You
Always will be
My greatest
My only
Temptation

It is only once your eyes, your lips, your hands are upon me, revealing my secrets, the mysteries of my most intimate flesh, it is only once we are joined here together, man plus woman, skin on skin, sex in sex, it is only once you bathe me in your heat, your sweat, your libations, your essence, your shimmering afterglow, does this want, this need, this lustful passion of mine make any sense.

He stands against the door, spellbound by the body on the bed, transfixed by the contrast of the black lingerie drawn tight against her fair skin, the delicate fingers slowly drawing down the cups of lace, the pert breasts topped with the palest pink and the crimson peaks he longs to take in turn between his lips, the creamy thighs splaying themselves languorously, the slender stockinged legs leading the way to the bloom demurely revealing itself, the petals throbbing, fluttering, glistening, the scarlet core dripping its sweet nectar, leaving him in no doubt of her desire.

Snapped out of his voyeuristic daze by her moan, he approaches with a composure at odds with the beast rising up inside him, with the primal urge to unzip himself, exposing the thick, insistent flesh between his legs and plunging it into the depths of her searing heat in one selfish stroke that would have her crying out his name in an instant.

Rather than giving in to this urgency – an urgency he now senses within her also as her scent begins to overpower the room – his gaze continues its teasing caress, travelling over the detail of the blue eyes with their long ebony lashes, the full sensuous mouth demanding to be kissed, the line of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, the swell of her abdomen, the flare of her hips. And the two heart-shaped spots of beauty on her inner left thigh.

As his large hands finally take hold of her, sliding along the entire length of her body, up and down, down and up, her raspy breath the sweetest song, he makes a mental note to kiss the little twin hearts, tenderly, sensually, after he has fucked her with long, strong thrusts, after she has shuddered and screamed, begging for more, pleading him to stop, to kiss the little twin hearts, tenderly, sensually, after she has come hotly over his naked cock, after he has erupted with a violence that nearly tears him apart, to kiss the little twin hearts, tenderly, sensually, before leaving by their side his own unique and indelible mark.

With your gentle touch, you soothe, seduce, you captivate. With your urgency, the force of your lust, you hold me in your palm, immobilise, pin me hard, this woman a willing captive in wait.

I long for you, I long to see you, right here, right now, right at this very moment, I long to see you stripped bare, your sartorial elegance reduced to a pile on the parquetry, your deep dark eyes on mine, your skin glowing, your imposing nakedness glistening, the low light dancing off the dark curls shadowing your body as you stand before me, as you touch yourself, as you stroke yourself for me, your muscular legs framing, your hips swaying, your forearm taut as you control, as you seduce the burnished glans in your fist.

Would you do that for me? Would you stroke your cock for me?

Would you allow me to watch you? Would you allow this exhibitionist turned voyeur to sit in that armchair in the corner of my room clad in nothing but the black suspenders and stockings that dig deliciously into my lily white skin? Would you permit me to watch you stroke your throbbing shaft, your fingers easing back the foreskin, your thumb circling your oozing cockhead, your hand cupping your laden balls? Would you let me watch you, my sapphire gaze heavy with desire, skimming over your body, committing to memory every detail, my ears drowning in the sound of your breath, your voice, your affirmations, your groans as your take yourself to the edge? Would you let me watch you as I tease my own flesh, this body shivering, aching as I sink two fingers into my slick cunt, as I circle the plumpness of my clitoris, as I tease the rosy peaks of my fair breasts? Would you allow me to watch you, to watch you stroke yourself before I close the space between us, before my delicate hand pushes yours aside to take over, before my fingers are drenched in your heat, in your scent? Would you stroke yourself for me, erupting loudly, violently only once I can bear the torture no longer, once I plead for you to come, once I beg for your come, your seed raining down upon my breasts, my belly, my thighs, running down the hungry lips of my mouth, the swollen lips of my cunt?

Would you do that for me? Would you stroke your cock for me? Would you show me the way to please you, to indulge the man, to pleasure his body, to sate your lustful passions with my hands, my lips, my tongue, my most intimate flesh, to take you to that brink of exhaustion and then revive you, over and over and over again?

