Cum Here Lover

I never intended to feel this way… never deliberately positioned myself in this convoluted circumstance that places my heart in a frenzy, my mind into mania and my pussy in a sea of seduction…

You are who you are… I am who I am… we have always fit so well, like the Magnum that covers your glorious dick on nights that we feign responsibility… two magnificent, bizarre peas in a purple pod… even if I were able to resist being in this situation I would not… we have created castles in thick clouds of splendor … we rule collectively and blissfully…

Homie, lover, friend… no justice being done to what we are… what we are… what are we?… there is no “title” “label” or “status” that would do “US” justice… we are what we are and there is no one in this world that will ever be able to comprehend that… you are who you are and I am who I am… that is why we always end up “here”… in this black hole of rapture that sucks the rationale out of me and dispenses life into every aperture of my body…

I stare at you… so perfect… so perfect for me… I want to give you the sweetest of forehead kisses, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, fuck you as if we hate each other… simply because I adore you… lost in a gaze as you sing to me… my body blushes, my hands inscribing your beautiful aura with lucid terminology to convince myself that you are real, my pussy cries as you calculatingly torture me… I love you… fuck me like you hate me…

Boundaries are impertinent in our clandestine world… there is no threshold for I will never get enough of you… never tire of sucking that bottom lip as if it were my last meal… consuming you until there is nothing more to satisfy me… that limit never reached as you are infinite to me… so when I whisper “fuck me” the lights disappear, people around us become insignificant stick figures and all background nuisances are disregarded….

You are such a stubborn man… rebel who’s only cause is to be a rebel… you do what the fuck you want… yet, I am above the law of low lifes… covertly there is some method to your extreme madness… your happiness lies in pleasing me… never spoken but I know… partially due to my cockiness… possibly because of the way that you bite my labia so softly and with so much passion… maybe it’s the way you burrow into my pussy from the back as you bite my shoulder, leaving the marks of a supreme aficionada into my flesh that has been permanently swathed with the labors of your love… perhaps my knowledge stems from your syrupy sap that overflows into my mouth as you suffer with the sacrifice of love… 

I am yours and you are mine… I whisper “fuck me”… my dear rebel takes orders so well… owning my clit with your tongue until my eyes bleed purple tears and my tongue spits the vulgarity of a pirate… you are who you are and I am who I am... you will fuck me as I commanded… wait, you are a radical… you don’t take orders… I will suffer for this…

Your tongue possessing my pussy until I dissipate into oblivion… NEVER… just as I see “the light” my fervor is broken, my back is bent and your dick is teasing ever sector of my drenched pussy… reprimanding me as if I allowed the dog to eat my homework… retribution for thinking that I had the upper hand … pounding my pussy until its wetness begins to talk to you… until my cum leaks down my leg and screams your name as you fuck the life outta me and new life into me…

When you are done you simply state “Surprise me”… so I do… impress you with my legs in the air supported by the arms that you have illustrated with symbols of love…  you stand up and ravish my pussy while I’m on a handstand as if Weezy personally taught you that trickery… “STOP”… “I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE”… rebel without a cause… you take commands from NO ONE… you will continue until I collapse…. Satisfied… enamored… exhaustion mingles with ecstasy…

Staring… marveling… daydreaming and I’m thinking of you… if I were not me I would be you…  because I am me I love you… it is elementary my dear Watson... I am who I am because you are who you are… elementary… now cum here love... and fuck me J…

~Viola Monroe  

IMPERFECT PERFECTION

Impeccable, both inside and out… I have these stunning, exceptionally white, diamond bright set of teeth that have been set with the precision of a true architect, manicured nails with cuticles of perfection, tiny little toes painted the brightest of colors that God could have gifted… one single solitary diamond sitting on the second little toe, gleaming with every step of my size 7 suede Nicholas Kirkwood platform pumps, purple of course… curves running from my shoulder blades to the arch of my heels…

Not a hair out of place because it owns the space it takes up… the mass of dark, sultry curls having a mind of its own… overpowering while complimenting my oval face that is void of any imperfections and no hints of any manufactured and bottled beauty… a face that is a virgin to any form of Almay, Bobbi Brown, M.A.C. and all their friends… other than a hint of gloss to flavor the luscious set of lips that highlights beauty I do not know nor need any counterfeit attractiveness… both beautiful and natural… that’s when I’m the prettiest, Drake I could never take that wrong…

