It is here I crave you most.

In this room, in these clandestine spaces on high, the cityscape framed in glass cool, clear and brazen.

It is now I need you most.

Within these four walls, the ultimate stage for our fusion, for the possession of this flesh as you press my rose-peaked breasts into our grinding reflection, your thick shaft dripping with a hunger at one with the molten heat between my thighs, and our eyes searching, searching, between each furious and animal thrust, for the veiled and desiring gazes that will feast on the vision, our unbridled exhibition.

She shields herself, concealing from view the succulence owned and possessed by him, the naked and molten epicentre of the desire that exists for his eyes only.

As she poses and revels in the display of her scantily-clad form to the unseen eyes beyond the picture window, the wetness flows white-hot as she recalls an altogether different image – the photograph created for his carnal and bespoke tastes of her rear encased in the same diaphanous mesh, the suspender straps draw tight, their lines the ideal frame for the sweet cunt sodden with wanton need for the grip of his hands, the power of his thrusts, the seed buried deep by his thick hard perfecting flesh.

I confess.
This is my kind of travel selfie.

If you spied me from your vantage, if you found me framed high in this picture window,
would you let your gaze linger, would you wonder lust for the taste, the ache,
the bend, the break, the sensation of my naked body pressed in tight?

“I love the way you use that word in your writing. I become instantly hard just seeing it glowing on the screen. So many women fear it, are repelled by it, but not you. Not you.”

I can’t help but smile slyly at his admission.

He leans forward in an attempt to keep our salacious discussion at a discreet level as we sit in a quiet basement restaurant a stone’s throw from a four-top of suits indulging in a boozy weekday lunch and lingering gazes that are quite obviously undressing my lithe body, slowly but surely, one fine garment at a time.

“I can sense just how it excites you. It’s palpable. I feel the fire of your flesh radiating as I read. Each time I see the word, I think about your body, your uninhibited desire and wonder…about the parts of you shielded, unseen.”

My smile bursts open, a mixture of warmth and momentary shyness, as the blush blooms high on my cheeks. I know for a fact my clear blue eyes are blazing because he is now transfixed, and much like our dining companions to my left, unashamedly staring, his look languidly roaming from these eyes to the full mouth rouged scarlet to the contour of my breasts and the beauty spots underneath the collarbone he aches to lightly kiss and trace, all memorised in minute detail from the photographs I share.

“Now that we’re sitting here together – finally – and I can see you and feel your heat and smell the hint of your perfume from across the table, all I crave is the opportunity to hear your sultry voice say it.”

I mirror his gesture and move that little bit closer, my hands caressing the edge of the table directly in front of me before my fingers dance along the wooden frame to clutch at each periphery. My back straightens, elongates, the small arching ever so slightly as my sex pulses against the panties and the tightest denim I own. Unconsciously, I cross my legs, press my thighs together and grind myself into the chair. Dressed in a midnight black balconette and bordered by a complementary cashmere knit, my pert breasts rise and fall with each hot breath. His gaze wanders again, taking me in, landing at last on my hands, on the tips now a mere inch from his own.

I part my mouth, unsealing it with the smallest of sighs. My tongue licks along the edge of the fleshy bottom lip before I speak. The corners of my eyes and the long ebony lashes uphold my mischievous smile.

It’s his turn to grin with a wickedness that lights his entire face.

“Which word?”

I ask the question softly, a little coyly.

He doesn’t buy my stalling tactic for a minute. While the anticipation is maddening, it is also arousing and thickening his glans, out of sight under the table, in a way he can barely control. That thought alone leaves me ravenous, lustful, wanton. In response, my tips caress the grain of the wood, drawing long, fleshy lines as I imagine the curve of his straining sex trapped in its own denim prison, the sound of the metal teeth as I glide down his zip, the lurch of his naked shaft as it meets the cool air, the ridges and veins and the scent of his desire and the pearl of precum begging to be smeared by my thumb, begging to be brought to my mouth, suckled and savoured.

He regards me again as I hesitate.

He’s waited two years; he can certainly wait another minute.

“Beautiful minx, won’t you say it for me?”

