2,188 Miles by India LaPlace

You want me to tell you how badly I need it?
Your cock and your cum filling me up,
Every hole,
Like sustenance,
Like the life-giving thing I can’t live without.
I crave it.
I want my holes stretched open,
I want your growl in my ear
Reminding me of the slut I am.
What kind of girl goes that far
To be pushed to her knees,
To be smacked around,
To have your fingers tangled in her hair
While she begs,
“Please give it to me”
While she begs,
“I need it so badly, fuck me please.”
A whore.
Your whore, you would tell me
Or I would correct you.
Your pretty little cock hungry whore.
Make me tell you I’m nothing,
Just here for your pleasure,
Watch me blush
While I tell you how much I need to be violated by you,
While you make me prove how badly I need it,
Moaning with my lips wrapped around your cock,
Until you can’t stand it anymore,
Until you take your other holes.
Yes, yours, not mine.
I don’t need to be mine anymore, not right now
I need you to claim me, make me yours. 
I need my pussy played with, teased and dripping. 
I need my ass stretched open,
Your hands on my hips, fingers digging into me,
While you fuck me hard and deep
Until my insides are coated in your cum,
Fill me up and pull me, shaking, into your arms. 

Anyway. 
Call me later. 

Previously published at Horror Sleaze trash and in Sad Discoveries 

India LaPlace is kind of like if a dive bar and a dumpster fire had a human baby. She is a poet from the United States and a single mom who is aspiring to be a person with self discipline. Associate Editor at the sensational Horror Sleaze Trash. Generally pleasant, naturally cynical. Easily won over by a good book and a twisted sense of humor. You can find her on Instagram: @indiabrittany

She still loves Louis C.K.