I wear clothes only to satisfy society… if I must wear them they will cling so well to my body that they become my second skin… a colorful, vivacious and vibrant subsequent coating… not too much though, for my God given first skin has been painted by the most magnificent artist in the universe… my body tells hundreds of stories of love, pain, happiness, adventure, new goals, forgotten goals and everything in between… a medium that men and women have scribbled upon and collectively created the masterpiece that is me…

I do not stress for stress interferes with progress… not a bone of neediness in my beautiful body for my independence is my life and I have no thoughts of suicide… tears still form in my beautiful eyes but these are only initiated by bouts of intense joy… soul created of happiness and therefore every thought, act or display of any portion of my being emits elation… not even the cruelest of beings can resist the urge that they have to be in my presence for my aura feeds them the vitals of life… men yearning to enter into my cavern of love that soaks the smallest thon-like part of my second skin… woman crave my friendship for it is the purest, most genuine and rarest bond that anyone could offer… the seeds of my womb connected to my heart that only a mother and her progenies could retain… my lover oversexed, over loved, over admired and treated as if he is the sovereign of my soul… he reciprocates my love ten-fold…

I am a snake charming belly dancer… cunning and witty… a conversation piece … the ultimate conversationalist… writing riddles of the secret to my ambiance… overflowing the eyes, hearts and medullas of the world as they are spell bound by my choice combination of the most eccentric verses… world’s greatest mom (that’s tattooed somewhere on me )… paramount lover… best friend… I am the shit!!!!...

In a perfect world….

~Viola Monroe

#POW

My head aches… my footsteps are heavy… my sexiness is lost with the hunch of my back caused by this load… weight of the world would be much more pleasurable than this burden… a universe walking across my shoulders… stomping like a fucking step squad wearing spiked steel toe boots….

No one will ever know… that is part of my strength… smile through these fucking tears that sting my eyes … strut though the pain that shoots from my femur to my groin compliments of these fucking stilettos I am obliged to wear… laugh as my name is skull dragged through piles of giraffe shit … sensually moan and create “fuck faces” as my pussy is beat to death as if being punished for its warm moisture…. Paint a stupid fucking grin on as my kindness is being taking for weakness, love is being abused and intelligence is constantly being insulted… that is part of my strength…

I am only one woman… yet, I am EVERY woman… there is a solution to every problem… it is I who must solve each as if it is the equation for energy and I am Einstein reincarnated as his stunning counterpart destined to depart this life from the untimely failure of my heart… a heart botched from lost love, broken friendships, extreme debt… detrimental people, places and things closing in on me… parasites… I am ONLY one woman… yet, I must be EVERY woman…

No “thank you”, no “great job bitch”, no “ I am so proud of you fucker”… needed but not noticed… no good deed gone without punishment… duty calls with suppressed praise… maybe I don’t deserve it.. maybe they don’t deserve me… perhaps this is just “life”… perhaps this is just “My life”… yearning to scream, confess that I am aching, reveal that I am only human, run until I have reached a place of refuge and solace, cry until my cheeks are covered with the salt of the Dead sea… I cannot scream… a lady is to be seen and not heard… I am unable to admit my lack of immortal powers… I would disgrace my Super man… Running would be deplorable and painful… I cannot risk stumbling, or even worse, breaking my heels… Crying is not an option… My Bobbi Brown concealer would smear… so I smile, grit, grin and bear it… #POW

~Viola Monroe

SELF-LOVE

Slow sweats… edgy… no good to anyone for anything… look into the pupils of her soul and there loiters yearning… eyes that makes one wonder… maybe she wanted a better future… longing for a more promising career… more kids… a tighter ass… smaller feet… maybe she needs to bust… a… quick… NUT…..

She would call… or text…. Tweet… pussy vibes floating through the airwaves… waiting to be received, accepted and pounded until it screams bloody murder and leaks until the life is drained out of it… she could… weak moment buts she’s a powerful fee… she could do whatever it is she wants… she could reach out to have this fire inundated… or… she could become the master of her own destiny… grab the horses by the reigns… indulge in the conquest that is she….

