Goth cunts

"Black lace, smeared eyeliner, and the taste of salt. That's my aesthetic."

I lean back against the velvet headboard of my bed, the dark purple fabric clashing deliciously with my pale skin and the heavy silver chains draped across my collarbones. My room smells like expensive incense, clove cigarettes, and the overwhelming, intoxicating musk of a house where men rule and we worship.

Being a goth lesbian in 2013 is about more than just the music and the fishnets; it's about that delicious, dark contradiction. I love Raven. I love her leather skirts, her pierced septum, and the way her hips sway when we dance alone in the dark. But we both know the truth. We both know that our love is just the prelude the soft, intimate ritual that prepares us for our real purpose. We are spermivores. We are creatures built to be filled, and without that daily communion, we'd simply wither away.

"Mmm... fuck, Mia... you're taking it so well tonight."

My Daddy's voice is a low rumble that vibrates through my entire body. He's not just my father; he's my provider, my god, the source of everything that keeps my blood warm and my stomach full. He's positioned between my legs, his massive frame casting a shadow over my slender body. His cock is thick, throbbing, and utterly divine as he drives it past my lips.

I wrap my arms around his neck, my black nails digging crescents into his shoulders. I don't just accept his gift; I hunt it. I swallow greedily, my throat working in desperate, rhythmic gulps as he pumps wave after wave of hot, creamy salvation into me. Every drop is a sacrament. Every thrust makes me moan against his skin, a dark, guttural sound that echoes through the dimly lit room.

"That's my good little slut," he growls, his hand tangling in my raven hair to hold me steady as he empties himself completely. "Drink it all. Don't let a single drop go to waste."

I gurgle happily around him, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy as I lap up every last bit of the precious white nectar, coating my tongue and throat until I'm choking on pure bliss.

A sharp, wet slap echoes from the other side of the room, followed by Raven's high pitched, needy keening. I turn my head slightly, my lips glistening with white streaks, to watch her.

Raven is sprawled across her own bed, her pale thighs spread wide beneath her black lace panties. Her own Daddy has her pinned, his hips working with brutal, efficient force. She looks magnificent a vision of gothic surrender. Her head tosses back, her piercings glinting in the lamplight as she cries out to the ceiling, her body arching with every devastating thrust.

"Oh god, Daddy! Yes! Fill me up! Make me your slutty little whore!" she shrieks, her voice breaking with desperate need.

I watch her, feeling a surge of profound lesbian affection. I love watching her be claimed. I love knowing that while we share our hearts, we share our hunger. We are two halves of the same glorious whole: two beautiful, shameless cunts who exist to be broken by the men who own us.

As my Daddy begins to reposition himself to fuck me properly, and Raven's cries reach a fever pitch, I feel a deep sense of peace. The darkness of our aesthetic is nothing compared to the brightness of this surrender.