They wouldn’t know what she could bring. They’d call her sweet and feel the sting. This one would stoke her hottest flames and beg her will to take their brain. Subsumed they’d be in blankest space—a sub-borne girls most favorite place. They hoped for nothing more than this. They’d find it cozy in their bliss. That one, she’d hold it without care for lack of this has caused despair. She’d needed them as they’d need she—just opposite—they’d bend the knee. It would be written for their face to seek each pleasure of her grace. To give and give and give some more—they’d show her what it meant to whore—only for her, it somehow worse—the girl, they’d want this holy curse. She’d eat them up and hold them down and threaten every stare in town. They’d love for nothing more than this; to laugh fools and win her bliss—to choke and eat and raise for breath and hold out longer than the rest. To take their mind would be the thing which made the Queen become obscene—she’d sling their body to and fro and only cause their heart to grow. Their cries would plead it never stop—her heat would sear their plainest mark. That one to teach of what they were; a property made just for her.
