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Hardcore and sublime. We found your limits.
Now comes the pushing over. As you stretched
your jaws wide, cried, “I must be fucking nuts
to let you do this.” As you gagged and retched.
As I pulled my cock from your throat. Others
have asked me if everything that you claim
is true. Who? That hurts. I’m a bad older
brother or uncle or whatever game
we play today. There’s bliss in subversion,
pleasure in chaos. What is true? You cry
only because you want to cry. “Want more?”
Pounding, filling your throat. Drunk on passion
and pain. Spunk drunk with bruises in your thigh.
We’re both sick and fucking like it’s our cure.