The Cheeky Shag: Tar

© Tamara James, Candice Berman Fine Art Gallery

By Baylee McKeel

Her body was melting away into nothing. Each drop that landed on her skin rolled off her flesh, stealing with it a piece of her. There were screams, shouts, a crowd forming around her. It fueled her. They wanted to see her break, see her reduced to ash and bone, but she was actually enjoying it. She knew she was done for when she was caught fucking like her life depended on it, howling like the crowd was howling now, riding that boy until her knees were weak, enjoying herself for the first time in her dull, pure, innocent life. At least she felt that orgasmic release before they tore her off of him, hauled her to the town center and stripped her. She knew the punishment that was to befall her. Harlots were “covered for eternity”, that’s how they justified it. Pour some tar and throw on some feathers and the girl will be modest forever. She could feel the hot liquid seeping into her, fusing with her flesh, her muscles, her body still quivering from the intense pleasure she felt moments earlier.

The mob dispersed when she refused to scream, to give them the show they were hoping for. They left her covered in tar, moaning in the center of town. The feeling was an intimacy she had never felt before, a severe closeness ripping through her bones. Her fingers trembled as she brought them down her stomach, grazing her abdomen, tracing her thighs and landing on that tender spot, stroking until she felt that fierce pleasure, that exhilarating satisfaction once again. She didn’t want to wash the tar off, reveling in the feeling of flesh being torn away, dissolved, and replaced, made anew. She couldn’t wait to fuck again, and hopefully get caught.