Lover, would you do that for me? Would you show yourself to me? Lover, would you show me the way?

She stands tall, she stands strong, she stands weak, riven and complete, alive as she has never been, a poised and slick and shivering contradiction at the mercy of his heat, craving, always craving his sweet touch, his thick, hard, perfecting flesh, longing him to traverse this cruel distance, this cold ticking time, this punishing space, silently pleading him to damn all consequence, to abandon his control, to cede to his passions, to the lust destroying her, to the need consuming them both.

My desire for you turns my rationality on its head. It always has. I suspect it always will. It leaves my stomach in knots, my mind crazed, this body on fire, so much so I fear for it, fear this passion will destroy, incinerate, reducing me to nothing but ash and dust, leaving nothing of worth for any other man.

And yet, I care little for my annihilation if it’s at your hand, if it’s at the altar of the man who embodies all that is erotic, all that is possibility, if it’s your body, your imposing strength, your hard thick intensely masculine flesh that takes possession of the woman I now am, of my bare and warm skin, of this slight form draped in the seductive accoutrements of all that is feminine, of the breasts and rosy peaks reaching out for the lightest of caresses, of the lips ever yearning for the softness of your mouth, for your throbbing and glistening sex, of the bright cunt coating your naked cock in this fiery essence, fucking me with your deep and carnal lust, making slow sensual love to me in the dark until you splash your seed, until I release my flood, until I draw the blood on your back, until you bruise me, until we mark, until you guide us, our moans and screams and barely whispered words to the light.

If you were here, if you were mine, if we gave of ourselves completely, without reserve, just one more time, I would kneel before you, kiss your body with my warm skin, worship the man, the flesh hard and masculine, I would venerate, idolise, devour with soft lips, with velvet heat, with the lightest of innocence, with the darkest of sin, I would open, give, surrender myself to you as I have only dared in my dreams.

She dips the brush into the small glass pot with delicate precision, immersing the bristles into the viscous varnish before gingerly hovering over her waiting nails, the first drops trickling a sensuous path down the plastic spines and finally free falling to splatter and gloss and transform the untouched purity on the end of her silky feet.

With each stroke, with each coat, her nails deepen and darken, the shallow red morphing into fresh cherry then lustrous ruby and ultimately the decadent scarlet of the wanton seductress never far from her surface, of the femme fatale whose craving for man, dangerous and overwhelming, engulfs her in the dead of night.

As she watches her toes bloom and glisten, she is reminded of her other scarlet place, the one held tight now by the fine ebony mesh bound around her hips, the pillowy mound accented with the shadow of a finely manicured triangle, the tip leading its way to the lips now impossibly smooth, to the petals plump and bright and yet again on fire as his voice, his words, his desire come back to her, working their way into her body, etching themselves into her very flesh.

With that smallest recollection, with that fleeting thought, he is suddenly there in front her, urging her to touch herself, to hook her feet and scarlet toes over the edge of the coffee table and spread herself open beneath the fine panties, to trace the lines of her full labia and the aching clitoris reaching out for his lips, to tease the wetness from her body until the mesh can no longer stand the flood, until the weave of the fabric gives out and her lust runs hotly down the insides of her thighs, her fingers circling, her palm then rubbing as he sits between her fair legs and begins to drink her in, kissing and licking through the black mesh, rasping his tongue across the material, pressing it into her cleft, into her cunt, drawing out her craving, her need to have him shred the fabric and bare her sex to the cool air, to the flat of his tongue, to have his mouth, his lips, his kiss against her naked flesh, to sate his desire to taste her, to hear her arousal, to have her hot sex pressed against his mouth until he can’t breathe without tasting her, without inhaling her, until his beard is literally sodden with her lust, until he feels orgasm after orgasm ripple then roar through her slight trembling frame, until his own visibly throbbing and oozing glans can take the torture no longer, until the promise of her mouth, her body, her oiled velvet heat opening up to him, utterly and completely, is too much to bear.

Leave the words behind
For they merely tear us asunder
Give instead your body, your flesh
Grant me the depths of your desire
Forget the limits, the boundaries
Cast the sobering day aside
Come to me, drink me in
Bring on the night