Copyright © Emmi Lawrence
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Mini (Approx. 500)
Sometimes the book read like an epic fantasy. Long, drawn out, at times incredibly boring. Other times it read like a fast-paced thriller. Adrenaline pumping, convoluted, with a plot so contrived that sense had blatantly been thrown out the window. Occasionally, it became nothing but an angst-ridden drama that left her debating the simplicity of her own life and the entitled preoccupation of others.
And then there were the slicked, earmarked pages where the words tumbled without constriction, flowed without obstruction and fucked their way across the old vellum with little regard for who saw.
She would watch how the words twisted. See how they thickened and spat, gorging themselves on their own narcissism as they created obscene sentences. Sentences that paraded across the crease and circled the frayed edges to tease the more demure words on the next page.
Words would spill from other parts of the book. Posers and wannabes. They would swell and shiver with lust, calling too much attention to themselves. Act as if they were barely more than children who had only just found their cocks and thought it wonderfully mature to morph into all capitals to shout their discoveries to words far too old for that shit.
She would giggle at their antics, but the other words would ignore them, too caught up in passion. Passion that had them integrating themselves within the crevices of one another. Linking so tightly that the words themselves became fused and tangled, pulsing with desire so strong she could feel the heat wafting up from the page and smell the fluids that stained the vellum.
Words, sensual and seductive, danced fluidly between the heavily petting couples and threesomes. Their letters would curve into fonts, beautiful and mysterious, yet so flowery that their meanings became lost among the sea of writhing pen strokes.
She watched as cock and dick vied for dominance. As lust and desire circled each other, ceasing their feinting when aching and need finally pushed them together. She shivered when kiss rubbed against tenderly and moaned when tongue finally eased its way into the flowing mounds of breasts.
And when the words tightened in longing, becoming a giant mass of muddled ecstasy, she slipped her fingers under her waistband and rubbed her own orgasm from her body.
On the weathered page, the words sighed and collapsed in exhaustion, their pen strokes settling upon one another. They were difficult to read like that, but no less obscene as their most recent orgy gave way to spent fluids trickling across the page, adding stain upon stain to the past written there.
She wiped her fingers on her pants as words that had been upside-down and turned around straightened themselves out. Caress cuddled up with embrace. Cherish soothed the tired lines in affection.
And wiggling its way out from the center of the pile, beloved brushed by the sated words as it tugged love free behind it.