Sûrah XCIX
THE EARTHQUAKE
"That day she will relate her chronicles..."

99
FAULT LINE

unreliable, shared by him who speaks no word, who makes no sound beyond the steady sough of ticklish respiration, adding shivers to the tremors his attentive foreplay sires, who cups her left breast with a jinn's technique, inflicting on its nipple thumb-and-index-finger torments both immodest and sublime in that emissions they induce between her legs renew their ebb tide, lube her labia, act as unguent for his bound-to-happen prod—performed with ease; his member enters, though its size gives rise to panic, Zahra's reflex to exclude him antithetical; muscles squeeze, invite him deeper, mold their contours to accommodate his so snugly that the breach she once abjured assumes the nature of a link, a part of him become a part of her, indigenous, vice versa, less injurious than surprising; waves of pleasure gainsay pain, and what she heretofore perceived as an unconscionable affliction takes on traits akin to fantasy, giddy figments running wild, depicting mythological creatures bent on coupling, unicorns...