets sliding home in the chamber, the hammer being pulled back, ready to fire. She cried out as he discovered her hidden stash, the dangerous drug of her arousal, the cruel addiction to his manly syringe. He injected his fleshy drug into the deep vein of her body with a quick jab, watching as the serum took effect. She was lost and uncontrollably intoxicated by it, and he gave her another dose, his face looking like a mad scientist as he screamed out his accomplishment.

She felt the fangs and fur of her climax growing in the light of his heated, maddening moon and he howled in its blinding glow, his body still thrashing from the ongoing transformation. She writhed and shuddered as her consciousness was eclipsed, his dipper riding the peak of her north star, blazing at last into a big bang.

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Responses

  1. […] response my friend Zora wrote this hilarious satire. My favourite section is as […]


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