1. A Scarred Wonderland


    Date: 8/22/2015, Categories: Hardcore, Author: MadMartigan, Rating: 18, Source: LushStories

    dripping pussy. The blonde multiples in number and each time the shadowed figure is there, nursing a dark bottle, a bowler hat obscuring his face. Click. The final photo is blown up, hangs from the ceiling, spinning round and round. There’s no visceral imagery clicking along like a spool of film this time. It’s just a static moment caught in time. She straddles a dark muscular frame, head thrown back, mouth parted, skin glowing blue, wild hair hanging in damp curls. I know her. I know them. Because I’m the girl in the photos, from the tattoo blazing across slim shoulder blades, to the freckled constellations that dot their pale skin. The biggest tell, however, the thing that can’t possibly be replicated, can’t be faked; the crisscrossing scars between the upturned swell of my breasts. “ Do you see?” the voice inside me snickers. The glass house shatters, tears apart at the seams. A scream rips from my throat. IV. Everything is dark. I feel lighter than air, like a zephyr floating off the ground. Heat fills me. Consumes me. I burst through a void of ice and all around me, steam hisses like angry snakes. Something howls within me, pushes out with a concussive force until I shatter into a thousand scorched puzzle pieces. I’m dying. Spinning. Flailing. Ascending. Descending. Hell. Heaven. They’re all the same in that they’re all so utterly meaningless right now. My heart skips to a stop. I start to fade. Everything is quiet. O/o\O Heat is what pieces me clumsily back together, ...
    new pieces overriding old ones, everything melting into something new, monstrous. Rebirth. The blood boils in my veins until I can see it, tracks of blinding, rusted orange fluid that pumps through me like the rivers of magma beneath a volcano. Reality bends into chaotic nightmare. I stop falling. A disembodied mouth materializes in front of me. Heat flares as I reel back. It curves into a wide Cheshire grin. Familiarity pokes me with needle-like precision. I know the smile. I see it in the mirror everything morning, grinning back at me, teeth all neat and white and straight. The mouth twists into an erotic, mocking smirk, like the girl from the photos. Me . It’s the sort of smile that knows something you don’t and takes sick pleasure in the fact. It’s the sort of smile that torments you, because deep down, it knows you better than you do, in all the ways that matter. The mouth blurs and vanishes completely. I spin around and it blurs back into focus, except something else blurs into focus a second later, filing in the empty spaces around the smile with bone and skin and muscle and hair, until the smile no longer just floats there like a marionette. I stare, and stare, and stare. That Chesire grin is still the same. Still mine. But the hair is burnished copper instead of blonde. The skin is freckled and tan instead of creamed alabaster. And the eyes are black star sapphires, crackling with lightning and filled with hunger, greed, lust, and… well, I’m not sure if life really ...
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