It's 4/20 And I Just Want To Smoke With You And See How Long We Can Resist Each Other. I Wanna Smoke

It's 4/20 and I just want to smoke with you and see how long we can resist each other. I wanna smoke a blunt and sit just a little too close together, thighs brushing against each other, hands absentmindedly wandering around each other's waists and hips... I want that rush that comes when your head is all fuzzy and suddenly everything melts together, lips tingling on each other in electric cascades, my arms wrapped around your neck as I sit in your lap and grind your thigh helplessly.

I want to feel the shiver that runs through you when I whisper in your ear, begging to taste you, begging for permission to make you come on my mouth. Anything, anything, just don't let the heat stop building. My face is already so red from being this high and I'm so drunk on you, blushing so hard it looks like I might pass out, and you're twitching beneath my touch, doing your best to keep your composure and keep up the act that you're any less lost in this than I am.

I want to make the world disappear in a puff of smoke and I want to replace it with you.

Being a switch is crazy because some days I'm the most helpless little thing and some days, well...

I want her in my lap, grinding on the bulge in my pants, and I want to kiss her forcefully while she's doing it so that my little upward thrusts end in her moaning into my mouth. I want to see tears streaking down her face as she begs for me to abuse her holes. I want her on her knees and I want to smack her pretty little face with my strap and watch her struggle, fruitlessly, to get it into her mouth.

Fuck, I need to eat her until she's sobbing. I'm not going to feel sane until I've got her clit dancing on my tongue while my fingers do that little pitter-patter waltz on her favorite spot. I want to eat her ass so deep my nose is dipping into her pussy, not seeing but feeling her back arch beneath me, my hands gripping her thighs so hard it leaves bruises.

I'm losing it thinking about how bad I want to feel her squirt against me, my hips rocking into her again, and again, and again as her voice replies with that toe-curling "ah-ah-ah" I adore so much. I want her twitching and clenching until she can hardly breathe.

I want to make her beg for me to stop, only so that I can push further and further, using every part of her body until she's got nothing left to give. I want to ruin her for everyone else.

I want my exhibitionism taken literally. I want my nude body to be an exhibition in some high concept women-only museum where I'm just another object to admire. Or maybe I'm a hands-on piece and passerby are encouraged to treat me however they please ~

Ugh I get so wet thinking of how many hands might be on me, smiling faces waiting in line, femmes and butches and everyone in between standing on their toes to look over the crowd and see what the commotion is about, and it's me, my face buried in someone's crotch, my legs clenched tight around someone's hand, dripping all over the floor, every part of me being used for someone's pleasure...

And then I think of you. Sitting patiently behind everyone, waiting calmly for the crowd to die down. Like an artist admiring her own work. I think about the hunger in your eyes and the fear in my own, knowing just how badly you're going to ruin me after seeing how much I liked all those strangers.

My name is Ceres and I make violent art.

Minors, men, heteros, DNI. My work isn't for you.

The webs I weave are meant only to torture the hearts of those marked by Sappho. The words I spill (like a bite of overripe fruit, whose juices run down your neck) are made with love, hate, or a mess of the two, and nothing besides. I ask not for your love or your hate in kind, but merely for your pain. Hurt for the beauty that can never be, hurt for the beauty that should not exist, hurt for the beauty that you wish you'd never seen, and you will hurt for me.

And remember, I will always love you.

Untitled, by Ceres

Men and minors DNI, thanks.

I need someone to rip through me. I want to be torn into a pile of trembling ribbons, saturated by the well springing from what remains of my center. It has been too long since I felt like prey, not for entertainment or satisfaction, but purely for the need, the craving, the drive for nourishment. For hate.

By the goddesses, I want you to hate me.

And when you've caught me - as though it was enough of a struggle to say you "caught" anything - make me your meal. Shove that hate wherever it suits you, and I'll lay still and dead, just the way you like. Take what you want, and I won't make a sound. I promise.

Eat the dark meat and leave the rest to rot.