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Edna Sweetlove Jan 2015
One of  Edna's "randyhornbag" collection of erotica.

i am a ******* *****
   and that's not a metaphor
it's the total ******* truth
   i'm a ******* forsooth
it's what i do for work
   i'll **** or **** or ****
off any man or beast
   i don't care in the least
young boys old men fat freaks
   i get them all most weeks
i'll have any kind of ***
   cash only and no cheques

i suppose you think it's funny
   to **** fat men for money
to have countless alien *****
   often stinking like old socks
shoved up my pretty *****
   kept artificially juicy
to make the fools imagine
   i'm oozing jissom for them
it's not the best of jobs
   ******* total strangers' knobs
pretending to like vile men
   when if i could i'd flay them

i rarely **** for pleasure
   i no longer have the measure
of love and tender feeling
   of kisses phlegm congealing
my private sexlife's twisted
   i love being thrashed and ******
i crave darkest degradation
   masochistic *******
so if you think it's funny
   ******* men for money
let me be quite blunt
   if you think so you're a ****
A slight quiver from the bow in your back
I come on strong like a fatal attack
Hunting you down
A hushed whimper in your throat condemns
The subtle undertones of shameful whims
Cutting you down

A silent breakdown in the guise of guilt
Laying waste to a temple built
Crumbling down
A lucid dream where you all four come
Expecting nothing, but for me to run
Gunning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit

Self-soothe with a fading bruise
All there is left of you
Leaving you down
Tip off the cops in this ****** plot
Left unpursued with a final thought
Burning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit
Erase her graceful face
Erase her staying taste
Erase her hopeful trace
Erase her
Erase her

(Ich möchte sehen, dass Sie sich für Ihre Unwissenheit brennen. Ich will sehen Sie spucken Blut, du verdammte Hure. Es gibt nichts, ich will in meinem Leben, außer dich leiden sehen aus erster Hand. Ich könnte glücklich sterben wissen Sie nahm das eigene Leben, also, wenn Sie wirklich wollen, mich glücklich zu machen, dann gehen ******* do it. Ich werde weinen gottverdammten Tränen der Freude, wenn du weg bist, dass eine Garantie ist. Gehen Sie weiter und hassen mich, weil ich krankhaft bin, aber dieses realisieren: Sie wissen nicht, Scheiße, und du wirst nie, du Fotze stur. Ich werde dich in der Hölle zu sehen.)
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2023
502 bad gateway bypass:

title - veil-machine
body - otherwise no curtains
found.


perhaps: aujourd'hui, maman est morte sounds better in German... heute, mein mutter ist gestorben... maybe: at least in my eyes that have inverted themselves from hearing external sounds and summon thought to the hall of music and said: thinking is a sound, mind you: thinking is all the sense jumbled up - never mind "hearing" oneself "think" or for that matter... without hearing: on the broken bones in fingertips of gesticulating frantically the same as: could you please spread butter on my toast to... i'm drowning! help me!

i very much like the opening line from one of my favourite books... favourite is sort of stretching it, i picked it up by accident in a Barnardo's second hand book store on Nicholson St. in Edinburgh during the Fresher's Week, when i lost my virginity to Isabella and decided that i would adamantly learn French... although i hated French in high school i thought: well... if we started slow and she introduced me to Japanese Anime of a kind i didn't know before... i remember she scolded me for having three picures on the wall, one of Plato, one of Napoleon and one of Marquis de Sade... she didn't mind Marquis de Sade... but virginity for a man is nothing to be kept... it's something that one wants to get rid off... so i started this French course, failed it, because... i didn't attend any of the classes... except for the literature classes... were... to no "oddly enough" we were studying The Stranger... seeing as i "pre-meditatively" bought the book in english... i had to buy the book in French...

oh, the French language... it's almost as bad as English when it comes to surds, i.e. silent letters that are not heard when spoken but clearly visible when written... like in English... little words: to and no vs. too, row "vs." row... to row in a boat... with oars... and a row of birds sitting on a telephone line... a horse is a horse is a gallop and a stirrup and there's also a hoarse... throat... glug glug... a hoarse throat... there's a soar throat too and that's different to i saw and sea-saw and Warsaw and soaring... which is a terrible way of saying: sorry...

