Category: Longing

Echo

78_EchoIt is your voice, your voice that shakes me from my dreaming; it is the voice hot and urgent that returns long before you appear to claim me. It is your voice, your voice, its rich accent, its echo, that sinks deep into the sensual curve gasping in rapture and ecstasy, that fills the place inside me where you should be, that enslaves then tears this woman here to cruel and easy shreds.

Slink in to see this week’s delectably sinful players…

Sinful Sunday

The Red Curtain

74_The Red CurtainAs I stand here, my desire pulsing, throbbing slick between my legs, as I stand here imagining the warmth of your dark gaze in place of the cold, hard stare of the lens, as I stand here breathlessly aching, a sheen of lust and impatience prickling my fair skin, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if you realise what you do to me, if you know your true effect.

Do you know I want and crave and need you in more ways than words can ever dare express? Do you know how I yearn to trail my soft lips over and about you, to devour every pulsing vein, every smooth hollow and wiry curl, every inch of your glistening skin and flesh? Do you know how I long to draw the scarlet drapes and cosset our naked bodies away, to fuck you and make love to you in this secluded and timeless cocoon, far from the world we know, far from the personas we assume, to fuck you with the passionate intensity running hot and oily through these veins, to arch myself over your imposing form, to come with a scorching rush over your greedy cock, to milk the seed my velvet heat covets, to feel your body tremble and shudder as you possess me as yours, as I scream your name? Do you know how I hunger to take you, expose and bare you in the full glare of the light, the curtains drawn back, this room our stage, the prying eyes on the street, the curious gazes watching raptly, consuming our entwined bodies, the sight of the carnal beast who lurks within you impaling my sweet little cunt from behind, the pounding of flesh, your fingers digging into my hips, your shaft emerging gleaming and bright, my moans, your groans ringing out through the hush and their silence, your fist in my curls, your mouth finally seeking my kiss as you drive into my soul, into my molten depths as no man has done before this moment of bliss?

The sweet little x

There was a time when you would seal your whispered confessions, the passionate words of your lust, your farewells and goodbyes with a kiss, with a cross, with a sweet little x.

But once it disappeared from sight, once that sweet little x ceased to be, I knew things had changed; I knew we would never be the same. I knew the hint of affection you cradled tentatively in your palm had been lost, had faded forever away.

Beginnings and Endings

The days, the weeks have faded away and yet the visions that rush past my eyes, the sensations that assault then course through my body take me back as if it was only yesterday.

So overwhelmed, so seized by this torrent, I can barely form an utterance with either lips or pen. And even in this rare moment when the words have chosen to grace me with their presence, I am at a loss; I am dumbstruck, unable to fix upon a point, a look, a stroke, a caress, a thrust, a soft swell, a detail, a beginning.

Where do I begin? Where do I begin?

Do I begin with that night, with the morning after, with the season and the oppressive heat that boiled mercury, blistered bitumen, melted bricks and mortar, with the heat that radiated through the day and long after the sunset, the heat that prickled my newly bathed and perfumed skin, my once fair flesh golden and gleaming as I impatiently waited for you to weave your way through the peak-hour traffic?

With your knock on my door, with the moment you crossed the threshold, with your grin, my smile, our momentary shyness, with our first kiss, deep, devouring, urgent, with the way our hungry lips and tongues immediately erased the miles that had kept us apart for an aeon, with the change in erotic tempo as I stopped to recover my sight, my reach, my breath, this gaze meeting yours, wandering tenderly over your face, these fingers sensually sliding up the curve of your neck, finding their home in your nape, my lips softly brushing the peaks of your mouth, this silken tongue tracing its shape, your hands possessing my hips, urging me into the pulsation of your thickening and hardening flesh?

With your fingers teasing the zip of my dress, the metal teeth groaning in synch with the dirty sax oozing out of the speakers, the straps somehow gliding off my shoulders of their own will and accord, with the aching slowness you edged the bodice over the pert breasts sheathed in diaphanous lace, your tips burning a trail on the ebony silk, on my shivering body, your hands drawing the fabric down, down, down over the taunt line of my belly, easing it over my rocking hips, over the filigree bound tight around me, past the lean, silky legs raised up stiletto high?

With my own hands teasing and tugging at your constricting clothing, with my naked breasts pressed into the smoothness of your chest, my lips gently suckling your nipple, your knees buckling violently in response, the lightest of kisses, the daintiest of licks finding the glistening pearl nestling in your cockhead, my body bowed in worship, in benediction, my wet mouth enveloping your glans as your hands travel the length of my spine, as your questing fingers prise apart the luscious curves at the end of my feminine line?

With the moment I break away, leaving you lonely and yearning again, walking the path to the bedroom glowing in the lamp light beyond, with the way I meet your gaze over my shoulder, with my lingering form in the doorway as I register your desiring expression, the catch of your breath, the groan from low in your throat, with my position in front of the mirrored wall as I stand waiting for you once more?

With the reflection of our naked bodies, the contrast of your scarlet shaft pressed into my creamy thigh, your arm about my waist, the gentle strength of your hand as you slip in one digit then two then more, as you finger me, as you finger my hot velvet cunt, as my own knees weaken, the wetness dripping, flowing, my sweetness cupped in your palm, the sweat on your brow, the lone bead gliding between my breasts, my head on your shoulder, my body given over, abandoned to your touch, my body intoxicated with pleasure, the first orgasm screaming up through my bones, my gasp, my moan, these lips begging, pleading to be taken, to be fucked, to have you, to have you fuck me, to have you inside me? 

