Porcelain Sin

I admire her face, her features. She is exquisitely crafted, a truly divine beauty. A flesh girl bearing the semblance of a porcelain doll. 

I cup her face in my hands, while my body delivers vulgar punishment.

I am suddenly reminded of those knick knacks we place upon our highest shelves. A dish, a glass, a sculpture that has sentimental meaning. Passed down from one generation to the next, its true value lies in the memories it brings.

Her face is that of a doll - her eyes wide and innocent, her mouth parted just so, her gaze seeing into me, through me. Her cheeks are painted blush by fever, a delicate contrast against the tone of her flesh.

Her lips, a perfect shade of red, are so very kissable, so touchable, so ... perfect.

In the moment my hands cup her face, I envision the past, the future. I glimpse moments of laughter, of tears, of solace.

How many times have I shared a knowing grin with the art of my home? A one-sided conversation with the figurine that represents so many years of my life and ancestry? That part of my world that accepts me for who I am, and thus makes me feel more complete? What can I add to my own legacy upon these high shelves?

I feel her thighs squeeze me, her sweet juices squishing, mixing with my own, her fingernails a ceramic rake upon the field of my back.

Then I hear the sound. One could never believe such feral noises would be emitted from such a perfect face. Groans, moans, sweet whispers, vulgar begging, pleading. She cries. Primal screams into the darkness that surrounds our naked forms.

My porcelain doll comforts me on those bad days, when her perfectly parted lips bring me a smile. My sweet innocent figurine is the one to whom I smile, nod and confess my transgressions or herald my triumphs. Her beautiful face stares through me, accepting me, thankful to have a place in my home and heart.

I blink myself back into the real world, gazing upon the porcelain doll beneath me. My body acts on carnal impulse and instinct, pounding her savagely - my mind puzzles over her complexity, the sheer beauty and perfection of her eyes, sweet lips, immaculate smile, flushed cheeks.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she drawls between ragged breaths - even in the heat of passion, her voice is liquid honey to my ears. I chuckle and smile, showing her my canines, letting desire consume me and savoring every stroke...

"You are porcelain sin, darlin'."

I sink my teeth into her creamy flesh, and she forgets to ask me anything further.