rigid was never a language for me... but love is stupid and losing your virginity to an older girl is stupid and... well... i might as well have went to the oral exam at the end of the year and spoken Polish... or tried German... pretending to forget what course i took... instead i just sat there like an idiot... a castrated ... + an idiot... but hell! i aced the literary side of things... i got a 1st for my interpretation of The Outsider... grades being grades... not everything in life that you learn within the confines of: that acid-riddled memory-erosion cesspit of pedagogy has any market value trans-evaluation of: good grades equals better pay... this was a lesson for life...

mother died today. or maybe it was yesterday, i don't know...

for one? terrible punctuation,
i once heard my English teacher tell me...
never begin a sentence in a paragraph of a journalistic
column with a conjunction, akin to OR or AND...
it's bad grammatical etiquette:
it's one thing to reinvent sushi by mixing it up
with some dried, fried onions and a sriracha mayonnaise
and another to serve the same fried dried onions
with a sickly sweet almost Hoisin resembling sauce...
with slices of raw salmon on a bed of rice
rather than those rolls with still the raw salmon
but with some cucumber and creamy cheese
and black sesame to go with it...

maybe i can rewrite that aujourd'hui in German again,
returning to English for German LEGO...
mutter gestorben heute; oder veilleicht
    es war gestern: ich weiß nicht....

i like this: ich weiß nicht...
        it's not... i repeat... it's not:
                         es ist mir egal...
i.e. it's not: i don't care... care... no wonder it's so
pivotal in the German tongue that
Heidegger made CARE so pivotal in his thinking
since: it's so pivotal in the German language
when the German language is translated...
there is no simple, word-for-word,
i.e.  i don't know: ich weiß nicht.
i worry: ich bin besorgt
   eh? i worry is indefinite...
   i is indefinite... there is no definite i...
i struggle is an indefinite phrase...
which i made a joke of once: mein kampf is a definite
expression via ownership...
ich kampf: i struggle is an indefinite expression
of "ownership": since... at any given time
my ego is swayed to "think" of "its" own "existence"
through a muddle of personal memory,
memory erased by pedagogy,
dreams... other people's thoughts...
mein: definitely, since own...
ich? indefinitely, since hey presto here one minute...
hey presto... Houdini pulled a rabbit out
of a top hat not by the ears but by the tail...

today within the confines of tomorrow...
but what is a "today" when you wake up
and remember a dream...
was the dream from yesterday?
was the dream related to yesterday?
just because you went to sleep yesterday
and woke up today... doesn't mean
the interlude of dreaming you had
might make any linear sense relating yesterday
to today or for that matter tomorrow...
so... muddling the yesterday with today
given the accenting of dreams on the psyche...
well... ich weiß nicht (i don't know)
is a rather "passive" attempt... hell: a most proactive
attempt to compartmentalize grief...
it's not: I DON'T CARE...
oh... i do care... but i want to be numb to
the reality that comes first and the knowledge
that comes after of the fact that... there's...
i swear German as a tongue would require
another Heidegger to explore the word
ABSENCE... FEHLEN...
   Abwesenheit is too close, synonymously,
with Abstrahieren...
                heit (-ness)
                   hieren (here)
    hereness... hierenheit... counter to da-sein?
that Dasein is: there-being... me asking: there's being
and be subsequently conjuring hierenheit?!
coincidence... unless that £60 i spent on the black notebooks
and another £30+ more i will spend on the final volume?
maybe?!

maybe that's why i'm so attracted to the continental
mode of thinking, Germanic or otherwise...
i find that, as much as the English adore pressurising
people as atoms into an atomised stated of:
suddenly! the individual was born!
out of thin air! out rebellion!
out of... the demands for everyone else getting
their fair share of intellectual growth...
there is no intellectual growth in the English mind:
the English are too sensible a people to complicate
the matters of thought if there's no:
******* COMMON SENSE FOR THEM AT THE END!
"they" even have a word for it...
it amazes me how sometimes i forget specified nouns
for their destined use... ergonomics?
that will do for a while...