The teasing and imploring softness in his voice leaves me vulnerable, weak. I can feel my core beginning to melt. But shrugged shoulders are my only reply. My eyes continue to beam; my lips are under strict instruction to hold their ground.

“So… Is this the way we’re playing it?”

Another shrug and a shake of my head and wild mane is all the answer I provide.

“Say it.”

With this simple phrase, his playful tone drains away. All of a sudden, there’s an edge in his voice. A dominant edge. An edge that has filtered through our communiqués on numerous occasions, leaving me more inflamed than I could readily admit.

The small triangle of diaphanous silk covering my mound is without warning sodden as the idea of his possession releases the flood from within, as the visual of being roughly taken by him from behind, in front of these men – his hands tearing my clothing to shreds, my jeans pushed over my hips, down my slender thighs and past my knees to settle chaotically on the tops of my stiletto ankle boots, his digits pinching my crimson nipples inside the lace remnants as he towers over me, fucking me hard and deep, his sex emerging slick and shiny with each decisive thrust – momentarily blinds me.

“Say it.”

My eyebrow arches in defiance and just as quickly yields and relaxes.

“Say it.”

I shiver in response. He is reducing me to a trembling submissive, to a little kitten. And he knows it.

“Say it. Now.”

My heart pounds, I shift in my seat, my eyes widen.

“Cunt.”

I whisper the word into the ether between us. His breath catches in his throat.

“Cunt.”

With this utterance, he visibly shudders. I have clawed back a little of my control.

“Cunt.”

Leaning back in his chair, he stifles a groan, acutely aware of the public space in which we find ourselves as well as his need to give in to his own touch, to the passions of his flesh, to his desire for me.

“My sweet tight little cunt…”

The five little words hang between us, clearly demanding more, clearly longing for completion.

“My sweet little cunt aches for… cock.”

Even through the aroma of the Mediterranean fare drifting from the open kitchen behind me, I can smell, almost taste, his arousal; I can feel the heat radiating up through his trousers. His scent is so overwhelming that the thought of his pulsating meat instantly waters my mouth and cunt in equal measure.

Yet I rein myself in as I sense the proximity of his defeat and undoing. The sweat prickling his brow and the clenched fists resting on his tensing thighs are all the encouragement I require.

“My sweet little cunt aches for… your cock.”

This time he exhales with force, his breath intertwined with a simple “Fuck” that lashes my sweet little cunt like a live wire. The pounding ache spreads through my entire body with a strength that sees my own skin glowing with the sheen of desperation.

As I watch his craving rise up and take hold, as I watch him sublimating the need to grab and stroke his burnished glans then and there with a roughness of hand, running his palm over his beard, down the strong curve of his neck, his fingers eventually clawing and clutching at his nape, another series of images assault me: the chair toppling as I stand in haste; my slight figure hovering over his six foot plus frame; the large hand on my hip as I straddle his legs; his digits sliding into the border of my jeans, fingering the drenched lace fused to my bright flesh; my nakedness gleaming under the lights and his mouth engulfing, devouring my cunt, his lips sucking my clit, my body trembling, screaming his name as I come hotly on his tongue.

Our eyes meet and I smile openly, somewhat brazenly. The temptress in me emerges. The kitten will keep for another day.

“Cock.”

He is putty in my hands. And he knows it.

“I also love cock. I love the way it shapes and fills my mouth, the way it eases my soft, pouting lips apart, the way these lips lushly wrap themselves around that single…delectable…vowel.”

He turns to meet our neighbours’ stares. Judging by his smirk, our entire conversation has been overheard. One of the men shifts, planting his gaze firmly upon me. Even as I feel it burning into the side of my face, my eyes don’t stray from my man.

“I love the way it sounds out, the air thick with a masculine potency once it’s released, the way my voice can vary it, the way I can feel it thickening, engorging with speed and urgency, the way I can taste it on my tongue, its slick, salty tang, its sweetness sating my feminine hunger, the way I can milk it, lusciously lick the head of the word before ravenously consuming it, gliding it slowly down my throat, swallowing it, fucking it with the fervour of my want, my blistering breath.”

