As she poses and revels in the display of her scantily-clad form to the unseen eyes beyond the picture window, the wetness flows white-hot as she recalls an altogether different image – the photograph created for his carnal and bespoke tastes of her rear encased in the same diaphanous mesh, the suspender straps draw tight, their lines the ideal frame for the sweet cunt sodden with wanton need for the grip of his hands, the power of his thrusts, the seed buried deep by his thick hard perfecting flesh.
I meet the dawn tearing at the threads, the need to expose my wanton flesh to the low light too great, to the walls that have borne witness to our carnality, your marks lustrous on my skin, your seed and my lust the fire on the lips between these legs, our forbidden hungers screaming again through my veins.
A similarity so slight most would barely rate it a thought or mention.
But for this woman, every hint, every likeness, every resemblance is a trigger, a spark, an enabler that leads me back to the voice unforgotten, to the accented utterance of my name by the man kneeling at my feet, his mouth pressed into the molten fire of my cunt, each ravenous flicker and devouring kiss driving my desire and body and the pleas falling from these lips to the edge, the brink, our precipice.
What do you see?
Do you see a woman worthy of the lips that speak your true intentions?
A being in step with the intensity of your complex passion?
Do you glimpse in her the free spirit also in need of your arms and their embrace, the skin and heat that feel and taste just like home?
A body, a soul, a mind, a heart, a sweet and wanton cunt deserving of your sensual kiss, your ragged breath, the cock, the thrusts, the grip, the molten come that will mark her indelibly as yours?
Would they hunger for the woman reflected, divided, yearning, out of reach?
Would they crave the riven being before you, the intensity, the duality, the sensual and the carnal, the appetites and their satiation, brought together as one by your passion and your touch?