the English don't tend to deal with reality by creating
pockets of abstract reality of:
nicht-sein-da...
            which is a splendid joke that can't be
unravelled by translating Dasein from Deutsche...
for me there is either: sein-da und nicht-sein-da...
a future of a concern, a care...
a waiting pit of that carefully adjusted performance
art of doing the bit of the mortal lot...
i sometimes wake up at night woken up
by the simple fact of mortality:
and i'm glad to be snuggling in bed, alone
with only thinking as my companion...
at least with the thinking my ego can walk through
and peer at mirrors... see its grotesque nature
it's parasitic gluing to a "me" together with
all those wasted daydreams and acts of
non-fruition...
  
i find nothing in English thought that might give
me architecture or backbone to complete
individuality: a process of individuation...
nothing in Locke... i have not bothered with English
"thinking"... the infrastructure is too sensible...
of transport of taxes of... whatever the:
kleinmann erachten unbedingt!

for the simple fact... what is a public intellectual
in the anglo-sphere? a person who goes into
the public domain with a ******* bibliography?
seriously?
backlog of ideas or, something?
regurgitating ideas of the more shy of the intellectual
heap of dung that once could be called
the iq herd?
        at least by reading continental thinkers i
have enriched my private life...
perhaps i enjoy my work perhaps i don't...
i find it absolutely unnecessary to find friendship...
if i can at least stand myself,
conquer this barrage of randomness coming
from an otherwise untameable ego...
let it pass let is pass i say to the innermost "not-i"
while the outermost "i-i" shouts belligerent day-mares
of.... e.g. being cut-short in a queue to a bus...
let that ****** slide... wait... until i bring
forth the reigns of scribbling finger-tips
and all thinking stop! when there's a clear graphic
for grammar, construction, punctuation
and abbreviations (if necessary) of seen sentences:
seen sentences not some ghosts of mere thought!

gut... mein mutter ist nicht tot...
nicht heute, nicht gestern: noch nicht morgen...
i just thought it was weird,
the comparison...
the dimmed lights of the hospital room
she was wheeled into...
and... the dimmed lights of the brothel room
i usually **** prostitutes in...
dimmed lights...
i carefully plucked the grapes off the vines
for her and placed them before her...
i pinched pieces of brownie dough
and dropped them into a bucket of vanilla ice
cream for her... which she gladly ate...
i watched as she ate that baked potato with
an inverted gluttonous pain from coming out
of the anaesthesia...
forgetting she was half alive half head...
some other quarter falling asleep another missing
quarter talkative...
those dimmed lights and the sarcastic green of
the demands of Hippocrates charming the serpent
as: to no avail... the usurper of the sexualised
metaphor, aged throughout Europe,
serpent, the bringer of temptation and hardly
the wisdom...
long before dinosaur bones were discovered
the people were conjuring up fire breathing dragons...
like... pre-meditatively... what?
the fire born was not the meteor and the fall-out
and yet some dinosaur remains
remained alive while the bigger breeds died?!

to think i might have read Kant or Heidegger or anyone
for the purpose of quasi-pedagogy and not have
read said authors for gains in the realm
of personal gains of obstructing access to
the sort of: puddle-people: pfützemenschen...
people who like to see life's point as:
one complication after another
by allow less than complicated people complicate
their already simple lives...
isn't a simple life worth salvaging?
isn't it?!

as they rolled her in from the hysterectomy operation...
in some, rare, cases... a woman's womb acts
like a man's hernia...
i suffered from a hernia as a toddler...
unlike in men... the female version pushes
a piece of tissue inwards... rather than outwards...
my great-grandmother walked with a bulging sack
of a third ******* of a disused womb until her death
because she was too old to have an operation
guided by the Hippocratic concerns:
her heart her stomach might not salvage her
morality with the applied anaesthetic...