At last, I turn to acknowledge the four-top. I stretch out my hands on the flat of the table, a silent call for his teasing touch, for his repossession. The temptress and the kitten are duly rewarded.

“Yes. I also love cock. In case you had failed to notice.”

Soaring into the night sky, bathed in neon, caressed by these city lights, I breathlessly await the perfection of your touch, the fingers dancing on this skin, your strong arm wound about my waist, the urgent hands drawing my hungry nakedness into the throbbing ache of your heat, the voracious cock nudging at the lips sodden with my lust, the thumb feeding itself into the mouth whimpering its need, the bodies locked together deep, pressed hard into the glowing crystal screen, our abandoned passion threatening to shatter glass and souls and flesh to dust.

As I stand here, my desire pulsing, throbbing slick between my legs, as I stand here imagining the warmth of your dark gaze in place of the cold, hard stare of the lens, as I stand here breathlessly aching, a sheen of lust and impatience prickling my fair skin, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if you realise what you do to me, if you know your true effect.

Do you know I want and crave and need you in more ways than words can ever dare express? Do you know how I yearn to trail my soft lips over and about you, to devour every pulsing vein, every smooth hollow and wiry curl, every inch of your glistening skin and flesh? Do you know how I long to draw the scarlet drapes and cosset our naked bodies away, to fuck you and make love to you in this secluded and timeless cocoon, far from the world we know, far from the personas we assume, to fuck you with the passionate intensity running hot and oily through these veins, to arch myself over your imposing form, to come with a scorching rush over your greedy cock, to milk the seed my velvet heat covets, to feel your body tremble and shudder as you possess me as yours, as I scream your name? Do you know how I hunger to take you, expose and bare you in the full glare of the light, the curtains drawn back, this room our stage, the prying eyes on the street, the curious gazes watching raptly, consuming our entwined bodies, the sight of the carnal beast who lurks within you impaling my sweet little cunt from behind, the pounding of flesh, your fingers digging into my hips, your shaft emerging gleaming and bright, my moans, your groans ringing out through the hush and their silence, your fist in my curls, your mouth finally seeking my kiss as you drive into my soul, into my molten depths as no man has done before this moment of bliss?

If you only knew how I want – need – to devour you, to selfishly savour every inch of your masculine flesh, to sensually then passionately kiss each newly exposed morsel, to draw a glistening trail as my tongue drinks the essence of your skin, to bury my nose in deep, to drown in your musk, your heady scent, to slide my breasts along your hard, thickening shaft, to press my crimson peaks into your dripping head, to take you into my mouth, to take you into my hot little mouth and taste you, truly taste you, to glide you down my throat, to kiss and lick and suck on your cock until you weave your hands through my fiery tresses, until your thighs tense, your stomach knots, your hips thrust, until your orgasm screams out of you, until you roar it out, until you come all over my lips and my tongue, until you cover my shivering nakedness, branding me with your heat, painting me with your seed, my fingers sliding through your slippery cream to absorb every last drop into my lily white skin.

If you only knew how I want and need to devour you in this way, to consume you completely, to have you sink into my very core. And then to have you dress me, to have you cloak these passionate markings in the finery you love so well, to have you take me out into the world, into the politest of society, to have witnesses look upon us, to have them know in their pulsating sexes I am marked as yours, to have you fill my nose each time I shift, each time my body heat releases yet another wave, to have these men and women sniff out your come, our passion now suspended in the air, to have them gaze upon your magnetism, to have them regard your wanton woman, to have them wonder if I’ll indulge us both again right there and then.

It is yours I imagine; it is yours I crave.