With the hour, the minute, the second you finally, finally lay me down, spread me wide, cleave open the pouting lips of my cunt, your glans gleaming with the honey you will indulgently lap later that night, your shaft nudging then plunging to the hilt, to the hilt, to the clutching hilt, no warning, no ceremony only desire, desire, a desire quickly morphed into need, the need to fill me, to feel me, embracing and milking, devouring, devouring you, from the inside, from the inside, my back arching off the now sodden and rumpled cotton sheeting, these arms grasping for earth, your pounding thrusts delivering your force, your weight, your possession, your cock emerging slick and triumphant, your cock buried in so deep neither one of us can think or speak, your cock, your thrusts, my screams ringing into the summer night’s silence, your cock, your thrusts, my screams, your dominance, your passion, your command speaking with precision to my trembling submission?

Where do I begin? Is this where I begin? Do I begin with you? Or do I begin at another beginning?

Do I begin with him?

Do I begin with the other you, with the one, with the man who has haunted this woman, this desire, these pages for what feels like an age? Do I begin with the revelations that should be locked and hidden away?

Do I begin with the fact he invaded me long before you arrived, with the ache in my heart, with the longing in my flesh, with the pain inflicted by his silence and disappearance, the pain I selfishly needed you to comfort and erase?

Do I begin with his spectre, looming, lurking in the corner, the voyeur deliberately conjured to bare witness, to taste the sour bile rising up in his throat, to feel the raw desire and bitter jealousy twisting his guts in a knot as you experience and savour and take me in every way he has always wanted and more, as you slide into me with a groan, as you possess me like a beast, as the walls absorb the sound of your flesh slapping hard from behind, as your sweat pools in my back, your hands a vice on this flesh, fucking me with a passionate brutality that will surely drive him from my soul, from this room at long last?

Do I begin with my hands clasped over my mouth in fear of releasing his name, my lids shut tight, shrouding everything but the visions within me, wanting you, wanting him, wanting him to be you, each deep thrust a hope, each angry plunge an exorcism, a purging of guilt, of jealousy, of obsessive desire running oily-hot through these veins, each blinding high, each resting low, each shuddering orgasm somehow bringing me closer to you both?

Do I begin with your tenderness, the complexity of your caress, with our lovemaking deep in the dark dead of night, with the way my body opened itself to you as I thought of him, as I needed and imagined him beneath my slight form, with the way I straddled your thighs, my delicate fingers wound around his uncut cock, my cunt hovering, my hips descending, this intimate flesh engulfing your heat, taking you to the place where you rightly belong, our bodies distilled to shadows, to sensate silhouettes, my heart reduced to a beating, adoring ache, our sensual rhythm, our mutual pleasure, our sensual rhythm transporting me across the ether, across the air and the lands and the seas vast between us, our sensual rhythm finally delivering me to you and you to me? 

Do I begin with this deluge, with this confusion, with this seemingly incoherent muddle of words, with the salty tears, with the sobs now breaking as I sit here and type, as I sit here confessing it all?

Where do I begin? Where do I begin?

Where do I begin when so much of this feels like the end?

Gossamer Caress

62_Gossamer Caress
Although soft and indulgent against my skin, there’s little comfort in this gossamer caress for it merely fuels the yearning deep within, the yearning for your touch sensual and tender, for the kiss that speaks to me of boundless passions, for your body pressed in tight, for the flesh pressed in so close we no longer care where each of us begins and ends, for the lover aching to enfold me, for the man craving this embrace, for the one waiting, for the one needing this perfecting union.

In the Pink

59_In the PinkIn bed and in the pink and missing you, aching for you to reach out to me, to trace this shy and veiled cleft, to glide your hands between the softness of my thighs, to have your fingers ease away the drenched cotton, to have you part the plump lips of my sex, to have you slide your thick hard glans deep inside me, to have you lose yourself, submerge yourself, to have you drown in my heat, to have you know me and the slick and pulsing epicentre of my desire.

In the Palm of His Hand

The gesture is simple, the touch so complex that the slumbering little muscle slams instantly against her breast, the roar of blood in her ears draining away all sound as he takes one small step, filling the hollow, reclaiming his place, his hand reaching up to tenderly welcome her face, his palm at rest on her cheek now healing the breach, strong fingers drawing quiet circles on the softness of her nape, his caress, his caress, his caress finally speaking the words he cannot say, betraying the desire, his failure to forget, his inability to neglect the yearning, the need to have her once again with a completeness that leaves him on the verge, running to the edge, plunging into the breath and the life and the pleasure sensual and decadent which stirs his body, which hardens his cock, which murmurs sweetly, screams savagely to the truth of his soul in the long dark dead of night.

But it is only once she dares to meet his gaze that her heart truly breaks and her body shatters with it, revealing all she had attempted to shield and hide away, releasing the flood of her passion, the fine cotton around her hips sodden in barely a moment, the scorched glisten breaking the barrier, dripping, clinging to the creamy skin between her thighs, marking her body as his, etching his name on the smoothness, on her mound, on the scarlet lips plump and shining with the craving for his mouth and his tongue and his flesh, his flesh, his flesh, the thick uncut shaft that has her longing, yearning, that has her body arching and hurtling to the light, that has her now spreading her legs for him the glare of the day, that has him sliding two fingers into her needy sex, that has them crooked to find that little honeyed spot, his thumb brushing with an aching lightness over her clitoris, that has him fingering her cunt until the muscles in his arm are ready to tear themselves to shreds, until she grasps his shoulders, her tongue rasping his lobe, her voice reduced to a sultry whisper, his name on her lips again a moan, her cunt clutching at his fingers, her orgasm taking her to breath’s end, her come, her come, her come hot and sweetly pungent in the palm of his hand, in the palm, in the hand holding her tight, holding her close, holding her in the hopes she never lets him go.

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