but it felt very much like going to a brothel...
i was looking at my mother drifting in and out of a morphine
15min snooze button...
my father looking morbidly worried...
me? smiling face... giggling... trying to fill a space...
my father is a morbidly worried
swan... i sometimes wonder...
would i be worse off caring for my old father
if my mother died before him...
or would i be better off if my father died off
before my mother... i sometimes wonder...
it's still a coin flip... since the reality is yet to come
and i'm having the abstract ready...
this is me looking at my mother in a secure environment
secured by prescribed injections of morphine...
she has also seen me in my "prime"...
what's 40 units x 7 days a week?
280 units of alcohol in a week...
40 units? one bottle of 1 litre of whiskey per day...
when i was at my highest borne Berserker in scribbling
for people who are yet to be born...

we came home i heated up some leftover pasta,
some leftover chicken wings...
some clear chicken soup... it would be considered
a chicken stock by western culinary standards...
ROSÓŁ... but were carrots added?
was celeriac, was celery, was a leek, was root parsley
and fresh parsley, garlic added?
served with vermicelli?
           i watched him relax and watch West Ham beast
Derby in the FA cup... calmly...
the cats were fed... already sleeping in each
of our two beds...

            oh sure sure... romance... like that isn't too impossible
these days...
the congestion of older generations?
to replace them with what?
we cucks united bridging gaps with the already
satiated single-mommies and puppies
of: cuck...
             jeez... headaches from no known sources...

well i can tell you how similar a visit to a hospital
is similar to a visit to a brothel...
you're chasing...
i found myself chasing the queuing of mortality
with my mother today...
only three days ago i was chasing the queuing of
****** experience with a *******...
i'm yet to join the queue of
losing my father...
i know of losing my great-grandfather: vaguely,
i certainly know of losing my great-grandmother
and i know of losing my grandfather...
i'm yet to experience the loss of a friend,
or... "friend"... someone i used to know in high school...
by then it will be almost like losing
someone equivalent to
Michael Schumacher... or... Nelson ******* Mandela...
importance of whatever and that sniff of ZILCH...

a ******* cat with less to say than already said
will have more to say upon its passing than
Neil Armstrong's theatre for the global populace
and the moon conquered... one step for...
some dared not blink some slept through it...
just as long as the technology of it being televised was
real: it doesn't matter whether it was real...
if reinventing the canvas for a painting was
to be translated into the modern world...
television, per se, as the canvas... would... and is...
more important... than whether
it' a comparison of... the laziest example...
Leonardo's Mona Lisa or Picasso's the Weeping Woman...
NIQAB and the BEAUTY
NAKEDNESS and the BEAST...
or rather... NIQAB and the forever thirst for MYTH
of Woman as once, only then and ever...
faking to decipher by a Flaubert...
the ***** in my mind is the Madame Bovary
for women to pretend to be...
obviously they won't... but? does that matter?

hmm... first in german, then in english

i'm under the impression, that this breed of cats
i'm given the authority of: Maine *****...
behave like dogs... and unlike cats...
how clingy they are, less to me and more to my abodes...
they simply recognise me as the possessor
of space and not a timing of space:
with the requirement of others to fill the void...

katzen sich benehmen wie ***̄DE!
absolve all use of diacritical usage
within the staged, up! "lifting" of h to H...
keep i dotted from above within the confines
of I... or J...
are those speckled "hens" necessary

     ah what fun i could have with this
tongue so barren with the implosion of Latin
with what fellow European tongues ascribed
their idiosyncrasy to...
but of course:
           aber natürlich!
Ęnglisch nicht!
                   ßo! die welt überflutet diese inseln!

sie kam mit ihr zeppeline...
mit ihr senf...
mich? mich?!
ich kam mit die trauer...
keine hure könnte verstehe...

the grey the old the white and the black:
the night and the death to come!

der graue das alte das weiß und das Schwarze:
die  nacht und der tod, kommen.

