Blue-Haired Cyclops Girl
Defile the red-haired demoness assassin!
Defile the red-haired demoness, leaving in exchange several billion human lives with a predestined fate. Waking up the next day, remember this, tell yourself in the mirror that you are ALL, that you are a HERO. And proceed to the next goal:
Defile the blue-haired cyclops girl!
Cliché.
First, study her dossier, request, sketch her pleasant face on a canvas. The face of a young cyclops girl with blue hair, a slender neck, fragile arms, a narrow waist, a toned rear, and large, immense breasts protruding outward like her single,
but stunningly beautiful eye—a certain convex mountain with a shiny ice crystal in the middle. An eye. How large it is, sensitive to every movement in the world, making it even more coveted, arousing. An eye. The mirror of the world, a window to the soul. No, more like a slit to the soul. A narrow, moist, burning slit, screaming: "Come on, take me! Shove your flesh right into my soul! Surrender to your desires. Don't spill anywhere, spill into the very essence of the blue-haired girl! Come on, you freak, splatter your secretions onto the world-foundation in her head!…"Defile the blue-haired girl. Stop feeling how her most piquant part, without breaking away for a second, stares toward the crotch. The eye… The mirror of the world…
Defile the blue-haired girl. Learn that she works at an employment center, as a secretary. Hear her thin, sensual, wave-stroking voice. Meet her far in the mountains disguised as a kind wizard selling a ticket to the Hotel. But there are no tickets to the Hotel. However, there are large tools.
Defile the blue-haired girl. Tear her light-blue dress, push her into the dark-blue sea, where, drowning in the cold waves, see yourself on the retina of her frightened eye. Laugh, sharply pull off her swimsuit. Revel in that piercing scream and the sight of her eye, surrender to the captivity of primal instincts. To the freedom of primal instincts, which spawn the liberty of flesh, the ecstasy of crazed blue copulation with cyclopes. Copulation, drowning in a gluttonous downpour of sex, loud sex, blue, merciless sex with cyclopes.
Defile the blue-haired girl. Greedily sink a kiss into these voluminous, azure-diamond-glinting breasts, into the nipples swelling under the tongue's intense movements. Feeling a wave hit the face, dive down and feel, feel the pliant body: run hands over the bust, back, thighs, rear, lightly touch the labia. Pleasure, imperishable arousal. Don't stop. A finger passes between the firm buttocks, touches the intimate, enters that wet slit… it clenches, refusing to accept the foreign… But no, no, don't stop, continue! Not letting the blue-haired girl break the surface, continue!
Defile the blue-haired girl. Use teeth to pull down the panties, inhale into the nostrils the salty, sharp-as-glass water and the two detectable scents of the cyclops girl. Then, while continuing to massage the narrow slit with a finger, lick, lick, suck into the pliant flesh in front, stealthily kissing the pubis and nibbling the reddened lips. How pleasant… How blissful to choke on this cursed water, yet continue bringing the heated flesh to ecstasy. With each new movement of the tongue, repeat the curve of her feminine core; with each new thrust of the fingers, go deeper between the firm, constantly contracting buttocks. Hot soft-blue arousal… The slit widens, the eye grows larger… larger, more elastic, larger…
Defile the blue-haired girl. Knowing the blue-haired girl likes it, continue choking, rubbing the aroused tool against the soft skin of the legs, against the knees. And lick, lick, suck, rub, push deeper with fingers, lick, realize how strong, how incomparable the cyclops's body is. "The blue-haired cyclops girl," correct oneself and grab the thick soft hair with the free hand to thrust again, lick, suck. Make the eye larger, more expressive, more elastic, more sexual…
Defile the blue-haired girl. Pull her to the bottom, thrust, surfacing slightly higher. Run the skin, ready to burst from the rush of blood, over the icy cold lips, push into the mouth, licking the contracting eye—aim, thrust out. Inhale… scream… the body lunges forward, the buttocks sharply contract, breaking the finger. Inhale… scream… A wave hits the face. The blue-haired girl will be seized by a major tremor and wild tension, replaced by a stone-like spasm. The finger will slide into the slit to its full length, crunch louder, the hands will involuntarily jerk back, tearing out a clump of hair. The blue-haired head will lurch forward… and the flesh will finally plunge into the eye. The pupil will dilate, like a huge bottomless saucer; the tip of the tool will encounter it, taste the moment—languid, imperishably pleasurable, wild—and pressing, will thrust forward, tearing the sinewy eye tissue. The shattered mirror of the world will squelch, impaling itself on the male member. It will start repeating: "Yes, that's how it should be! Stretch me, I am flesh—this is my purpose!"… Listen to this until the moment when, going limp, one body sinks to the bottom, leaving a bloody watery trail behind, and the other upward—toward the shore…
Defile the blue-haired cyclops girl!
Defile the blue-haired girl, leaving in exchange for the mirrors of the world—a sexual hole, filled with blue blood. Waking up the next day, remember this, tell yourself in the mirror that you are ALL, that you are a HERO. And proceed to the next goal:
Defile the green-haired deer-woman!
Cliché…
Jonathan Davis.