Mark me with your lust, brand me as your own. Use your hands, your mouth, your voice to tell the world I am yours.

Nip, nibble, bite, skin and flesh milky fair. Grab, take and possess, print, map, trace the blushing signs of your frenzied passion.

Kiss me deep, kiss me long, bruise my lips, exhaust my tongue. Fill me, fill me, fill me to the brim with your searing cock and come so creamy.

Spread me open, stretch me wide, plunge, plunder, conquer, divide. Dive right in, dive right down, nudge your tip, drive your shaft into the wet, warm softness achingly awaiting your fleshly invasion.

Thrust and stroke, stroke and thrust, fuck me hard, fuck me slow, fuck this clutching flooding cunt that is your very own.

Sign your name, engrave your hunger, etch your yearning on me now, on this body, on my body, on this day, on this night.

Moving in to one another, they act at conversation, absentmindedly toying with cups and spoons, their fingers occasionally grazing, knees brushing, legs twining beneath the small table. Each new touch, each lustful glance charges the air around them, charges their bodies with a current that sets every libidinous cell alight.

He inches closer under the pretext of straightening her collar, his strong hand progressively sliding from her satin-covered shoulder down her back to the small. Exhaling a low whimper, she answers his touch with her own, one slender hand placed lightly on his chest, one finger finding the teasing gap between the shirt buttons. As this lone digit snakes its way, skimming muscular flesh and soft skin, her other hand subtly travels under the table, resting on his thigh. Desiring eyes instantly locked, her fingers begin to dance along tensing muscles toward the painfully thudding bulge straining his trousers. She maps his terrain, taking in his thickness, his hardness, his pulsation, her palm now firmly running and stroking over his entire length as he catches his breath.

Snugly tucking herself into the nook of his arm, she leans in to whisper the thoughts flooding her mind, overwhelming her body, murmuring hotly her need to be taken completely by him, her need to be fucked hard and fast, here and now, on the cool metal surface for all to see.

Take me, control me, make me yours.
Take me, use me, use me up. Then down.
Play with me, make me your plaything, your dirty little toy.
Fuck me, suck me, lick me. Clean. Make me filthy and let’s do it all again.

He is upon me in moments. The wiry curls and muscular chest framed by the unbuttoned white shirt, the growing swell tightening his black trousers.

Body hovering over me, his intoxicating scent floods my senses and sets the butterflies in my stomach free. I am his. Instantly, instinctively. This he knows.

It begins with his hands, with his touch. He holds me in his grip, a velvet vice of hunger and desire. Wound tight, his arms seize me, control me, a prison of pure intent and wandering lust.

Pinned to the bed by the glorious weight of his frame, I am a willing captive. He winds one arm around my shoulder, the other beginning its journey along the curves of my slight body. He sweeps in long lingering strokes, taking in every crevice, every turn, every freckle, stopping now and then to devour my eager lips and tongue with his own.

Strong hands and fingers map the line of my neck, the dimple of my collarbone, the soft mounds of my creamy breasts and their hard aching peaks. Down, down, down they move and glide, rising and falling over my taut abdomen, hips and thighs. As they continue their descent down my legs, their possession is unrelenting. They begin to paw and maul and knead and take. They spread me open, they lay me bare, tracing tormenting circles that make me arch and buck, that force my hips to rise up to his touch, that make me pulse and long and throb, that fire up every cell until I whimper, moan and plead.

He shows no mercy in response, heavy desiring eyes my only reply. He continues the pleasurable offensive, stroking me harder, deeper, faster, lips and tongue now following suit. Sliding down my body, his lightly stubbled face scratching, teasing, his mouth kissing and nibbling, every inch of skin and flesh, each soft pink petal of my wet little flower, plump, open and ready for his first taste. He spreads open the bloom, sliding effortlessly into the dripping dew one finger then two then more, tongue flicking, licking, making tiny travels around and on my clit, his fingers slipping, probing, deeper and deeper, crooked to bring me closer and closer, to him, to the brink, to the crest, to the wave of pure pleasure.

