Nakedly waiting her removal from earth

She spins webs into her veins.
“Let me stay, just for a little while longer, I need you right now.”
“You don’t need us.”
“Yes I do, please.” And please and please. And a week later she lies as a nude. Removing everything, the nude becomes the place. There are four others, A Lot with an open mouth full of weeds. Lot pulls his dick out as Ariel lays in a tub of water, silver water, still water for mosquitoes to stick it in like they are fucking skin, the mere idea of the mosquito’s penetration tangles feminist panties, and there is Lot and he is stroking his dick getting the pecker hard (Lot has lived his life acting hard, a true Iron Man) with Ariel waiting in the tub semi-there like a sex pistol’s groupie legs spread wide, awaiting in a drugged out state in a kind of sexual anticipation formed from the annihilation of the superego back into the abysmal water from where it was form, back in the half-baked womb. Annihilation all up in here.
But he comes in, not Lot, the good guy, the one who watches her even as his own presence he feels erodes with his friends and he pulls out his knife threatening Mr. Lot who continues to stroke his penis although more furiously than before, adrenaline springing it to life. Reluctantly, more half-heartedly, not to mention the presence of cocksureness, he left.