Behind the Curtain of all women are whores: Hidden Stories

Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where all women are whores unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In all women are whores, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in all women are whores. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in all women are whores, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of all women are whores.