Mood… experiences such as these rely on temperament… flaming wicks of a variety of wax sticks dipped in mint and chamomile scents that trigger the craving… creating an illusion of relaxation for her endeavor… melodies of sexual encounters drifting out the iPad speakers that Mr. Apple created chiefly for this situation... background noises consisting of the slow leak in the bathroom sink and Lex Steele’s dick spanking against the plump ass of some high, sexy ass white girl… I would hug her if I could… those little souls possessing such anguish… kisses her… enjoy…

She slides her favorite two fingers of her right hand, painted purple of course, into her mouth… She imitates the sucking of the background noise… Other hand separating the great wall of Viola… wet enough… slips the faves into her Area 51… soaked…

She’s always thinking … thinks better with her eyes closed… closes them tightly… tears began to form… she can smell his skin… he bathes in lavender… a sick, twisted grimace washes across her face.. her two faves have become the fab four… slowing rubbing the purple jewel that has been unjustly coined “clit”… this thing of hers surpasses anything called a “clit”… no one knows her the way she does... there is no “safe” spot as she instinctively fondles the only means of breaking this curse… still she thinks… always thinking … four fingers… conquering her world… eyes shut tight… four fingers…chamomile and lavender.. Lex … love faces being sang… love faces being made… he is not there…yearning has become oblivious… purple tears pour from her soul… she is in love again… self-love….

~Viola Monroe

Ms. Saturday...

Long weeks… longer days… too short nights… an equation for madness… oh, Miss Thang can’t wait until that day…

Five long days… 120 hours of mind-numbing routine… 7200 minutes spent being “normal” … mother, daughter, sister, confident, member of corporate humanity… she wears many hats, so well, as if fitted to just her head… each role played as if she was Ms. Angelina Pitt… five long days… 120 hours… 7200 minutes of waiting… passing the time until “that day”… the one faithful day in which she is at last allowed to “live”….

She must work harder than most at her game of “make-believe”… ole girl could always walk the walk and perfected each rotating deliberation, yet, her “look” never quite fit the bill for any of her alternating characters… tall, sensual build always swathed in diminutive, tantalizing bits of “clothing”, sprinkled with shimmery lotion and obtrusive pieces of overly elaborate trinkets… garments falling in the category of costumes rather than outfits that are completed by lofty heels that emphasize her Amazon like body… Artwork of friends and past lovers embellish over half of her bronzed butter-pecan skin… oh she’s fancy hunh….

Our mystery lady… let’s call her Ms. Saturday… longing for that auspicious sixth day of the week… exactly three days after the dreaded “hump day”… just as the archetypical lifestyle of society is beginning to eat at her soul and suck her in she is saved by that day… that night being her knight in shining armor… she awaits that night… HER night… Ms. Saturday’s day of swag….

The moment preparations begin her adrenaline goes into overdrive… just a day to most… much more to our lady of anonymity… 24 hours of real LIFE for Mamacita Saturday…. 1440 minutes of existing as her true self… no pretenses… no facades… no pretending… the guards of civilization opening the gates and whispering “you are free… for now… you are free”….

She surrounds herself with elements that relieve her from the mediocracy that she manages to momentarily tip-toe sneak away from… a selective, exclusive group of friends, just as beautiful as she, just as antsy as she, friends she never has to apologize to, extraordinary people that have accepted, and more importantly love her, despite her flaws, persons that tolerate her imperfections whether God given or self inflicted… the mood created by their erratic theme music that consists of a medley of Rick Ross’ rough barks, Trey Songs panty droppers dipped in Ms. Rolands Motivational crooning, the wopness of New Orleans Bounce that controls the jiggle in their abundant asses and a little Currency and Weezy to feed her pot-induced, semi gangsterish, rock star homegirl melodic desires….

