She pulls off her panties and stands before me with open legs, protruding pelvis, and slightly bent knees. Her rough, swollen tongue fills my mouth. Her belly pushed against my dick as if she were knocked up. The stiff little wads of her vaginal lips keep springing together like two halves of a rubber ball. She moans. Her abdomen works like a machine. She shpritzes and shpritzes. Our knees buckle. I shove my dick into her from behind, right up to my nuts, and I writhe as if I were touching a high-voltage line—while she, impaled, and with her tongue hanging out, rattles like a slaughtered calf.
Klaus Kinski’s autobiography All I Need Is Love