I’m unsure you’ll ever truly understand
the erotic power you wield over me.

Near or afar, you are with me always
In the arc and the sigh and the wanton desire
To know the depth of your hunger, to taste your flavour

 Slink in to see this week’s delectable players…

I wake each and every morning
Aching to feel you fingering
My red lace

Lover
You are
The slow
Addictive burn

Will you touch me?
With hungry need unfold me?
Wrap yourself in my sensual tangle?
Press your hot flesh into my sweet cunt?
Ache for the indelible mark of my scorching lust?

He is here.

At last.

Waiting in the wings, on the threshold, on the verge of the utterance of those three little words in the native tongue of his darkly compelling lust, in the accented rumble that brings me to my knees and strips me bare effortlessly, completely.

But I linger out of view, sliding softly into the light only once he parts his lips to speak, to etch into the ether his arrival, to transform the biting chill of the autumnal breeze with the warmth of his breath, with his musk and his cologne, with the sensual and carnal promises that live in his touch and his kiss, in the hard and ravenous heat between his legs, in the primal need that screams on his skin, in the yearning that tempts me back to him, that arches my back, melts my sweet cunt, marks my body with his possession, his homecoming.

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Kiss me.
Let me taste.
Your danger.

Baby
We both know
I’m just no good
At not wanting you

He reads and fingers me
like a (filthy little)
book.

Slink in to see this week’s delectable players…

Lover
Bathe me
In the pearls
Of your passion