death before life seems so less not-welcome
when speaking just a little bit of German!
mein gott! what a relief to have found
such miserably happy people allocated
a step-by-step realism of abstracting
pocketed-senses of... to **** with
that "umlaut of Hinduism"!
Heinrich... *******... Tibet suits you oh so well!
******* skiing in that crisp-cut welcoming bond with
the Buddha to serve no future Buddha under the Chinese
regime...

       tat ich vergessen etwas?
                          möglicherweise... sie?

me never think i think this tongue through...
mich noch nie denken ich denken diese zunge durch...

moren bein quartal nach elf...

getoastet roggen-brot:
             pochiert-ei
         spitzen... klacks von
hähnchenspermaeigelbpapst...

                  n'est ce'pas: die toten sind tot?
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
for the sort of people who were
camel jockeys all their life,
and never found any sedative
component of alcohol...

                              there is no
sedative allure in, alcohol?
  please find me the name
of the pusher, who supplied
     barbiturates for nietzsche...
herr doktor...

maybe you're talking to the wrong
whites,
or there isn't enough
oasis allure for what
these camel jockeys find
alluring... being strapped
to a ******* sundial...

oh yeah... dodo project:
1 on 1....
                 the day when english
psychiatrists
are an authority,
on the neurological study
done by ****** doctors...
that day...

  i'm about to heave a heavy
sigh of relief and say...
thank god i didn't
produce offspring...
i'm... way off...
being given less
the ****: arbeit macht frei
orders...
to being given
               futility per se
dancing: get the **** out
of 'ere limbo status!

"you" are my "here"
and my "now"...
       you take over...
now... you do...
you people with a past...
people with a history...
pople with fidgety
finger tips....
               you want your
******?
  thank **** we will
have your Taj Mahal
and Zimbabwean
beauties to make matters
more... clarifying...
good...
  ich sagen,
          alles güt!

                  oh i'm not here
for the streit...
there is no...
reaching into the germanic
confusion of pronouns...

   you know the difference
between...

ich kampf...
and mein kampf?
ja?
that ich, is indefinite!
mein?
that's definite!
                    
i struggle: indefinite...
want this lesson
in grammar?
you... ******* scold
of a worth of being?!

             we can have
lessons in grammar,
all-day-long...
until you
start screaming the name...

Hilga!
so eating pork and drinking
beer...
all bad...
alcohol will
never be associated
with sedatives?
     güt! alles güt!
jawohl, mein enigma herr.

   i em con-confused?
Zimbabwean ivory beauties!
coming...
                 wündérbār!

mögen mich,
aus zucken
via eine Picasso...

    ziemlichgesicht...
     all round: bravo!

ich hure meinselb zu
sprechen etwas deutsche...

no... i will not ****
your niqab bound bounties
of beauty...
or your
Zimbabwean ivory beauties...
your... pearls
of Mozambique...
retro **** wits...

                you jog...
on the ******* tread-mill...
you do that...
me? watch me...
do the dodo...
           i'm...
all... airy-*******-weary
of having to be argued for
a basis of: to continue...

    no...
you heard me...
no...
        
        you take your white
***** and excavate the ? pointer
on mars...
   i... am doing the Pilate...
            pose...
there is a grammatical
difference betweern
ich kampf
and mein kampf...
yeah...

               the first is:
indefinite... dispossesive...
          the latter is
definite... possesive...

i felt it was worthwhile
to learn some german,
before i anticipated
to die...
                  because...
i somehow forgot to keep
in tow,
the ambition designated
surrounding the upkeep
of genes...
like...
i forgot where ******
came from,
and the subsequent
camel jockeys...
like... OOPS!

        must have
      misplaced "them"...
alles güt...

and thank ****
i will not be screaming
the takbīr
to where i'm going...
so...
is screaming the takbīr
akin to... like... performing
            the hajj?

i just, want to know,
because,
i simply...
don't want to know...

oh i want to play
the ignorant drunk
dumb-**** european...
maybe,
just maybe...
i will step up my "game"
from camel-jockey-*****
does the coco
didlo ride-on...

