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Blueberry Crush
I crush ripe blueberries under my bare feet. slowly. sensually. without a second thought. each berry pops beneath my heel while you watch from below, aching for the pulp, the stains, the sticky mess i leave behind. you would pay for the skin stuck between my toes. you would beg for the towel i wiped them on. this isn’t fruit. this is humiliation. this is your place, beneath me.
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