She takes her time and savors every moment of that day… HER day… pampers herself with an hour long shower as she sings songs of euphoria, covers herself in the sweetest of body wash and rids every square inch of her goddess body of any unsightly hair… hoping that her smooth bald pussy will come in handy later… giggly and elated as she covers herself in her signature shimmery lotion and slips into her favorite Vickie Secret thongs that ironically keep nothing clandestine… her amazing “clique” partaking in a “pre-party” as they morph into sex deities… strong liquor, presidential purp and high libidos floating in the atmosphere… silly girls planning to wake up with no memories of the night ahead as they festively paint their innocent faces, tease their hair and clad themselves in attire that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination of erotica… Ms. Saturday finds her longed for serenity in this fanatical ambiance….

Entering into a haven of drunk and hot girls, men high off the scent of wet, yearning, lonely pussy… the loud, throbbing music accentuating the sensual quintessence of the night… the air thick with clouds of kush smoke and the scent of anxiety… liquor of every flavor, color and proof being poured as an instigator to the “hunt”… Ms. Saturday takes it all in… breathing life into the party that will ultimately end with foreign dick in someone’s bed, someone’s backseat or wherever her conquest succeeds in slipping off her panties… if they are still on… Ms. Saturday... love idol extraordinaire…

Embracing her element… she is unstoppable… moving as a cheetah luring in her unsuspecting prey… dancing with any body that grazes her flesh… male or female… her lust impartial to gender… all is fair in Ms. Saturdays Saturday world…  eager men seducing her with cups of poison masked as Ciroc, feeding her kush tokes and sensual pass by strokes… somewhere in the midst of chaos she loses her mind… and finds herself… her world converted to a whirl wind  of madness as her skirt creeps up revealing her rotund ass and her shirt loses the battle of containing her luscious bosom… slips and falls, kisses with unrecognizable lips, fondling anomalous body parts on unfamiliar  bodies… her heart races as if she is suffering  from anomalies… she is not suffering… exactly the opposite… she experiences nirvana… this is how her heart is supposed to beat … she was created to move a little quicker, think a lot shrewder and love much harder than her “common” fellow beings of the human race… it only makes sense that her heart beats at a steady pace of Saturday… well past the technical end of Saturday Ms. Saturday defies the rules of time and carries on beyond the hours past 12 and carries Saturday into the wee hours of the morning… the hours in which the Mondays through Fridays of the world slumber and dream of uninteresting fucking cookouts and outings and kiddie parties, through the dull skies and even more dull minds of the snoozing social bores Ms. Saturdays drags in life and color and spontaneity and excitement… along with it she takes home her trophy of the night…

Ms. Saturday has a thing for dreads, bodies filled with the intricate patterns of genius minds, and the skinniest of niggas for they remind her of Jake Sully and she loves the way their boxers fit around their Avatar like frames… This Saturday he possesses all three of the qualities that makes her yoni cry for that Saturday to never end… She devours him… all the energy that she has remaining in any bone within her body is poured out into her ritual closing of the “best day of her life”… she’s had so many of those… “best days of her life”… with her skinny, dread headed tatted prize… two out of three will always suffice if his dick is larger than the usual… she doesn’t do “the usual”… I would describe in detail the nights adventures with her prized sexual conquest… but most I do not remember… I mean “she”… Ms. Saturday... fucking  the few remnants of her Saturday away… he leaves… she never wakes to see “him” in the light for that is not necessary… if he is worth another Saturday he will be remembered and his number possibly stored… as “Saturday”… #POW

~Viola Monroe

SPAWN...

Hey you! …Yeah you motherfucker…  Stop looking around.. I’m fucking talking to YOU!... wait, maybe you don’t understand this tone… you are so used to “baby” “sweetheart” “my love” “daddy”… all that ignorant bullshit that discerned and confirmed the power you possessed  in my world…. I’ve escaped… Finally… and you will never hear another term of endearment out of these lips that have kissed, licked and sucked you like no other…

Bitch… I prefer bitch over honey… so, bitch, humor me for a second… those I love yous, I care about you so, you are my baby… were these all testimonial lies? … was it the drug induced states that had you speaking imprudently?… or do I just look that fucking stupid that you felt you could talk my panties off until the next bitch was accessible… better yet bitch, yeah I said bitch, do you just hate me that much that I was worth nothing more than a few laughs after you captured my heart, sealed it with sweet but deadly kisses and locked it in the dungeon of loneliness

Long nights waiting up for you to send that faithful message… “WYDN”… code for “I’m bored and your the weakest bitch I know that will come and fuck the dog shit outta me” … pussy shaved and wet, heart yearning to be complete, even if only for a few fleeting moments… I always replied… never left you waiting for if you waited too long my lucky chance would be gone… my temporary happiness vanished as you become impatient with your minion and allow the next bitch to suck the soul out of your dick… wait, you have no soul you sorry sack of shit….

