Abusive
[Sweet dreams are made of this.
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas.
Everybody's looking for something.]
Her knees were bent, and his hips lifted to meet hers halfway. He plunged and she received him, enveloped her within her scorching heat—she was consuming him to the very core.
Marshall watched her through hooded eyes: her hips moved fast, and her thighs slapped against his on the down stroke—there was a faint sheen of sweat glistening her breasts and stomach, and her eyes were closed tightly while her teeth clenched as she took herself to higher levels of ecstasy.
[Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you.
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused.]
Sensing she was on the verge of slipping off the pinnacle of heaven, Marshall grunted and reversed their positions—his movements now controlled her passion, propelled her closer and brought her further away from release as he deliberately thrust in such a way that he missed her clit.
He wanted her to beg for it, plead with him to give her absolution.
[I wanna use you and abuse you.
I wanna know what's inside you.]
Marshall drove into her mercilessly; he felt her inner walls tighten around him and bring him deeper within her haven.
“Fuck,” he growled as he quickened his pace, went harder and harsher within her depths.
[Hold your head up, movin' on.
Keep your head up, movin' on.
Movin' on!]
“Please, please, please,” she mumbled incoherently, desperately needing to find some outlet for the built-up tension coiling within her electrified body.
He slammed into her, to the hilt, burying himself and exploding in hot spasms.
“Oh, Marshall,” she sighed as she was assaulted by a multitude of vibrant colors and shapes fluttering before her eyes, blinding her and rendering her useless as she melted in the sensations and aftermath of their frenzied lust.
[I'm gonna use you and abuse you.
I'm gonna know what's inside.
Gonna use you and abuse you.
I'm gonna know what's inside you.]
“Fuck,” Marshall yelled in frustration as he wiped the sweat from his brow and sat up in bed.
He spared a quick glance to the right side of the bed—empty—and grumbled.
The End.
Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.