It isn’t always about the suit.

It isn’t always about your sartorial refinement and the way it sets my erotic imagination racing, the way it captures my attention, arrests my gaze, compelling my hands to wander along the lines that accentuate your commanding masculinity, my palms sliding along the charcoal lapels, my digits fingering the fine weave as I register the heat rising up through the suiting, the beat of your heart through the starched cotton, the almost painful pulsation of your cock drumming against my mound and my thigh, the glans aching for the cool air and the wet warmth of my mouth ever craving, its only release the streaming precum soaking the shorts concealed beneath.

It isn’t always about the suit.

It isn’t always about the contrast between your clothed form and the scant, diaphanous silks drawn tight across my body, your touch gliding, absorbing supple curves and undulations, transitioning from nylon to lace to soft femininity, as your fingers wind themselves into my tresses, this woman a slave to your kiss and caress as you walk me back, as you lower me onto the table, your strong hands running along my stockinged legs, spreading them wide to meet the periphery, your fingers pulling aside the drenched panties to reveal the bright gleam of my lust, to ease your thick cock inside me with a slowness that has me trembling, clutching at your sleeves, my cunt grasping, swallowing your hardness, my hands gripping at threads, drawing you close, drawing you ever closer, your weight bearing down, your tongue finding the crimson of my taut peak, your hips thrusting that last inch of your flesh to my limit as I cry out your name, my back arching off the wood, my body wrapped in and around you, my body and yours prematurely on pleasure’s edge.

It isn’t always about the suit.

It isn’t always about the stains of our lust conspicuous on the front of your trousers or the flash of dark wiry curls glimpsed through the gaps in your shirt or the graze of your cuff on my nape or the chill of your link on my skin or my wrists bound together with the black silk of your necktie as you finally run your tongue along my sweet succulence or the musky scent of leather that rushes through my nostrils as I take hold of your belt to bring your cockhead to my lips or the sweat and the sheen that fuse these fabrics, our bodies together as you place my hands on the stucco and take me from behind with an urgent hunger that mirrors my own, your hands pushing up the tightness of my skirt, shredding the lace, parting me open, your shaft sliding in with an effortlessness that somehow draws all the breath from my lungs, your fingers strumming my clitoris, your naked cock plunging in deep, emerging slick and triumphant even in this alleyway dimly lit, your cock possessing my cunt, your force pinning me to the wall, my muffled pleas for more, for more, for your come, for your scorched seed inside me, the sound of our fucking, my mewl and your groan merging with the traffic’s hum.

No, it isn’t always about the suit. But today it would seem that it is.

Lover
Hold me close
Then take me
Make me forever yours

I feel it. I feel it now.

I feel it in my trembling flesh and coursing blood, in the core of these very bones, in the sheen prickling my skin, in those parts of my body that do not possess the powers of speech, in those places within me that commune with the shadows, with the dangerous darkness at my feet.

I feel it. I feel it now.

I feel it with a force that stops me dead in my tracks, that presses me hard against this chill, that leaves me clutching and shielding, desperate to bare myself to your gaze, to your kiss, to the nuance of your touch, to the man and his strength, to the perfection of your flesh.

I feel it. I feel it now.

I feel this desire for you, this desire to know you, to know you absolutely, to know you in the process of being, to know you with a completeness that leaves us drunk and consumed and careening out of control, plunging into the depths of our unique and mutual yearnings.

I feel it. I feel it now.

I feel it all just as I feel you here with me, just as I feel the urgent and sensual passions that fuel your need, that pique your mind and excite your body, that taunt you as you mingle in the crowd, as you move through your day, as you immerse yourself in those rare moments of solitude, as you stroke your nakedness imagining my hands and lips, my trailing locks upon your skin, as you coax your shaft to thicken and harden, as you rouse the lover, the beast within, as you bring me close, as you draw me near, as you press my breast into your thudding heartbeat, as you lure my aching cunt to your cock, as we meet and fuse and fuck and make love, as we whisper and moan and release, as we close our eyes, as we sink into the night, our bodies together and free.

Before you leave me, before you reluctantly rise out of the tangled mess of the bed, before you run your hand along the table top, stroking the gleaming mahogany where our fused bodies exhausted their lust, before you step into the shower recess where you bathed me with the drops and the steam, with luxurious suds and your sensual caress, before I pat you dry, my lips brushing along the path of the towel, kissing each hollow of newly washed skin, before you dress and adorn and piece yourself together once more, each stitch in its rightful, sartorial place, I want to slide into the crisp white cotton of your shirt, my body engulfed by the fabric spectre of your imposing form, I want to bury my nose in your collar, envelop myself in your heady scent, I want to radiate into the weave my own warmth and perfume, the sweet aroma of my flesh, I want to glide its opening through the pouting lips of my cunt, staining each thread with the heat of my desire, leaving behind an indelible mark of my craving, my need to have you over and again.

