Cranium Insanium Verse I

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After what seems beyond an eternity; I stumble across my first significant sanctuary. It’s a clearing; tucked away behind a network of tight crawl spaces. I have scurried through enough of them to require a quick time-out. I’m aware that time is not my friend right now; the sands are shifting to the lower glass with alarming rapidity. But if I don’t catch breath I will be unable to proceed; wading through sludged cruor takes its toll when you have no map to work with.

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No sooner have I settled, than a siren-like chant beckons me toward a dark recess just out of sight. It is like a bittersweet symphony to my soul, the soft and gentile wispy welcome of my Dark Queen. I have cum many times with this salacious siren curled around my rigid cock, milking it for all it’s worth but right now I must focus on matters far more pressing. As her First Knight I am tasked with her protection and I cannot allow harm to befall my crimson queen, or else all of this would have been for nothing.

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Diane Foster, the entirely beguiling True Scream Queen of horror stands before me, her beauty unmatched, both inner and surface level. Many men  in my place would freeze and my racing heart suggests that a coronary may well still be on the cards, but I simply cannot let this moment pass. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt just to run my peepers over her wares just as a recap you understand.

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Every inch of her skin is a delight, there’s not a blemish on her pelt, not a hair out of place. Even when caked in blood it dances around her glorious face with the precision of a sniper’s pellet. This woman was crafted by angels, long before they fell, and every single nerve ending is ablaze right now at the thought of just a single bloody kiss.

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Her cheeks glow with constancy, in turn enabling every interconnecting feature to flourish. The features in question include eyes that could make a man murder his own brother in cold blood, and luscious lips lterally bursting with lucidity. These lips part to reveal rows of regimented teeth and playful incisors which snack furiously on my remaining defenses. Pressing against them is the tongue of a seraph, but possessing serpent-like venom which, when called into play, can lunge with conviction and dark purpose.

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Then there’s her neck; like a stairway to heaven, furnished with a blanket of skin cut from the finest tailored cloth. It sits sentinel-esque between her luxurious shoulder-blades exquisitely, and leads to her delectable sternum. This  itself bearing fruits of divine splendor. Her chest is a dream, as if the rest of her isn’t, and her breasts are like two delicious cherries on top. They are proportioned to perfection, topped with the ripest of berries. One touch could send a man straight to utopia; one taste could stop his heart.

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The navel is one of the finest compounds of yearning to the Keeper and she wears hers gloriously. It is its own kingdom, benign for the most part but with a pinpoint incision, a button hole in its centre, which you desire to drink crimson from perpetually. A little further south is her haunch and this is as close to pure heaven as we are ever likely to come.

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Her pussy is a throbbing nerve centre of tantalizing torment. One would imagine it to feel like fine silk, and taste like the tenderest cut of venison, medium rare and bleeding with salacious sauces. Flip to reverse and her buttocks will send you doolally. Symmetrical, rounded peaches, glistening with vitality and possessing a seductive prose all of their own. To the feet, capable of maintaining her delightful framework and dancing with the grace of a bloody ballerina. Each toe is a delicacy and her soft heels are deceivingly inviting, capable of crushing a larynx effortlessly. One last note; her aroma. The nside of Marcus Miller’s cranium is never likely to be washed linen and perfumed oils but set against such a fresh scent, even under perspiration I might add., it just heightens the senses. The Keeper of the Crimson Quill, loyal First Knight and soul-sibling at her beck and call, is ready for their second encounter and there is much work afoot.

1721

 

Read Verse Two

Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK
#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor #ThePiper
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013

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