The Whore

Happy Holloween

Once upon a midnight dreary, as she gazed down, worn and weary,
Guzzling those forbidden tales of rape and torture she adores
Fingers flying, nearly cumming, when suddenly there came a drumming
A firm and gentle strumming, plumbing at her apartment’s single door.
“Jesus fucking christ,” she muttered, “Will someone see me all uncovered?”
“Legs spread like some gutter whore?”

Ah, I remember, distinct and sober, it was in that bleak October
When those devoured tales of rape fantasy had brought her writhing to the floor
Her cunt slobbering and greedy; those dark stories kept her needy
Just a slutty puppet humping, pumping as she begged for more
Begged to be corrupted – but wet whispers interrupted
By that knocking on her door

And the silken, soft, uncertain rustling of her purple curtains
Thrilled her, filled her with delicious terrors only dreamt before;
So that now, to still the beating of her heart, she knelt repeating
“I know it’s some harmless random something scratching at my door
My stupid landlord or some drunk forgetting what the doorbell’s for
Random sound and nothing more.”           

Reluctantly the tame slut covered, and she murmured to what hovered
“Ma’am,” said she, “or Mister, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was… napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my lonely door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you,” — here she opened wide the door…
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long she stood there trembling, fearing,
Dreaming dreams of leering captors she never dared to say before…
But no prowler broke the silence with a sudden act of violence,
No intruder striding past her; no cruel and callous master
To pin her wrists down and finish what she had started on the floor
Autumn wind and nothing more.

Back into the bedroom turning, both her soul and wet cunt burning
For her fingers when she heard tapping even louder than before.
“Surely,” said she, “surely I’m not mad, that was at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what that is, and this mystery explore.
I’ll be strong and smart like Velma and solve this mystery evermore;
See that it’s wind and nothing more!”

Open here she flung the shutter, when, with sudden flaps and flutters,
In there stepped a stately Raven from some Gaiman dream of yore.
Not the slightest deference paid he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady he perched beside her bedroom door.
Perched upon the full length mirror just beside her bedroom door…
Perched, and stared, and nothing more.

Then this sad bedraggled bird beguiling her sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“That look is catastrophic,” she said, “Did you fly in from Hot Topic?
Ghastly grim bedraggled raven wandering from the mall next door?
So tell me what they call you in your favorite record store!?”
Quoth the raven “Quiet, whore.”

Eyes wide she marvelled at this blaggart bird to hear it speak so plainly,
Though its answer much offensive shocked her down to her whimpering core;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was cursed with seeing such a bird above her bedroom door,
Such a voyeur stared unblinking at the wet spot on her floor
Such thing would dare call her whore?

But the Raven, staring somber at the dripping slut, spoke only
That one sentence, as if his soul in that thought he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till she shrugged and dropped her silken robe back down upon the floor.
“Hope you like the show, cause this whore already knows she’ll be cumming long before,”
Then the bird said “Never, whore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said she, “what it babbles is the only words it has in store.
Word learned from some evil twit who could not find a woman’s clit
Who could not hope to err ask for what faithful vibe is certain to score.
I bet he some hooker cursing until his cock was chaffed and sore
Until uncumming cursed the frigid whore…”

So Raven still beguiling the silly slut to naughty smiling,
She brought her lube and velvet cushion right in front of bird and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, she betook herself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this pervert would see galore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Could mean in calling her a whore.

Her legs spread but she kept guessing, with no syllable expressing
To the black bird, beady eyes now burning into her needy core;
He stared straight into her soul as she pumped her greedy hole
But the hapless girl kept finding, despite her expert level grinding
Her craving cunt seemed to forgot the edge, that winding path up to the ledge
Her fingers find the way no more.

Desperate, she kept filling room with thickest clouds of cunt perfume
Madness thrilling, sweat and wet spilling all over the cushions and floor
“You little prick!” she cried, panting, “Stop your tricks! You can eat a bag of dicks!
But I’ll eat every dick I can – I’ll lick it up and beg for more
I’ll be a cumdump young and dumb, I’ll sell my soul if just to cum!”
Quoth the Raven “Never, whore.”

“Asshole!” screamed she, fingers working, “Who sent you? Which evil dom or devil?”
She gasped plainly, “Which cruel tempter sent or tempest tossed you at my door?
I’ll shut up, my words don’t matter. Stupid cumdumps shouldn’t chatter
I’ll devote myself to service – I’ll fulfill my fleshlight purpose!
Let me cum! Is there any way I’ll get there? Tell me, tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Never, whore.”

 “And THAT’s our sign of parting, nasty bird!” she shrieked, upstarting—
“Get your stupid poseur crow ass back to that mall goth store!
Don’t leave your feathers on my stuff; I think I’ve now had quite enough
You don’t get to be included; I’ll just rub until I’m stupid
You don’t get to see me naughty; take your eyes off of my body!
Quoth the Raven “Never, whore.”

She hears it as the front door opens, barely creaking, quite bespoken,
As a man she’d not invited passes threshold of her nest,
The cunt’s mind reels in terror but it’s her needy cunt that matters
She can’t seem to rise up and defend herself from unwelcome guest
“Please demon, let me flee!” she says pleading, her horror is expressed
Quoth the Raven “Never, whore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, waits for its master, ever sitting
As the whimpering slut gives up before the mirror beside her bedroom door;
As she humps in new positions, ever panting for permission
Lost in dreams of rape, endless torments her new owner has in store
When he steps inside to come retrieve his silly cocksleeve off the floor

Then she will taste freedom… nevermore.

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