/lit/ - Literature

>>20470233
Castello's cock was snug as a bug in a rug between the chubby vulval folds of the young girl and the crotch of her too-tight knickers beneath. He moaned in irrepressible pleasure as his cock disgorged its essence in spasms of pressure and pleasure that seemed to exceed a minute to exhaust. All the while he had been pressing the demi-sedated child closely against him as he blushed and sweated and moaned in his own trance-like ecstacy. After conclusion of his eruption (a white oleaginous explosion barely contained by the child's now thoroughly sodden knickers) he lay there, with his back against the love chair. His face glistening with an aura of salutary sweat. His eyes both contented and content less, as if he (and not the child) were the one half-drugged, just as the rhythm of his breathing registered a seemingly blameless, child-like quietude, undermined only by the grotesqueness of the full tableau presented to the surreptitious solitary viewer behind the wall. A viewer who stared with unblinking eye pressed intimately against the peephole; and who had devoured the seen entire, even as her own hand disturbed the feverish and riverine carnality contained within her silken drawers. An eye for an eye, a whole for a hole, in the fullness of time innocence will have its day, but for the moment it is foulness that freely feasts its prey.