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Write it down as soon as I can. There is a desk with a pad of paper and a pot of pens. It will do fine. The room is cold but my clothes are nowhere to be found, probably downstairs. I sit down and start writing. How to write about it? I don’t really know. I am a writer but nothing has trained me for this. I don’t even have the vocabulary. Penis, vagina, coitus, copulate all sound so clinical. I want my words to be magical, not medical. Should I say fuck instead? Fuck. An honest Anglo-Saxon word. Fuck[,] frig[,] fiddle[,] all good words. But what of the genitalia. Prick or penis, vagina or cunt? I try to just get the words out on paper. As I am writing, Eve comes and puts a shawl around my shoulders. I want to talk but she puts a finger to my lips and tells me to just keep writing. Eve brings coffee and orange juice and sits in bed watching me as I write. By the time I am finished, Keith is gone. He must have slipped out while I was writing. We sat on the bed and talked. Eve asked if. Beneath the surface I felt tentacles coiling around my ankles, calves, and thighs, forcing them apart. Another pair, pulled my arms behind my back, imprisoning them securely. The third set coiled around my waist, and breast, teasing my swollen nipples playfully, flicking and spanking until they ached painfully.Too much? He inquired, his voice slipping through my head sensuously.“Non,” I managed, crying out as the coils began to tighten, lifting me from the cool waters and pulling me towards him. I gasped as his cock rose from the surface, swollen huge with lust, his intent obvious. My cunt quivered and pulsed in anticipation. I could feel the juices of my desire clinging to my swollen and parted lips, as he lowered me into his thick phallus.I screamed, a sound born of both pleasure and pain as he impaled me, letting my weight pull me down until he was fully encased in my dripping wet sex. I could feel it tightening, gripping at his flesh in response. Trapped, the tips of serpentine.
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