oh, believe me,
i too want to "feel"
something...
-esque this narrative...
but it's like...
i have some sort of variant
of amnesia...
like...
forgetting to reach
a hard-on...
when... the bun is
buttered and ready
for processed meats
in an elongated "pose"...

i want to... care...
but the last increment
of me, strated
to whisper... alles güt...
and i began to remember...
oh.. this isn't me?
oh... right...
      
   thank god i am man,
and not an insect,
making myself
alligned
to some sub-human
collective of either
muslim, brown tinged,
or... ant or termite.

   good to know
i have been endowed
with a coping mechanism
to stage
a dodo coup;
but i know all the pretty
brown boys will
fight hard,
to forever keep
their hard-ons...
for white ******...
who...
without specimens
akin to me...
will start...
   becoming more and
more rare!
Un homme riche, sot et vain,
Qualités qui par fois marchent de compagnie,
Croyait pour tous les arts avoir un goût divin,
Et pensait que son or lui donnait du génie.
Chaque jour à sa table on voyait réunis
Peintres, sculpteurs, savants, artistes, beaux esprits,
Qui lui prodiguaient les hommages,
Lui montraient des dessins, lui lisaient des ouvrages,
Écoutaient les conseils qu'il daignait leur donner,
Et l'appelaient Mécène en mangeant son dîner.
Se promenant un soir dans son parc solitaire,
Suivi d'un jardinier, homme instruit et de sens,
Il vit un sanglier qui labourait la terre,
Comme ils font quelquefois pour aiguiser leurs dents.
Autour du sanglier, les merles, les fauvettes,
Surtout les rossignols, voltigeant, s'arrêtant,
Répétaient à l'envi leurs douces chansonnettes,
Et le suivaient toujours chantant.
L'animal écoutait l'harmonieux ramage
Avec la gravité d'un docte connaisseur,
Baissait par fois la hure en signe de faveur,
Ou bien, la secouant, refusait son suffrage.
Qu'est-ce ci ? Dit le financier :
Comment ! Les chantres du bocage
Pour leur juge ont choisi cet animal sauvage !
Nenni, répond le jardinier ;
De la terre par lui fraîchement labourée
Sont sortis plusieurs vers, excellente curée
Qui seule attire ces oiseaux :
Ils ne se tiennent à sa suite
Que pour manger ces vermisseaux ;
Et l'imbécile croit que c'est pour son mérite.
ConariConnor Mar 2022
Oh, how Medic hated staying at the base while everyone else went out onto the battlefield. He was tired of being left out, even if he had special chores to take care of. The cool metal against your throat made you shiver. He pulled on his rubber gloves and smiled at the slight fear in your eyes. “Ready, Verräter?” He slowly traced the outline of your face with his scalpel. You barely flinched. “Or are you going to be cooperative and share with me your little secrets?” His accent was so endearing that if you weren't in this situation you would definitely be trying to call you the most degrading of names.
You didn’t answer and his smile grew. You swallow and he starts examining you. Gloved hands grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look into his eyes. He definitely got some pleasure as you watched helplessly. “Too bad, you know? You are pretty good-looking. I wonder what I’ll do to you if you don't tell me.”
To be honest, you were actually somewhat enjoying this. This felt like a thrill rather than life-threatening. He slowly receded the razor tip of his tool and instead turned his attention to your torso. “Hold still, Hure.” Your breath hitched. “Or tell me where the Blu team keeps their intel.”
His voice made you melt. Trying to gain composure, you wouldn’t give in too easily. “I- I don’t know.” You lied through your teeth.
He slowly removed your shirt and it took all of your wills to not mold up into his touch. “Which part of you should I cut first?” The cool air hit your chest as you took shallow breaths. He grinned as you writhed under him. “Answer me, Schlampe.” You didn’t know who enjoyed this more. Him, or you. He ran a hand on your thigh tantalizingly. You flinched, lurching up, but the collar on your throat choked you and forced you back down. The unlicensed doctor let out a chuckle “It seems you don’t understand the threat on your life. Tell me the intel and I might let you go. Don’t, and you’ll never leave. Well, at least not alive.”
