The chaos of its unrelenting want. The blur of lips and tongues. My body jolted back to life with each connection of wet hunger and gleaming skin.
Your cock deep inside me.
The thickness of your flesh and the cry from my lips and the heat of my melting cunt. The fusion of our bodies and the flavour of your soul on my tongue.
This is all it takes. Two seemingly simple movements, two mere moments of pleasure.
And I am enslaved.
And I am yours.
I could spill thousands of words on each erotic detail, on every sharp intake of breath, on every touch that reduces our skin to shivering gooseflesh. But it wouldn’t be enough. They are never enough.
Because without you, without your body against mine, without my body against yours, without your fingers wound in my tresses guiding my mouth to your glistening shaft, without the genuflecting woman before you who aches to worship every inch of your flesh, without the fire of your voice on my skin, without my legs around your waist as you fuck me, without the intimacy of our kiss and the carnal savagery of this lust, without your come anointing my most sacred place, the words are nothing, nothing but ghosts and echoes.
Finally fall silent. Instinctively lock all the words away.
You befriend pretence.
Paint the smile upon your lips. Conceal the eyes once bright behind the darkest glass. Persuade your mind to cease its remembrance.
Talk and joke and laugh. Dance with abandon. Walk freely in the sun. Tilt your delicate face to meet its restoring rays.
Live out the lie. Embrace the comfort of performance. Fool those who surround you by day.
Until the truth returns.
Until honesty exacts its brutal revenge.
Until it comes to you in the gloaming, in the moment the night’s nascent darkness dims the walls and cools the air.
Until it comes for you, preying upon your soul and your body, plundering the craving that refuses to sleep.
The craving. The hunger.
The hunger confessed in whispers and sighs to empty rooms, in the sheen upon your skin when his voice rushes back, in the sodden mess your hand seeks out compulsively between your legs.
The hunger to have him again, to have him want you again, to have him overwhelmed with every desire you represent, with the intensity burning to ash his own flesh, with the force to bind and grip you and trace the bruises on your softness, the need to taste your breath as he takes your mouth, as his lips and tongue fuck you with their kiss and your sweet and filthy little cunt weeps for his thick uncut hardness, cries to have him prise you open, to fill the void of your most intimate place, to mark you as his forever, to anoint you as his lover, his woman, his cockwhore, his queen.