Sharmin Bangla

As a k** I had tossed my seed into the slick green current beneath my nest in the trees. The white strings of curdling come twisted and turned as it was borne away as if it were in its death throes. At night I lay awake with thoughts of my sin and murdered sperm until the murmur of my father's voice and the creaks of my parents' bed on the other side of the wall lullabied me to sleep.The sounds of my parents' bedroom were so much a part of the night as I was growing I didn't connect them with the hot little rod that grew within my fist until I was almost ready to leave home. Thinking I knew the country I, of course, set my sights on the city.The woman I courted was city too. She was bullet train fast; chromium slick, celery skinny and dust dry. She was just what I wanted then and desire still. What I didn't know when I married was that the mangrove mud was still between my toes. I still cuddle into the bony corners of my wife at night and guess I will when we're both grey and palsied. "It's alright to cry, honey," her father whispered in her ear. Her father was, of course, escorting her up the aisle, to give her away to her new husband like the property she was. "You look prettier when you're crying anyway."She did. It was true. She let her eyes begin to water. She knew they were tears of happiness, and she squelched the thought that they meant anything else at all.As the bridal march began to plan, her father adjusted his trousers and took his cock out. Fucktwat reached down with one hand and took it, and together they began to walk up the aisle, Fucktwat rhythmically pumping her father's dick as they walked. The two of them had practiced this over the last week, to make sure dumb little Fucktwat got it right. Fucktwat's tits hurt from the spikes they were resting on, from being full with milk, and from the chains pulling at her nipples and leading back to her bridesmaids. Her cunt hurt for the same reason. She was as happy as she could be. She looked.
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