You stayed silent, both in fear and genuine interest about what he was going to do.
“I think we’ll start with your lips.” His hand went back up to your face, blade teasing your mouth. Soon enough, he pressed it into your skin, ever so slowly, dragging out the pain. A deep moan came from your mouth as the blood seeped down to your chin. He smiled.
“Do you like this, Schlampe?”
You blushed and bit your lip, avoiding eye contact. “Y-yes.” You admitted ashamedly
He laughed. “My, my, my. Whatever will I do with you?” He pressed harder and slashed against your cheek. “But I think I know a way to get words out of your mouth.”  He released the grip on your jaw. He pulled off a glove and ran his hand down to your navel. Goosebumps formed on your skin and sent chills down your spine. His hand tugged on the waistband of your pants. Looking back up at your face, you nod as he goes a little further. “How desperate you are. Even when threatened, you still want this. Pitiful.”  Half naked and strapped on the rather cold operation table, you were shivering. Tugging at your restraints, you pleaded.
“Please don’t tease.” He leaned in close, a maniacal grin on his face and hot breath fanning onto your throat.
“You’re not in the position to be giving me orders. Now, tell me. Where do you keep your intel?” Medic’s hand played with the hem of your undergarments. You bucked up into him, begging for anything. “Tell me, Hündin. You will not get what you want until you tell me.” Finally, you give in.
“I-it’s in the base. T-the kitchen. Soldier insists on hiding it there.”
“Gut gemacht.” He let go of your leg and brought his hand up to your mouth. “**** on them for me.” He said, running his fingers on your bloodied cheek. You eagerly took them into your mouth. He was amused at your enthusiasm. It really turned him on how quick you were to please him. Your tongue ran across each one with fervor, ignoring the metallic taste. You nearly whined when he pulled out. “That's enough for now.”
His attention was focused on your lower regions as he focused on caressing your thighs. Carefully sliding your undergarments out of the way, he slowly slid a finger into you. You mewled out, not daring to have any care, who would hear? Knuckle deep, he chuckled. “Want more?”
“Yes, please.” Slowly and steadily, he added another, stretching you out.
“So well mannered, without instruction.” He marveled, curling them, and slowly moving in and out. “Maybe I should keep you as a pet of mine?” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the thought. You licked at the blood pooling near your lips. Medic smiled and leaned into your ear. "You're doing so well, Liebling." You shuddered. "I want to wreck this tight little hole of yours. I want to break you."
"Doctor," you moaned. "Faster, please." He did as asked and sped up his pace, a  satisfied grunt coming from him. He fingered you roughly, taking pride in how loud you moaned for him.
He palmed his ******* with his other hand. He quickly uncuffed your hands, "Touch me." You obeyed and grabbed his clothed member, grinding against it.
"Doctor. I'm going to ***!" You tensed up.
"Not yet, Liebling." He said. "You'll hold it until I say so." You frowned, trying to resist it. You slid past his slacks and grabbed his ****, precum dripping into your palm.
"I didn't give you permission to do that." He moaned. "But, I'll allow it." Already slick, you ****** him off slowly. Gradually, your speed increased as you fought against your ******. You moaned as you edged yourself.
"Please, Doctor!" you cried out.
"G-go ahead."
It hit you hard. You screamed and violently convulsed, legs shaking. You continued your ******* until the German man finished on your face. You took a minute to catch your breath.

"God we need to do this soon."
Ryan O'Leary Nov 2018
For hundreds of years now,
the English, (with all their
highfalutin, Cambridge,
Oxford and Eton graduates)
are still trying to find the
answer, to The Irish Question!

Would you not be tinkin now,
that, who ever posed it, must
have been fierce smart, a cute
hure from somewhere around
the border of Cork and Kerry.

I heard that there is fellas in
suits with collars and ties over
at a secret location in London
trying their level best to figure
out what an amadán is.

— The End —