The storm clouds, they gather; rolling in with the menace of electric whips and rumbling thunder, prematurely blackening the sky, defiling the morning just as this desire corrupts my mind and debases this body, this woman weakened by the want, the myopic want for you and only you, the craving for your power and domination, for each of the lustful urges that tear your flesh to easy shreds and scar your very soul, the grip of fingers in my hair, your hand at the curve of my throat, your mouth feeding the debauchery of your own need into my poised and glistening lips, the trailing touch of rough digits itching to bury themselves into my molten core, the sex, the cunt throbbing, silently screaming your name, the deluge between my legs, the ultimate betrayal of my enduring hunger, the hunger not merely for the cock straining hard against the fabric but also the feast of your kiss, our skin fused and gleaming with the carnality of our fucking, with the fire burning deep within, the flames engulfing, reducing to dust these bodies and just as quickly resurrecting, giving sweet life as we clutch and shudder, as we surge and cry out together, as the tempest rages in here and the now and the elsewhere for us both.