Dirty Mind Poems Novels & Stories

It was more difficult to preserve the virginity of the soul than to preserve the virginity of the body. I could not maintain the purity of my soul, and then my soul became dirty. I tried not to slow my pace despite the rain that was accompanying me by hitting my body. My cold footsteps penetrated my skin, and I penetrated the night, leaving a victim's anxious footprints on the floor. Like writing that cannot be written on water, traces could not be left on wet ground; the rain was not on the side of those who were sacrificed at night, it was erasing the traces.

The sound is obscenely wet—schlick-schlick-schlick—my pussy gushing around them, cream coating my knuckles, dripping down my inner thighs in hot rivulets, soaking the stupid fabric of my office chair. I hope it stains forever, a permanent mark of my depravity. “You want to watch, Maddox?” I moan, fucking my own fingers faster, harder, the heel of my hand grinding my clit. “You like seeing me like this? A mess? A desperate little slut who can’t think straight because her cunt is aching for your cock to breed her raw?” I’m talking to myself, but the words are gasoline on the fire, igniting every filthy corner of my mind.

The only way out of this mess Sleep is an enemy these days, it hardly stops by where I lay - staring at the ceiling, heart beating in rhythm to the relentless ticking of time- as the hands of the clock gouge my face like fingernails made of steel. My thoughts flow out in black rivers: some get lost in the darkness beneath my eyes, and some come back to haunt me - words stripped of meaning clogging my veins, making my heart stop, choking me up

The day didn't pass... The hours..didn't fly.. The minutes..didn't pause... The heart didn't beat till the time I didn't miss you, You were my soul.. My heart... My forever.. But now my body is just a mere ashes.. Living without you in the bare land.. With no signal of love, Wandering all around the dessert looking for the water.. Water of love And more especially you. ____________________________________________________

; Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uprising rush Oh quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. After the poem, I went on to give a speech about the people I had once called my family. As I spoke, my mind was invaded with several memories of our time together. I could almost see, hear, touch and feel their presence as I went off track.

a woman who loved hearing the praises of others! He racked his brain and found the poem he had learned in language class back then. “The white lotus grows out of the mud, yet it’s unsullied. It’s bathed by clear waves, yet it isn’t seductive. It’s hollow inside, and it’s straight outside. It neither sprawls nor branches. The farther away it is, the purer is its fragrance. Upright and elegant, it establishes itself cleanly. It can be viewed at a distance but can’t be toyed with!”

My mind races, trying to come up with a solution, but all I can think of is the disaster that awaits me. The subject of my dirty fantasies, Maron Korolev, with his piercing gaze and seductive swagger, will see me naked. But worse still, he will see the jagged scar on my stomach. And as if that wasn't enough, he’ll also hear me orgasm as my cries echo through the room like the braying of a wild donkey. Maybe he’s already checking the damn email! Oh God! What have you done, Mindy??? Shit. This has to be the worst day of my life. How can this be happening? Wait, did I say his name while I was having my orgasm?

It's so dark that I don't know the difference between day and night. I wait and wait for someone to come to get out of the darkness, even if it's only for a second. I thought my life was bad before, it was heaven compared to this life. I feel so dirty from having him all over me. I just want to wash him off of me.

My mind screams no, but my blood says yes. God, if they knew… if they knew this is all I wanted, they’d never let me go back to being the sweet, boring bride. They’d see me for what I am: filthy. Hungry. A girl who wants two black cocks in her before she weds. I squeeze my eyes shut but when I open them again, the second dancer is already brushing the thick head of his cock against my lips. It’s soft enough to be mistaken for an accident, yet hard enough that I know it isn’t.

“Let’s see it.” I turned the paper over, and revealed the poem scrawled in pencil on the back. Down the streets of woodland black I wander, earth to hearse In every tree I see a wave A looming tidal curse On the cusp of something greater Stood ankle-deep in floodwater Stagnant pools of brown and red The onslaught is coming; I dread For each dark night and each pearl day The mist does clear too soon The floodplain is drown’d again The water, torn from its ocean womb