Tease

Kneeling behind her, his hardness ready and waiting, he meets her eye in the mirror. On all fours and through a curtain of flaming curls he can see and feel her frustration.

She pushes back ever so slightly but his strong hands on her hips stave her off. She has been teased, mercilessly. The wetness dripping down her legs for the past hour has left its mark on the bed. He runs his hand tenderly over the length of her back and around her fair bottom, which he kisses lightly at first and then so deeply a low moan escapes her body.

She has been teased long enough.

Psst…

He stands before me proud and hard, his cock straining the front of his trousers. In a bold move, he runs his hand along his member tracing its outline in a way he knows makes me ache.

My eyes locked on his I open my stocking covered legs. He moves a little closer wanting more, a mischievous smile momentarily flashing across his lips. I wriggle in my seat, inch up my pencil skirt and spread wide.

As he leans in I swear I can feel his hot breath even though he is standing on the other side. Lingering over my body his eyes take in my every detail as he strokes himself. Heart pounding through my chest, a light sheen of wetness now covers my throbbing sex.

Just as he’s about to step forward we hear them. Meeting ended, the surrounding cubicles are filled once again with unwanted bodies and prying eyes.

Like model employees we get back to work.

Weakness

I didn’t stand a chance. I really didn’t. Once his fingers found the back of my neck I knew my resolve would disappear. Once those big, beautiful hands began their languid yet discreet caress I knew I would be his for the taking.

Just like that.

So easily done. And so damn easy.

Hunger

The hunger. The pure, unadulterated hunger shakes me out of sleep once more. Untamed animal desire. Awake again at four a.m. we look at each other. While it needs feeding, it is beginning to look a little bleary-eyed. We are both exhausted, my desire and me, but continue to circle each other in the dead of night. Our own witching hour where no one else can see.

I am nothing but a silhouette. Nothing more than form, texture, flavour, smell. My pungent scent fills the space between my legs, the bed, the entire room. Fair-skinned body on white sheets begging to be soiled. Heat prickled skin, wetness overflowing. Hands, arms, fingers, all exhausted, barely able to move, manage to find their way once again.

I ache for release, for relief, for pleasure, for pain, for pleasurable pain and painful pleasure. Hooded lids heavy from sleepless nights long to see him at the foot of the bed. Long for his large, strong hands to work their way up, across and into my body. Every which way. Any which way. All the way.

Compulsions

The pulsation of my body, the flow of my words.

Together again, they overtake me, they wake me in the dead of night, gnawing, grabbing, demanding. Begging for the page, the pen, the cursor, the screen. Begging for skin and heat and lips and hands and hardness.

Open and ready, I surrender.

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