Octavia

Ceci c'est une euphemisme

Sweetly relentless I suck him dry, my lips fastening hungrily to him like massing lampreys

Or leeches round a wound.

I like it when he moans and how I can make him twitchshudder with my mouth and how he begs and pleads with me.

I like dipping a finger inside him and feeling him flinch. 

I like riding him hard, on and on until he can't take any more and his love spills out all over me.

And it's then, when he stutteringly confesses that he still likes me, when my flirting and histrionics and playing-hard-to-get have done their work and he's exposed the soft fatty underbelly of his continuing desire, that

I like to finish my coffee and, shrugging my indifference, to push back my chair and walk out on him. 

It's what inside that counts

I like smiling pink coconut ice while inside I am stabbing you blubberbloodied with a rusted railing.

She gives birth to buckets of blood

I am planning a murder. No: a killing.

The obsessing burr cunt hag: she is my killing. I fantasise about soft paw padding up behind as she sits dreaming of him, of my him, and about twisting the scruff of her neck at the place where cats carry their kittens and looking into her eyes still flick dazed with thoughts of him as I slide a rusty stiletto into her throat.

Imagining the gullet gulp she'll give with her throat wrapped round the blade makes me happy.

This girl bites

Last week my dentist said: 'You are a legend in your own mouth. You must be grinding through the night. We'll get you a mouthguard.'

First thought, oh, attractive, do not think the Hannibal Lector look will go with my silky things. 

Second, it's not surprising: my fury could diamond slice and dice, how can weak living tooth stand a chance? (It can't even cope with full sugar Coke.)

Sometimes the pressure of hating her up-gargles so much acid reflex that I have to yawnfake to ease it, to recline my face.

Betrayal

Scanning their blog love and my mouth tastes like chew swallowing on my own lungs.

"The lungs of mammals have a spongy texture and are honeycombed with epithelium having a much larger surface area in total than the outer surface area of the lung itself."

And don't tell me just to stop reading. You try it. You try knowing the heartplungtwist is coming and yet looking away in vague disinterest, wondering what's on the telly.