It is your gaze, furtive and dark, voracious, unflinching, penetrating, I see reflected back as I stand before the glass slowly unveiling my nakedness, your molten eyes devouring my every detail, my every move, the zipper sliding, the clasps released, the fitted skirt, the satin shirt a tangle at my feet, my shoulders shrugging away the straps, these fingers easing down the lace to reveal the crimson peaks you hunger to take between your lips, my hand cupping the sodden ebony covering my sex, these hips grinding, my mound mashed into this palm, this sensual dance inflaming the ache, intensifying the need to tease away the fabric fused to my scarlet flesh, to have you drop to your knees between my legs brazenly open wide, to have your body marked in my scent, to have your mouth lap at the smoothness of my dripping cunt and the clitoris throbbing, pulsing, longing for your deep tongue kiss, to have you taste me, drink me down, to have you drive me to the screaming edge, to have you against me, buried inside me, to have you possess me with a softness then a violence neither one of us can resist.

I found myself back there again.

I found myself taking in the image I long for you to see once more, taking in the detail of the white shirt chaotically tugged open, the lace of my demi cups darkened by the peaks scarcely hidden beneath, the black pencil skirt bunched around my waist, the pull of my suspender belt gently marking my yielding flesh, the midnight nylon sheen kissing the legs raised up stiletto high.

I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass, easing the damp, ebony silk away from my sex, teasing the softening folds, my nipples, my breasts, caressing the bright, plump lips, the abdomen lean and fair, cupping the mons so eager, my hips sensually grinding against the hand, my body, my cunt, silently demanding their much needed release.

And as I found myself there again, as I slid in two digits and crooked to find that sweet, little spot, as I fingered and fucked, as I circled and strummed the blushing nub, as I tightened and clamped and released my glistening lust, as I relished the wanton reflection of the woman pleasuring herself, moaning so loud the neighbours would most certainly hear, I wondered just how long you’d be able to resist me if you found me just this way.

Would you resist me? Would you resist?

Would you stand in the doorway relishing the sight, unbuttoning your shirt collar, discarding your tie, grabbing then rubbing your aroused flesh through the fabric, your raspy breath the only indicator of your voyeuristic presence?

Would you move over to me, stand before me, so close your scent overwhelms my senses, so close I can feel the heat blistering off your muscular body, so close my watering mouth can almost taste you, so close I can see the first perfect drop of precum nestling in your cockhead?

Would you extend your teasing torture, liberating your throbbing shaft, your fingers delicately drawing back the foreskin, your fist sliding back and forth, back and forth, your hips gliding along with it, back and forth, back and forth, positioning your body between my open thighs, back and forth, back and forth, your glans now intermittently brushing the tender skin of breasts, back and forth, back and forth, your thumb smearing your shine along the curve of my neck replacing the fragrance of my favourite perfume?

Would you step closer still, winding your fingers through these tousled curls, your dark gaze locking on the deep blue of my eyes as you feed your thickness into my mouth, as your fingers join mine down below, as your digits transition from lace to nylon to skin hot and moist, as my tongue licks and laps, as my lips voraciously engulf, as I suck you like a woman starved and denied, as my mouth fucks your cock and your fingers fuck my cunt, our orgasms rushing headlong to meet us?

Would you torment me cruelly, deliciously with the meat most desired, running yourself along my cleft, coating your hardness in my flowing juices, circling my clitoris with your glans, your kiss finally finding mine, our lips sensually devouring through my whimpering pleas for your cock, through the ragged cries to “Fill me, fill my cunt, fill me, oh God, please, fill me, fill me, fuck me, fuck me”?

Or would you simply take what you want, what is rightfully yours, just as you did that night, wrenching open your zip, pushing me back on the bed, your suit jacket thrown off and onto the floor, my legs instinctively splaying themselves wide, your hand releasing the glans hard and eager, guiding then nudging momentarily at my need, before plunging, sinking into the depths of my velvet heat, your mouth, your kiss swallowing my mewl, your hands a vice on my hips, mine grasping for your shoulders, your back, your arse, the sound and smell of our lust overpowering the room as you fuck me with passionate abandon, as you relinquish that control, as you leave the imprint of your shaft on my most intimate flesh, as we come loud and hard, our urgent desire screaming over this skin, melting these bodies together, as I come loud and hard, my cunt milking you from within, as you come loud and hard, splashing your seed deep, deep inside me, as we come loud and hard with the reflection of our merged bodies beamed back at us in the low afternoon light?

I wondered. I wonder. Would you resist me as I sit at the mirror?