Always super man in my eyes… no weakness emitting from your beautiful frame… yet, if ever there was a crack in your excellence I was always there to patch that hoe up… your head hurts, your stressed, sleep deprived, you have a paper cut… I know my role and I have always played it well … I will suit up for battle as a if I am a Zulu warrior prepared to fight to the death… if you were not happy there is nothing in this world more important than resolving whatever quandary is holding you back… I don’t need sleep, or money, or time to live for I cannot function until you are back to perfection….

I must confess… you are an exceptional educator… a little peanut butter on both the top and bottom bread and jelly on just one… shorten those text messages kuz no nigga likes to read a bunch of touchy feely poetic ass paragraphs about “feelings”… ugh!... play with the balls while I suck your dick if I want you to nut, otherwise I will be vainly sucking for hours.. oh, and I better not spit that shit out, spitters are quitters,  I was the bitch you “cared most about”, I could never be a quitter, so I swallowed that shit… you taught me so much… lessons of love… the irony…

Always attracted by your honesty… your ability and willingness at “constructive criticism “… I am getting fat and you hate fat bitches… it is time to redo that weave Viola, you can’t have me representing you looking like a chicken head… that shirt is ugly… those pants fit horribly… that scar on my chest is the most grotesque thing that you have ever seen… I know you never intended to hurt me… you will always have my “best interest at heart”…

I was your “main” bitch…  never the only but how could I expect a man of your stature to settle for one pussy forever… to limit yourself to one aggravating, overly emotional, middle aged fucker… you deserve more than a simple bitch with big dreams and an overzealous urge to please you… I should have been lucky to be part of your line-up… how dare I think, even for a second, that just my mediocre ass could be adequate… NEVER…  I was lucky to be one of the chosen few… you always reminded me of that… I understand the punishments you were forced to bequeath upon me… you disappearing until I “got my mind right”… ignoring my calls… laughing at my desperate text… giving “my time” to the next, much more laudable broad… that’s what I get… fuck is wrong with me… defying your greatness… FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!

I needed to keep you in my life… my happiness thrived on your presence… my anti-hero...you signified supremacy... your means of fashioning your dominance not always conventional or virtuous but always done with such bravado…your “evil genius” techniques making you that much more acclaimed…flying around making people beautiful and pussies wett… so I work overtime… even when you are not in my realm I must live up to your standards… I no longer owned my pussy… it was yours… no other man will ever brag that I contravened your trust… I’ve always been esteemed at your prominence… there will not be a single soul that will speak of anything other than your illustriousness… I will defend your honor with my life… you are not an inconsiderate asshole, you are a misunderstood mastermind… you are not a slut of a man that fucks way too many hoes, you are a exquisite human being that is not easily satisfied and therefore needs variety… how dare someone see you as anything other than a valiant, majestic genius…

Compromised my all for you… praying for you to possess me forever… yet, you have taken my essence, my  precious soul, that I have presented to you on a purple, diamond encrusted uranium platter, and threw it into the swamp for the alligators to devour… professions of love, promises to always “put me first”, declarations of your allegiance to me… gone with the wind that blows tumbleweeds across the Mohave desert… my heart captured and  sealed with those fucking sweet but deadly kisses and imprisoned in the reformatory of involuntary isolation… I hate you… I want to hate you soooo bad… I fucking hate you… I love you… I hate how much I love you… Spawn…

~Viola Monroe

Dulce De Leche

We have shared so much “pillow talk”… bedside manor going to the wind after amazing fuck fests… secrets revealed… fantasies unfolded… talks of beaches with black sand, handcuffs, whips, leather, bad bitches and good weed…all that shit… baby your kinky… fuck it, I’m freaky….

