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SNUFF PORN
May 12, 2009, 08:12 PM posted by Maria Choban A Very Short Story - by Maria Choban (describing the Ballade in g minor, op. 23 composed by Chopin) Let's talk about the Chopin g minor Ballade, shall we? Where do we come in? 7 measures of murky darkness. We can't see a thing. Not a thing. But we feel the portent. We know 2 people are somewhere in here. Searching. Hunting. Sexually charged. It's her turn first. She is measured. We hear her heart beat or her breathing. She is intimate and intense. She is not romantic. She watches his every move. She smells him when he moves and she turns her head to follow the scent.....somewhere across this murky darkness where we can't see a thing. She sniffs and moves toward him. We hear her breathing; ragged, not at all romantic. We hear her blood flow quicken. We sense her starting to lose her grip, lusting his scent. We know when she finds him by her growl and her senseless throwing of her body and mouth and teeth on him. And we know he's caught her and allows her to feed. And then it's his theme, his turn. He is the E-flat Major theme. He is the romantic. And while she feeds she unobstructs him. His loveliness, his gentle strength shines. He captivates us. We wonder why he can't find someone closer to his ethereal, sublimely ethereal yearning. And then he becomes human. He slides into her darkness, her tearing, and she takes her theme back. The beautiful melding of Major tonics and Dominant sevenths is replaced by her raspy breath. She is primitive. She needs to pull away and assess the feeding, the feeder. And the one who feeds loves the wild psychopath that she is. He watches her spin herself into these frenzies he knows and is terrified (because he's not sure who's going to die) and he grabs her and breaks her body on his. In a gesture romantic and brutal he crushes her and kisses her and listens to her scream, no, roar with the pain and the ecstasy and he lays her gently on the bed. You hear him moving in the octaves under her. You hear her excitement in the sharp acid f-sharp melodic minor ascension and the plummeting into the f-sharp diminished arpeggiated passage that cadances in HIS key - E-flat Major. God he loves her. For two pages he finds the words to sob his lament and his love of her. For two pages he thinks only of this need he has to devour her, to envelope her, to make her understand - but he can't. She breaks his reverie with her totally self absorbed theme which never ever varies. She is strictly sensual - of the senses. Her breathing is ragged and raspy. She is reason and insanity. The thought of unbounded hedonism isn't (a thought) with her - it's the thing she most tries to hold in check. But not now. Once more she's spun herself undone. She slaps him very very hard across the face. Every time it comes to this. Every time we wonder why this romantic mythic god of a man mates with this demon bitch. It's because she moves him. She will loose his boundaries. She will throw invectives at him, humiliating him, in a voice lower than the devil's and only barely animal and certainly not human. He yells, no - sobs "NO". But she knows this means yes - or maybe she doesn't care. He's crying. He begs, whispers "please". She smiles - no, only half her mouth smiles. It's a Halloween ending. There is blood everywhere. You decide who lives and who dies. WARNING: If you click "Read full post" you will be seeing the unedited XXX version. SNUFF PORN A Very Short Story - by Maria Choban (describing the Ballade in g minor, op. 23 composed by Chopin) Let's talk about the Chopin g minor Ballade, shall we? Where do we come in? 7 measures of murky darkness. We can't see a thing. Not a thing. But we feel the portent. We know 2 people are somewhere in here. Searching. Hunting. Sexually charged. It's her turn first. She is measured. We hear her heart beat or her breathing. She is intimate and intense. She is not romantic. She watches his every move. She smells him when he moves and she turns her head to follow the scent.....somewhere across this murky darkness where we can't see a thing. She sniffs and moves toward him. We hear her breathing; ragged, not at all romantic. We hear her blood flow quicken. We sense her starting to lose her grip, lusting his scent. We know when she finds him by her growl and her senseless throwing of her body and mouth and teeth on him. And we know he's caught her and allows her to feed. And then it's his theme, his turn. He is the E-flat Major theme. He is the romantic. And while she feeds she unobstructs him. His loveliness, his gentle strength shines. He captivates us. We wonder why he can't find someone closer to his ethereal, sublimely ethereal yearning. And then he becomes human. He slides into her darkness, her tearing, and she takes her theme back. The beautiful melding of Major tonics and Dominant sevenths is replaced by her raspy breath. She is primitive. She needs to pull away and assess the feeding, the feeder. And the one who feeds loves the wild psychopath that she is. He watches her spin herself into these frenzies he knows and is terrified (because he's not sure who's going to die) and he grabs her and breaks her body on his. In a gesture romantic and brutal he crushes her and kisses her and listens to her scream, no, roar with the pain and the ecstasy and he lays her gently on the bed and fucks her - gently - insert - pull away - insert - pull away. . . .when she comes to life she is calmer, playful even. She teases by rolling the wrong way, almost unseating him. He responds with excitement. You hear him moving in the octaves under her. You can hear him driving her. You hear her orgasm in the sharp acid f-sharp melodic minor ascension and plummet into the f-sharp diminished arpeggiated passage that cadances in HIS key - E-flat Major. And he's again gently fucking her but it's his turn. God he loves her and god he loves fucking her. For two pages he finds the words to sob his lament and his love of her as he fucks her. For two pages he thinks only of this need he has to devour her, to envelope her, to make her understand - but he can't come, can't orgasm. Do you know why? Of course you do. He can't come without her. She knows this. And as he winds down and feels the impending self-rejection, she breaks his reverie with her totally self absorbed theme which never ever varies. She is strictly sensual - of the senses. Her breathing is ragged and raspy. She is reason and insanity. She knows how to make this man come. The thought of unbounded hedonism isn't (a thought) with her - it's the thing she most tries to hold in check. But not now. Once more she's spun herself undone. She's cuffed him. And she slaps him very very hard across the face. Every time it comes to this. Every time we wonder why this romantic mythic god of a man mates with this demon bitch. It's because she can make him come. She will loose the boundaries. She will sense every little quiver in him that translates into one more notch of heightened excitement. She will carefully avoid his cock, but knows that it's rock hard and past feeling rejection. She will throw invectives at him, humiliating him, in a voice lower than the devil's and only barely animal and certainly not human she tells him what a fantastic whore he is, how she'll tear his ass hole fucking him, how she'll turn him into her play toy and parade him in front of her current infatuation and make him suck the new cock or the new cunt. He yells, no - sobs "NO". But she knows this means yes - or maybe she doesn't care. She wants to fuck him and she knows the deal: An orgasm for an orgasm. He's close. She's close. She straddles him, straightens his face so that he has to look at her, looks coldly, thinly at him and asks "do you want inside?" . He's crying. He begs, whispers "please". She smiles - no, only half her mouth smiles. She reaches between her legs for his cock. He screams when she grabs him. Remember, she hasn't touched him with anything except the walls of her cunt until now. Her whole mouth smiles. But not her eyes. She strokes him and he arches so far back all she focuses on is his throat. She sees red, the beautiful red of blood, the beautiful red of blood as it spurts out and bathes the bed while she fucks this man she loves with such a terrible passion, while he groans in orgasm, while the knife she holds continues lacerating its way across his skin, while she comes and cums and comes like the demon bitch that she is. Posted By Grammar Support on May 22, 2009, 10:03 PM "she comes and cums and comes" Make up your mind. Posted By Tech Support on May 22, 2009, 10:08 PM Well, that was an interesting read. I'm looking forward to hearing a recording or performance. Right now all I hear in my head is Breaking Benjamin's "Topless." Posted By Maria on June 01, 2009, 10:19 PM Dear Grammar Support: why? Dear Tech Support: rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.......totally dug BB's "Topless". I think Chopin would have agreed with you. |
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