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Love is spreading your legs wide. Love is taking in every inch of my cock.
Love is a gun to your head and a knife to your throat. Love is, “if you make any noise, you’re fucking dead.”
Love is rape.
It might have started as rape, but by the end your legs were shaking, your cunt was dripping, and your mind was a cloudy mess that could only string together a single coherent thought: more.