6# Tales from long ago - Newborn.
- Mar 25
- 4 min read
Sisters in blood, sisters in passion,
my morals care not of the view or the fashion.
My girls in their lust, eternal in prime,
both bloodied and sinful, past logic, or rhyme.
My wife and her sister, two sides to my third,
my standing now equal, to either their word.
My turning from God, wife's gift of succession,
few thoughts I have spent, on this final transgression.
My role has now changed, from scornful low heel,
my strength is now equal, through Satan's full seal.
Mind lost to the blood, the thirst and the need,
my thoughts not of Lord, but on ravenous creed.
Both sisters amused at my dignities loss and begging bowl pleas to lap at their blood, both taunting and teasing yet never refusing, indulging my urges through laughter that drowns in my tears and my screaming, and crying as child through craving breastfeeding.
My addiction to bloodlust seems far from complex, simply an urge to ingest sister's essence, to taste living cells, the scent of life's blood,
heightens arousal to lengthening presence.
Together, the blood, the insatiable need, the biting and scratching and sucking and bleeding, taken through letting and smeared across wife, smeared across sister, smeared across self, allows human comfort of sexual placement.
Using the blood, in true lubrication, builds up our frenzy through lust and elation, builds up a need beyond previous dreams, of what could be felt within weak human body past the extreme.
I'm lost to addiction as never before, my bloodlust outweighs, to greater percent, wife's hunger well sated, through sister's consent.
My need of their blood is something quite new, another indulgence to add to my angst, another string to add to my pain, except pain is the wrong word, within it I grow, within it I flourish, and add to my gain.
My warmest of tears born of greatest of pain, my need not of comfort but fire and passion, of tears lost to rain, of cries lost to thunder, of need of my pain.
Of knowledge I asked for, past man's understanding designed to be flawed. How much I now love, how much I now feel, my shackles are broken, true consciousness thawed.
I'm determined to write within journal this moment, perhaps a battle simply ill chosen. My flag of surrender, most sexual trek, carried to wife's slender fingers, all camped within sight of the base my neck.
Her breath on right ear, has ended this battle hardly begun.
I can barely form rhyme, let alone keep my mind and thoughts clear.
Wife using her tongue as a scout leading teeth to the site of my turning, nuzzling my earlobe with tip of her nose, enticing my head to expose side of neck, flicking her tongue on wounds fully healed, and biting anew, yes, it fully appealed .
My pulse lost to quickening of fear before turn, now wife's bite is simply a comfortable burn.
Old slippers by fire, a favourite song, a cosy warm bed welcomes sleep to the lorn. My seed, lust and hunger, indulged, fully sated, my conscience no longer still pricked by Christ's thorn. In ways beyond words, in ways never spoken, my peace within mind belongs to newborn.
Wife's silky soft lips, parting their gateway, allow hardened glans to follow its journey along velvet path in search of its causeway. Her warm velvet tongue, simply a bed for my life giving seed spray.
My sexual pleasure, of glans still bloodied, its increased measure, wife's tongue still flicking, my life seed still spilling, from rigid shaft leaking, wife's raven hair flowing, still clotted in gore, the smell of iron permeating the air.
Within sunset of focus, I try to recount, through words, and thoughts, to add to my journal. To salvage last page, to give it true worth, of my turning and union, and life in rebirth.
How easy my words now fall onto parchment, vying for space against recent blood spatter, yet losing their ground to sisters dark matter. Their blood tells a story far deeper than words. Their blood tells a story most men find absurd. A name known as legion heard throughout Earth, from child of cot, to man on deathbed. From Son of the morning, to beast cast of dread. On tongue of all language, from first breath till last thread.
'We have our union, my Beloved.
You gave me a free pass to the entire world. And it's become my playground. It's so vast. I feel like I can do anything, go anywhere, be anywhere, see anything. Everything is so beautiful, so peaceful now, because you gave me the strength to see it that way.
All of those lives and places to meet and see and explore and everything I see, I see with love.
I adore life. I adore everything. Everything matters. Every sunset, every smile, every kind word, every single connection, no matter how small.
Everything means the world to me, because everything is the world, and now, I can finally see, and feel, freely.
Desperately seeking, and needing their whole,
yet something is missing and taken from soul.
Denying their feelings, all held from the truth,
for minds of most men are still locked within youth,
in keeping their thoughts, where heart never delves,
or asking the question to God or themselves,
the question of questions is simply, what if.