Its Wednesday… infamous “hump day”… how many hump days have we spent fucking like libido driven rabbits in heat… I love Wednesday… this one is special baby… I have a surprise for you…

No peeping…. Close your eyes… I usually adore floor fucking but today is special… today the California king shall be our pleasure island… we need all the room we can get… hold me by the waist as I lead you to euphoria … is that your dick pressing against my ass? … This experience will be remarkable!

You can open your eyes, for now… I love when you look at me like that… I curse Eve for forcing Adam to eat that forbidden fruit… the freedom of nudity…  no clothes to inhibit this zeal propelling through my pussy… watching that hunger in your eyes, that craving to bite the tip of my clit ever so softly as if whispering your love to it… There is a pillow at the head of our love cavern… I will use the purple one that is at the foot… I see you smiling… you always know what the opposite pillows mean… lay… I’m soaked… kisses all over your chest, neck nibbles, my tongue traveling southward as your breathing gets heavier and I feel that quiver… that tremor that signifies your breaking point… I am such a tease…

Come here daddy… all day my thoughts have been clouded with images of your glorious dick feeding me as if I were a newborn… Sorry, if I am too rough… you always taste of honeysuckle and spearmint… your balls are never sweaty… damn sweetheart… how do you expect me to focus on the task at hand while your tongue is in direct competition with your dick as you slide that warm wetness in and out, in and out.. STOP daddy… I’m not ready to cum… today is special… there is still a surprise in store…

My yoni is overflowing in your mouth as the flavor that is you floods my taste buds… on any other Wednesday I would allow my mania to take over and force you to fuck the shit outta me… against the wall…my legs wrapped around your thin frame…  as I beg you to “fuck me harder” “beat that pussy up” “cum with me”… any other Wednesday I would have pried that magical tongue away from my pussy, threw you on your back, and rode you with my ass facing you so that you can watch as it quakes and shudders to the beat of ecstasy,… riding you as if I were a jockey straddling a prized derby horse… not today… I have a gift for you…

you have always been so good at what you do… you suck my pussy lips as if they  were glazed with the syrup of your favorite candy… you’ve always fucked me with the vigor of a porn star making his debut, placing me in positions that would amaze the most seasoned contortionist.. backshot king… you have spoiled my pussy and for that you deserve a little “treat”… now stop instigating my wetness, slowly move your tongue out of my pussy and let me go get it… wait, a few more minutes….

 Aaaaahhhhhh… the sweet relief of that first nut….communal release as we each divulge in the flowing rewards being released through love contributions… I now feel like Popeye after a huge ass bowl of spinach… DON’T MOVE!... I will be right back … eyes closed again young Jedi with the magnificent light saber … you may want to push over a bit…WE shall be right back…

Tadaaaaaa…. Open now… is that a look of disbelief?... say something!... or not… I’ve never seen you speechless… she is beautiful isn’t she… I would never ruin my baby’s fantasy with an ugly broad… only the best for my love… a tall, lean gazelle with skin that glows brighter than the rays of the evening sun… a little more petite than me but I figured that would offer some variety along with a little balance… kisses… my bubblegum blush mixes with her strawberry sensation… taste her… I’m not greedy… this is for you…

You grin because you know me so well… so my offering is a tad selfish…shrug… its Pixie… that freaky ass little alter ego of mine… I’ve  always wanted to murder that cat with my curiosity, scratch that whole girl kissing girl thing off my bucket list… masterminded this whole surprise… killing two birds with one stone… satisfying one man with two women…. Wiz would have been proud at this amazing display of bad bitches and good weed… jimmy Hendrix is hi fiving you from the grave…

So many bodies… 6 arms…3 immensely sexual beings… 2 lovers… one shared astonishing envisage of Eros… I kiss you… deeply… sharing the taste of our provisional lover… a kiss between lovers excited by the aura, scent and gazing eyes of our ravishing onlooker … I love you and for that I am instinctively possessive… our tongues intertwined in agreement to cherish our experience for it is not often that we are willing to share our world with an outsider…

For a moment we invite her in… gentle touches on every party of whichever random body charms our touch… kisses covering every available orifice and body part that is not currently occupied… I watch as she pleasures you… watching as I begin to explore that warm universe of moisture that your tongue is so familiar with… deep kisses to remind you that you are still mine… sucking your bottom lip as she sucks your massive dick… starting up where she leaves off to come up for air… I do not need air… you are my O2… roles reversed over and over… you taste me while I taste her… I lick you while she conquers my yoni… imagination, desire, the basic human instinct of hunger feeding the frenzy that we have created, in our California king paradise. .. we have transcended from the conundrum world of rudimentary sucking and fucking…  missionary, doggy style, sixty nine are all mere pleasantries in our realm of wonderment…. No rules, no boundaries, no complications that would interfere with my offering… a situation of taboo …the forbidden paragon of sexual state… impermissible cacoethes…

One is good… two is better… three is bliss…good things come in threes… third times a charm…. Dulce de leche ….

