Words about Words

They weave a very particular spell, those words of his. Quite unlike any others, they wind themselves into and through my body. Sliding, slithering, caressing, tickling. Ablaze, my body becomes pure sensation. Hungry, yearning, open. Ready. Willing.

With each passing word, each passing day, I find myself wanting. Wanting more. Wanting to be her. Wanting to be the woman who inspires his force, his passion, his reflections.

I know I am not alone. I know there are countless others communing with the page, consuming in the light, devouring in the dark, desirous of the very same.

So I sit and read and yearn and ache while feeling the words. Feeling up his words as if a body laid bare for the taking.

And when I am sated I wonder if my words will ever have that effect. On him.

I live and hope and dream.

Bloodline

We are bound together, the women of my tree and me, bound by blood and time and history. Bound by the sacrifices, the struggles, the pleasures, the moments of love and hate and lust and longing, which have made up our everyday lives.

I like to think of them around me, surrounding me, looking down on me – on us – looking down on the lives of the women of their blood.

So many have been lost, their names and connections long forgotten, their histories slowly erased from family tales overtaken by the narratives of their men. The only traces left behind are the women of this time and place, both a world away from their own.

While it pains me that I do not know them, will never know of them, I take comfort from having them within me.

Their lives have led me to this time, this body, this woman I am today.

Lucky Charm

Dressed in his best suit, he walks out into the living room tugging at the shirt collar.

“It’s too small.”

“It’s not,” I reassure him.

He grimaces. Even though he’s trying to remain composed I know his nervousness is overtaking him. Just as he’s about to run his fingers through his wavy hair he stops short. He fidgets and paces. I begin to worry he’ll wear a track right through the new rug.

“Are you wearing something red?”

“Huh? … What? … No. I don’t have anything in red… Where are you going?”

I walk calmly toward the bedroom having thought of the very thing that will do. As I rummage through drawers and begin to ready myself I hear him resume his pacing and mumbling.

Just as I turn to exit the bedroom I notice him in the doorway. My curls are now around my shoulders, lips newly rouged and silk robe open to reveal naked flesh save the tiniest of black mess knickers.

“Come here. You need something for luck.”

He looks as if he might protest but then decides to obey. Now up against me I run my hands down the front of his shirt brushing his sex very gently with my own. I sink slowly to my knees and press my nose in to breathe him in. As I unbuckle the black leather belt and unzip his trousers he weaves his hands through my hair.

“I don’t have time for this…,” he trails off unconvincingly.

I smile up at him knowing full well he won’t be on the receiving end of the expected. He reads my smile as something else all together.

I nuzzle into him again, this time inhaling the full extent of his musk. My mouth begins to water at the sight of his growing hardness but I remind myself I’m on a different mission.

As I pull down the right side of his black trunks exposing his hip he gasps in a way that makes me smile again. I trace his outline with my nose and cheek looking up at him once more. Head back, lids hooded, hips forward, ready to be taken. My fingers dance over his soft skin enjoying the tease.

And then I kiss him. One deep solitary kiss from my slightly trembling scarlet lips. One perfect red charm that marks him with luck.

One kiss to remind him, when the day is done, I’m here ready and waiting.

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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