You are far from reach. And yet I wake with you. This inexplicable and enigmatic violet dawn, it breaks with you, with your scent filling this room, with your name on my lips, with the warmth of your skin somehow radiating through these hands, on these fingertips that cannot help but replace your touch, on the tips that vainly attempt to replicate your caress, on the tips, on the crimson peaks, on the creamy skin, on the scarlet flesh, on the woman ever yearning for your complex, lustful perfection.

It shatters as soon as your touch finds me.

It is destroyed, in tatters as soon your fingers trace the taut lines suspending the nylon sheathing my legs, as you brush away the delicate hands covering my modesty to reveal to your gaze, to your caress the bare mound, the impossibly smooth lips, the scarlet cunt dripping its want, its need onto my thighs, soaking the ebony stocking tops.

It is destroyed, this woman in ruins as I gasp, whimper, shiver, my body at long last betraying itself, betraying me and my desire and this passion for you, the wall pressed into my back my only support as you clutch at me, your palm registering the pulsation of my sex, your palm a cup for my slippery lust, your thumb stroking with a whispering softness the pearl you long to take between your hungry lips.

Once your touch finds me, once your caress begins to know me, once you lift me up and open me wide and ease your thick uncut cock inside me with a deliberate slowness that leaves me struggling for breath and for thought and for speech, that leaves its indelible mark on my most intimate flesh, that leaves me feeling you, feeling every inch of you, that has my cunt grasping, swallowing, feeding off your hard throbbing heat, that has my fingers digging into your back, clawing at the stucco, that has my legs wound tight around your waist, that has me aching and craving for more, I lose all control, my poise drains away and my body, this body, it gives itself over to you, it gives itself over to me, it gives, it surrenders utterly, completely.

You come to me, touch me, you leave me
Trembling, transfixed, breathless, bewitched
By the gleam of your white-hot desire

The morning breaks, the songbird heralds its dawn and I want you, I want you here, I want you here with me, your strong body pressed in close, eyes sleepily drifting across my curves, your hands caressing this aching softness, transitioning from cotton to warmth to cashmere, lazily tracing the beauty spots speckling my skin, your sigh, my moan, our whispers, the words of your lust, your yearning, your need to taste, to savour, to have me come hotly on your tongue, against your lips, in your mouth before you rise up and tenderly take hold, spreading me wide, revealing my brightness, my glistening desire to the room, to your gaze and your hardening flesh, my body arching, arcing, the feline now awakened as your breath, your urgent thirst make landfall at last.

I envy her. I envy them all.

All of the women lucky enough to encounter you, to chance upon you on the street, in the underground, out in the world as you pass them by, the ones able to catch the briefest glimpse, the ones who can treat themselves to the lingering gaze, the ones who please your eye and arouse your passions, the ones able to brush against your imposing frame or have you press your body into them in the peak hour rush on the crowded train.

I envy them, I do. All of the women fortunate enough to have you, to know you, to truly know you, to be with you, each and every day, privileged enough to bring you into their lives, to bring you in tight, to bring you in close, into their bodies, into their ache, into the velvet heat craving your thick, hard perfecting flesh. I covet the moments they share with you, the moments and minutes and hours they are able to reach out and touch you, to caress your mouth oh so sensually with their lips, the mouth always longing for one more kiss, to trace its peaks with their soft and slippery tongues, to glide their hands along the finely cut Italian suiting to feel, to register, to memorise the blistering heat, your rapid heartbeat.

And as I sit here on this cold and lonely night, I wonder if they indulge you completely, if they spoil you as I would do, if they selfishly take their own pleasure, if you sate their overwhelming desires and needs, the ones you so easily, so effortlessly inspire in me, if they satiate your hunger with their skin and their cunts and their feminine suppleness, if you satisfy their greed with your hands and your cock and your mouth and your mind and the masculinity that invariably leaves me in a daze.

Baby, baby, baby…

You know you do me wrong
But then you make it up to me
Then you set me right
Your body pressed into my hollow
Your hands roaming my soft skin
Your searing flesh plunged into my depths
The blaze, our fire, the sweetest sin