~Viola Monroe

If I Were SUPER...

It’s a bird… it’s a plane… it’s a flying Victoria Secret angel… naw, it’s just that awesome ass, outrageous, purple loving, supernatural, mythical character….

Very few are lucky enough to ogle the impressive grandeur of the strikingly beautiful heroine… skin hued of the purest of caramels made from the sweetest cane sugar grown of the most succulent of sugar cane stalks… massive, overpowering hair with the waves of a roused Hawaiian north shore… hair the color of the snows that top the caps of the Antarctic mountains… an ice princess or a snow queen (depending on her love life)…

 Lips that make Ms. Jolie Pitt hide in a corner with a lavender veil covering her lips… voluptuous, pouty, wonderments glazed with M.A.C. kiwi strawberry flavored Wonderman Athena’s Kisses… the dazzle of amethyst diamonds with fuchsia undertones… so stunning that men are known to go through intense mental indecisiveness, afraid to be overcome by their power but always longing to suckle the bottom silent killer for it has him dazed… those notable lips that women pay the finest of doctors ridiculous amounts of money and are still unable to achieve… such a magnificent creature is obligated to have an extraordinary pair of “smoochers”… hers surpasses perfection…

Moving swiftly from each adventure, each drama filled episode called “life”… hips swaying as if inaudibly bragging their perfection to the world… maybe it’s the way she sashays in the her classic superheroine costume complete with 4 inch stilettos… it is obvious that Drake has never had the pleasure of meeting this creature for he would be convinced that heels do not to hurt to walk in… for she glides in them… going from voyage to voyage… floating above the grunge of the ground… effortlessly… in her 4 inch heels…

I must warn you… at first glance she possesses the innocence of a pale violet rose… roses have thorns… her eyes her thrones… purple daggers that jab into the heart of many and force  you to love her… whatever you do DON’T LOOK IN HER EYES… you will never be the same.. she will have you under that wonderful spell of happiness… wait, did I say Don’t look in those eyes… I meant to say it’s impossible not to gaze into those purple portals to her soul…

 She enjoys the superpower of every super hero of  both the Marvel and DC family combined… resembling Wonder Woman, both blessed by the gods with the power of flight… so like Rouge with her ability to touch someone and absorb memories, emotions, powers and skillset…  elated to resemble her favorite heroine Amethyst, princess of Gemworld herself, with the capability of pure magic… ending wars, mending broken hearts, nurturing the next generation, forcing her captives to love …glorious cotton candy soft hair, flawless caramel skin, luscious lips of potency,  piercing purple eyes, tatted like a biker chick… gliding in her unscuffed heels…. Saving the world… if I were a super hero I would wear a purple cape….

~Viola Monroe

Sensations...

 Welcome daddie… you do like it when I call you daddie… right? Make yourself at home… we may be here a while papa bear…

Here you go…. Just for you… Dutchie filled with the color of royalty… the purplest of passion always gets you right… I know what you like

Loving looks… must you always be so fucking darling… that smile that instigates the moisture that seeps through the thin fabric covering my yoni… Victoria that bitch could never keep a secret around that Chesire cat grin… you conceited bastard!... I love it… so much wetness

I love you… I can say it… you have heard it all before… there has to be some higher form of expression of my love for you… hard core, pound fucking wouldn’t suffice… Jenna Jameson can’t love ALL of her costars… I could throw that super soaker pussy on you… that would be ordinary… you’re not an ordinary nigga and I, my dear, am and extraordinary bitch….

