A Daydream

I hear the sounds of your movements. Nearby. A room? A forgotten, dark hallway? Heavy sounds. The sounds of a monster. Something huge, something omnipotent, an embodied universe. Moving. Closer.
Fat, black, power-shapes, vast ebony jewel, devourer of universes, ruler of men, destroyer of the insolent.

What sound? There! Again. Earthquakes approaching this…this…I don’t know. This place. There is light, but nothing familiar. Yes. A door perhaps. Ogod, that sound! Your footfall! Now…ogod…I can see. I kneel in prayer. As you approach, the tears come…steady…unstoppable. You continue toward me and I am begging. White stockings, pulled tight by delicate, pink-ribboned straps from tight/white garter belt. And more pink: embroidered floral patterns in front. Closer. Ogod. Before me now, tiny diamond of panty visible between giant chocolate columns. Pillars of flesh, expanse of monster-legs for the death of my soul. Flash them, turn them, stomp them, pose them. Each movement, another death. Quivers, tremors, the precious oscillation of your divine thigh-flesh…There! Another death. And your scent, it comes, more intense, more fragrant, beautiful. My face, held there in the paradise of your triangle. Shimmering thighs to the left and to the right, and the delirious joy of your thinly panty-draped cunt, divine majesty incarnate.

Soft, demonic laughter. You swivel in atomic steps…a half circle. Your ass comes into view, a wicked smile onto your angelic face. Kaleidoscopic swirls, undulations, spinning gyrations of your heavenly flesh and the death toll continues to mount. Another. Another. How many times can I die? No data. Fat, black thighs. Fat, black ass. Pink-ribboned white garter belt. The torture continues! Snapping those pink-ribboned straps repeatedly against the sumptuous nightmare of your thighs. Wave upon wave of lethal vibrations. The inscrutable rippling of your leg-flesh...paralysis... More death, and crisp white stockings. Ebony goddess, devourer of universes, destroyer of lowly men. If only the infinitude of my tears—wrought by the privilege of your holy presence—could appease you.