In the Eye of the Beholder

"Look at yourself."

She thrashed her head from side to side trying desperately not to see, but she couldn't drag her eyes away. Away from her centre, her core, that thick patch of hair, the hair she'd grown to hide her abomination, her shame. She couldn't bear to look, but couldn't drag her eyes away. Her cunt, that gash, that purple and red bruise of flesh, swollen, creamy dripping, the shine a betrayal, her fingers a fuck. She hated herself and kept looking.

"Spread yourself wide," he said, his breath hot in her ear, his cock thick hard against her spine, his hands pulling her thighs wide, splaying her wide, stretching her thighs till she hurt. He was half upright leaning back against the bed-head, and she pushed away from the sight of herself in the mirror and ground hard against him. His legs were spread wide, knees high like the arms of a chair. She couldn't roll sideways, he held her.

She did as instructed, her red-nailed fingers splitting her cunt wide like a fruit, pulpy and soft, exposing her blood red sex, folds of flesh, bruised and dark. She hated her cunt, stretched and torn by her child, no longer smooth like the dreams of her youth, pristine and pure and sexless. She'd seen blood and shit and puke and was no longer clean, and grew her hair back as a penance.

Yet her fingers found her clitoris and she dipped into her cunt for slick wetness, and loathed the taste in her mouth, nearly gagging. She spat saliva onto the palm of her hand, then pressed the wet hand to her cunt, pressing up against her spread legs wide, her place no longer worthy but he held her. A string of saliva shone on her lips. She punished herself, slapping her cunt hard and fast. Her skin stung and she loathed what she saw, raw meat on the slab of her pale white thighs.

"Go on," he urged, "watch yourself do it," and he nipped the tip of her ear with his teeth and placed his mouth on her neck, biting her like the animal she thought she was, unworthy to be human, primeval with the soul of a lizard or some small amphibious thing. Her neck arched back and her mouth opened wide in a rictus grin, and she shook her head side to side to hide from her own sight. "Go on, go on," he urged, as she started to moan, her breath coming faster and panting, her eyes spellbound on her cunt. Her fingers rubbed furious fast, as if she were scrubbing a filthy floor.

He took both her ass cheeks in his hands and spread her, running his fingertips over the heat of her hole, pressing in, pushing hard, splaying her body before her own eyes. "Jesus, fuck, push them in," she begged, wanting her asshole filled with two fingers then his cock, filled all visceral full, the pull of her guts dropping when he went from her. Her eyes widened as her release started to build, and still she looked and didn't want what she saw. She didn't want her body to feel like this, not pleasure. It was a betrayal.

As her cunt tightened and her clitoris burned, her nipples ached hard, stiffened up tight, reminding her of her child's suck. Her milk bearing down had felt like sex, and she was corrupted, fluids dripping from every hole in her body. Even now, decades later, her lust shamed her. She loathed the dragging weight of her breasts, saw them sagging, would bind them tight to deny them. He held her dugs tight, cupping them in the palm of his hands. How could he bear to even touch her?

Her self-loathing washed over her, and with a long shuddering moan she came, her body's final betrayal taking her over. Her eyes rolled back as her fingers tore at her skin, raising blood which she smeared over her flesh as solace. Against her back, she felt a hot wet heat as he came, and he held her.

* * * *

"Look at yourself."

In front of them was a mirror. He saw the lush sensual curves of the woman lying recumbent on him, and couldn't close his eyes. He want to suck this woman into his soul, he craved her like a drug, couldn't get enough. She thrashed her head from side to side in an ecstasy, and the scent of her arousal was thick and heady, a metallic perfume. His eyes feasted on the thick patch of hair, the hair she'd grown to hide what his fingers and tongue could reveal. He couldn't drag his eyes away, didn't want to. Her cunt, that gash, that purple and red bruise of flesh, swollen, creamy dripping, the shine a sign of her lust, her fingers a fuck. He loved her cunt and kept looking.

"Spread yourself wide," he said, his breath hot in her ear, his cock thick and hard against her spine, his hands pulling her thighs wide, splaying her wide, pulling her thighs back so he could see. He was half upright leaning back against the bed-head, and she pushed back and ground hard against him, driving her spine hard against his cock, his chest, His legs were spread wide, knees high like the arms of a chair. She couldn't roll sideways, he held her.

She did as instructed, her red-nailed fingers splitting her cunt wide like a fruit, pulpy and soft, exposing her blood red sex, folds of flesh, bruised and dark, for his eyes. He loved her cunt, stretched and torn by the child, no longer smooth like a girl's, but the cunt of a woman deep and fuckable. A magnificent cunt, a painting should be displayed on a wall. He'd seen blood and shit and puke and she was a woman. She'd birthed the child and was earthy and raw, so sublime.

He watched as her fingers found her clitoris and she dipped into herself for slick wetness. "Let me taste you," he said. She spat saliva onto the palm of her hand then pressed the wet hand to her cunt, pressing up against her spread legs wide. He held her. A string of saliva shone on her lips and he touched it with his fingertip, feeling the smoothness of her hot flesh. She slapped her cunt hard and fast. He said, "Don't," and cupped her sex with his hand, holding her heat like a fallen bird, soothing her. His hand pressed up against her core and he held her there.

"Go on," he urged, "watch yourself do it," and he nipped the tip of her ear with his teeth and placed his mouth on her neck, biting her like some primal thing, seeking the heat of her pulse, her life. He was primeval, the soul of a wolf seeking its mate. Her neck arched back and her mouth opened wide in a soundless cry, and she shook her head side to side as her arousal started to peak. "Go on, go on," he urged, as she moaned, her breath coming faster and panting. His eyes were spellbound on her cunt, watching as her fingers rubbed furious fast, watching as her body flushed red.

He took both her ass cheeks in his hands and spread her, running his fingertips over the heat of her hole, pressing in, pushing hard, opening her up for his look. "Jesus, fuck, push them in," she begged, wanting her asshole filled with two fingers then his cock, filled all visceral full. Her hole would grip his cock like the tightest hand, holding him helpless inside her. Why would he want to escape? His eyes narrowed as her release began to build, and still he looked, wanting everything he saw in sharper focus. He didn't want her to stop, not when he felt like this, so alive.

As his cock tightened, beginning to ache with a thick heavy pleasure at the base of his spine, he saw her nipples stiffen and stand up tight, and he wanted to suck on them, craving her breasts like a child. The milk bearing down into his mouth had been bliss, fluids dripping from every hole in her body. Even now, decades later, he still remembered, and wanted it again. He loved the heaviness of her breasts, seeing them drop, and held them tight to sooth her. He held her breasts, cupping them in the palm of his hands with gentle tenderness. How could he not touch her? He loved her flesh and her soul.

He watched as ecstasy washed over her, and with a long, shuddering moan he came, his body's final peak consuming him. His eyes rolled back as her fingers tore at his skin, raising blood which he smeared over his flesh as an offering. He came hard, surging his cream against her back, and he held her.

© Electricblue66 2020