Ralph Lauren around your waist… tailored to your “skinny nigga” physique… by the way, red is your color… your skin a magnetic force field for my tongue… if I see Ralph I will personally thank that nigga… but for now, let’s get you comfortable… love has no barriers… nudity is next to godliness… I kinda really just want to get you naked…

Sitting is cool… wish we were in that purple Camaro… the shifts in the road always make for more fun… fuck it... STAND UP… I like to be face to face with magnificence… I am a lucky girl… you stand, I will kneel… leave the lights on… lighting is a vital component of this a performance… I am good at what I do and I require all your senses to recognize my greatness….

Sight… the sight of you makes me tingle in every nook and cranny that I have been blessed with… the most splendid architectural creation of God himself… as if he choose his finest clay and molded you with the love of an artist painting his everlasting imprint on the Sistine Chapel… I sit and marvel at your excellence… craving to touch that skin that’s complimented so well by the color red… that smile triggering hidden tsunamis of desire… look at you!

 Touch is essential… no hands of course…my tongue has been trained to accomplish this mission single-handedly… amateurs rely on hand play... I am skilled and proficient at loving you… no hands…

Your scent is sensational… the sweet oil of Olay aroma of your lingam heightens my libido… these purple panties have lost the battle of containing the flood of passion that oozes down my thighs, escaping the warmness of my pussy… your pussy… I am yours daddie… look at you grinning when I call you daddie… damn you smell good….

Please say my name again… your voice that of a seraph… “Viola”… you need not utter anything more than the appellation that my mother has bestowed on me… I’ve always believed you to be the male version of the infamous Siren spoken of in Greek mythology… the sound of your voice enchanting me until my thoughts are clouded with your essence… say my name… please… I said please… daddie…

Finally… just as I am on the verge of madness… my taste buds are filled with the extract of the sweetest dick my palate has ever tasted… your dick potion has me entranced…  I must have more… i ravish you for what seems like forever... yet, not long enough… hours of sucking as if my life depended on it… it does… I will die if I am not filled with your juices… I suck, nibble, lick, love your dick as if to avoid an untimely demise… hard work pays off and you reward me… the tonic for eternal life gushes out of your dick, acknowledging my act of love… thank you… DADDIE!…. At that moment I know ecstasy … lost in the triangle of Bermuda in a boat painted with bliss… my greed overpowering… I will not stop sucking until I have it all…. I drink you to the very last drop… you make my skin glow…

~Viola Monroe

BYE....

Indescribable pain…. holocaust of the heart... most painful death is to be burned to your demise… tall tale… the most painful death is heartache…

Down this road before… so many twists and turns… always finding each other at the fork in the road… destiny… or sheer bad luck… unpaved path plastered with sharp pebbles that hurt like fuck… but you are there… so I dare these pebbles to fuck up my mission as I follow you in my 3 inch heels that you like so much… they are purple…

I should have learned from my mistakes… a hard head makes a soft ass… a soft heart makes a hard, callous, cold bitch… so much wasted love… do you know how much I love you?... more than the baby girl that my mother gave birth to 28 years ago… more than the bitch in the mirror with blood shot eyes wearing a mask of misery… that’s how much I loved you….

We’ve been here before… excruciating memories resurface… how did I let you do this… AGAIN… insanity at its finest… I could have fought for my heart… protected my rights to happiness… I never have… probably never will… you are not my soul mate… you are my soul… where does that leave me?... gone astray… down “our” road… no one will stop and see if I am ok… I am now a mere carcass… road kill that everyone avoids so that they will not fuck up their tires… you left… again… you left and have seized my essence…

I prefer death… death would be easier… with death comes permanent peace… no more risk of meeting down that road… the perils of this pain that I must sit and endure, vanished… by death… that’s too easy… nothing about “us” has ever been unproblematic, smooth, or easy… nothing but me loving you.. Never a task, or a job, or a duty… the most beautiful, pure, effortless notion was loving you…

The world does not stop… yet, without you I am no longer a part of humanity… the sun burns my eyes, colors lose all vibrancy, food becomes flavorless, smells nauseating, people become nuisances, living becomes a chore… unutterable, unbearable, agonizing, excruciating pain… to die in a sea of fire slathered in gasoline lotion could never amount to this casualty… death by heartache…

~Viola Monroe