And when he can take it no longer, when his desire aroused and unsated can be endured no more, when the rock-hard throb in his groin demands its own release, he sets it free. Dragging me down to the foot of the bed, his hands again begin their offensive, stroking and stroking up my arching hungry body, stroking and stroking the thick tumescence asserting itself from below, stroking and stroking until he plunges decisively, deliciously into the very depth of my being.

Arms now snaked around his strong smooth neck as my breasts merge with his chest, I moan barely perceptible words of my lust in his ear as he takes me, strokes me, strokes inside of me, strokes in and out of me until the heat rises to the surface, bubbling up from my core, until the current screams over my skin. In and out, in and out, my cunt clutching as he strokes his hard pulsating cock in and out, in and out of me until it is too much to bear, until I cry out for more, until I beg as this greedy girl should, until the fever serves me up, until I open myself up completely and wantonly, until the light blinds these eyes and my body releases the flood.

Above me, below me, alongside of me, he strokes and touches and pleasure provides, playing, fingering, kissing, fucking, giving, taking, feasting, gorging until the craving overtakes my body, until my mind is no longer my own, until I am woman to his man, until I am paper to his pen, until I am the body on which he writes his desire.

And then I am his to do as he pleases. And then I am his to do as he will. And then I am his. And then I am his.

I am his. I am his. I am his.

Thighs spread and hands grasping two curls of the platinum metal, she kneels for him at the head of the bed. As she arches her back, the soft light streaming in from the other room falls across the curves of her bare petite form. Climbing up behind her, he kisses up the length of her back to her neck, their mouths and tongues at last meeting, melting and merging as he presses in his hard nakedness. With one strong smooth hand around her pert breast and the other slowly feeding his thick pulsating cock into her dripping sex, their wait is finally over.

He wants his eyes on my body, and his alone. He does not care to share. He does not desire for my attention divided. He needs me all to his lustful greedy self, to gaze upon and touch, to kiss and lick and finger and fuck, to consume, to control, to possess.

And right now, I want the same.

We are on the precipice. Mouths, lips, increasingly hot breath, mingling, taunting, teasing.

We playfully brush against each other, carrying on our conversation, extending the moment before we plunge into the bliss.

Into the inviting opening I utter simple words, everyday words, enjoying the way each one changes the shape of my mouth, the way each one touches then pulls away from the perfect peaks in front of me.

I speak softly, my thumb now mapping the seductive curve of your smile. I whisper words of now, words of then, words of what will come. You murmur filthy salacious somethings, deeds that will be done. We sigh, whimper and moan as words snake into sound.

When we can bear it no longer, our lips give in and meet. Hands wind through my curls, fingers caress your nape, soft playful kisses with little hints of tongue, as we finally dive into a long deep wetness that goes on and on and on.

To be lost in sensation, to be lost in the tangle of pleasure. To be lost in a sea of mouths and tongues and hands and arms and legs and cocks and searing skin and flesh. To be lost as we slip and slide and slither together, a delectably indiscriminate mass of pure abandon and pulsation. To be lost in the moment as one thick hard cock slides into my wet little cunt, one more into my tight pink rosebud, yet another through my lips into my hot eager mouth, two others enveloped in my excited hands. To be lost as we devour and consume, languid then insistent tongues tasting, drinking, hands and fingers stroking, mauling, taking, fucking. To be lost in the sounds of voracious desire, the sighs, the moans, the whimpers, the groans. To be lost in the frenzied, primal union of bodies, juices, sweat, saliva and come.

To be lost is surely to be found.

This is all there is. This is all that matters. His body, his words, his carnal desire.

And his hot rumbling voice pleading me to use him up while detailing the countless ways I will be his dirty little fucktoy.

It begins with an innocent double click. With the attachment finally open, her eyes grow wide, jaw drops, lips part; the space between her legs begins to throb.

Forgetting the public surroundings, she stares unashamedly at the picture-filled screen, moving in as close as she can before the photograph disappears into a mass of coloured pixels.

Standing by the rumpled bed they had marked only a few hours earlier, he is wearing the suit that always makes her swoon. Charcoal single-breasted jacket, crisp white shirt, flat front trousers, heavy leather belt, all topped off with his unmistakably cheeky grin.

And his big strong hand around his growling angry cock.