Suckubus
“Trigger warnings sexual suggestive content.”
Suckubus:
Mirror, mirror on the wall, how far will I fall, and can I take you with me?
How many generations of my kin, will have bad luck, because I was a klutz?
Is that a demon I see reflecting me, a Soulless succubus, ravishing the sweat off of men while they sleep. Depleting them, draining them dry, in a flyby sextravaganza of the outer limits kind.
A Flame, deep in my love tunnel, has been burning hot, making men melt with the slightest touch. Without the proper fire proximity suit, you’ll perish with a tinge of regret.
My canal, is now closed to adventure seekers, a Revelation, that a burning sensation has repercussions.
The dampness was Magnificent she thought, as she recalls many nights she spent in the arms of many men and some women. She was an equal opportunity sexual flavor and never felt the need to force her wants into a one size fits all box.
Then one day out of the blue, all her suitors dried up and she was alone, no matter her openness, eagerness or wanton lustful desires, she was... wantlessness
She has been reduced to a lonely cat lady. I mean the cats are lovely, caring, as caring as cats can be, but nothing beats the heat of another human heart, the sweat from another’s upper lip from a kiss, the embrace between lovers in a cuddle or the taste of mixed human essence after a lustful tryst.
It started out slow, when her Mondays becam droll, her Tuesday became drab, her Wednesdays had no happy humps, her Thursdays filled with more sad days, but she thought of course she’ll have the weekends.
Nope, Fridays became tired days, Saturday’s she’d get all dressed up to sit next to a ticking clock tic toc your parties dried up and Sundays were like sundaes in between the sheets, but now they are ghost towns, just dust in the wind between her kneees.
She thought she was taintless and dauntless, but she was wrong.
She is... Vulnerability!
William Henry Mills Jr
04-17-2019
Flawless
It was a battle, a war for her beauty, a battle between demons and angels for her soul. It was jealousy conjured up by society to make her insecure, but at the same time they made her a heroine to young girls.
She was worshipped as a god, untouchable, unreachable, unrealistic to say the least and she began to believe she was a GOD!
She made mankind cherish her, they whispered her name in public and wanted to ravish her in private, rip off her clothes and devour her goodies.
Yet they couldn’t walk in her shadow or have the backbone to walk along side her.
They were... inept
William Henry Mills Jr
04-14-2019
Asphyxiation
I woke this morning being asphyxiated by her soft tender lips. My lungs felt like they were bleeding fire and searing my tastebuds with after death mints.
Believe it or not, I wanted to kiss her more on the lips, like a child wanting to nestle amongst his mother’s plump breasts for nourishment and warmth.
She was my everything and I was her rube. I’d stand in the cold, the rain, even if a tsunami came knocking, I’d breathe her in deep, leaving love trails on my tender lungs, causing me to exasperate my unhealthy condition.
Even though death was evident, I couldn’t stop sucking, no matter my willpower or lack there of. It was futile to think otherwise and a bit shameful hiding in the shadows, like a dirty secret that was an open book.
I could see her crawling on her knees out of breath, whispering to me to come to her, reaching out to hold me close.
It was embarrassing that she had such a hold on me. Such lack of control on my part... an invalid.
She was suffocating me in her own carbon dioxide, with each puff that wisps past my nostrils and into my lungs... I was slowly dying.
At the time I lacked caring or compassion for my own wellbeing. Even if I planted a rainforest, it couldn’t safe me now... a moot point.
My own blade, from my own knife, stuck in me, by me, to minimize me, because I hated me, with enough passion to want to kill Myself. Even if it was slow, it was deliberate... self-immolation.
There was a voice in my head, telling me her heart was dead, she was lifeless, not real, an inanimate object, a trap, a ruse it kept saying. A ruse, a ruse out to get you, it repeated itself many times and it sounded like many voices, overlapping with wicked laughter and no matter what I tried to do to drown them out, the laughter got louder and the harder I tried, the louder the voices become... a defiant child.
She was rotting between my lips or putrescent my lips, it’s hard to say, one of us was rancid... fetid filled the air.
I felt numb, addled, exhausted, as a manic voice, begged me to stop puffing so hard on her butt. It apparently was deforming her filter, making it look huge, enormous, disfigured, mangled and I was slobbering the tip with my lips, leaving her... a moist discomfort.
She wanted none of that. Petite is sweet she’d say as a ritual to calm herself, when she became overwhelmed with emotions or acted erratic. “Petite is sweet, petite is sweet, petite is sweet” a soft voice could be heard saying, until she was calm, less fretted and no longer agonizing in anguish over... dysmorphophobia
I tried to reassure her, that her butt was normal in size, shape and the feel upon my lips... heavenly.
I begged her to let me take her home, to lay her out amongst the roses. I wanted to devour her essence slowly, with each puff of smoke that filled my cheeks and lungs. I wanted her to know I loved her, with each smoke ring, I produced a flawless circle, allowing it to float away... was her liberation.
Some days I wanted to stomp on you, like all the others, when they puffed their last puff of your stub. I wanted to leave you out in the wild, so some animal would play with you, gnaw you to pieces, like an old weathered ragged doll... shreds everywhere.
If you were lucky, they’d eat you whole, but most likely they tore out your marrow and left the husks, to blow in the wind.
I couldn’t do that to you. It would hurt me to much, if I treated you less than a quality brand of tobacco. I was tempted though, so many times, tempted by your many crimes.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I dropped dead from hypoxia, if only my lungs had more oxygen, I’d still be alive to hold you... one more time.
A nephew wrote and read this at my funeral. They all thought it was cute from a five year old. I don’t get the cuteness, do you?
“Your are dead! So many puffs off her head. Now you’re dead, now you’re dead, now you’re dead, you took one to many puffs off her head
Quick as that, now you’re dead”!
Ha! Ha!
I wasn’t the only casualty from our intimate tryst, of my lips and her butt.
My lungs and heart never forgave us.
She woke this morning and couldn’t breathe, six feet of dirt was piled on her,
nestled deep in the wilderness, out of reach of children.
That’s how my family felt about her.
They buried her alive, without a care for my feelings towards her or her own wellbeing.
They didn’t find our intimacy and our lack of privacy all that amusing
At the least, they could have done, was returned the packs... for a full refund
William Henry Mills Jr
05-02-2018/ 04-05-2019
