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Weekly Contest #174
He was so close, she could see the individual follicles on his unshaven cheek: a plantation of oily black holes sprouting tiny branchless trees. She thought about trying to count them, drawing an imaginary fence between the diamond stud in his earlobe and the first grey whisker on his chin. But she couldn’t concentrate. He was hurting her too much. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her head back into the pillow, willing herself to soften beneath him, despite the pain. He would be done with her soon, and then she never ...
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