She stares for an age at the screen, barely able to see through the passion blurring her vision, barely able to comprehend the desire she provokes in such a man.
Yet, the proof is there before her. The proof of his desperation, his yearning, the ache that crawls under his skin.
She blinks over and again, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her breath catching in her throat, her slick cunt slamming against the denim between her legs.
And although she realises the gesture an imitation, she too cannot control the impulse to merge her flesh with his, to extend her touch to the electronic body, caressing the large, strong hand reaching out in a futile attempt to feel her own absent form.
The yearning in this one — from both sides — makes me ache. The intensity is overwhelming.
— PB
Overwhelming it most certainly is.
Thank you, PB…
I sighed out loud when I read this.
My own hand reaches out in vain for my Enchantrix.
How I long to know her beyond these electric pulses, this clattering feverish jumble of images within my mind. Of words that scorch me with maddening desire.
The physical response is real. The emotions are true.
Two stars burning. So close, yet so far.
How very true, Muffin. (sigh)
The fates are often cruel placing some of us at such a vast distance. And even harsher still, the image that gives and takes, that makes us long and ache and yearn and want for that elusive other…