Baby
If you only knew
The dirty little things
I do to myself as I dream of you

Breathless. Trembling. Wet. Aching.
Craved. Possessed. Marked.
Supple. Yielding. His.
Yours.

Even as I am etched in black and white, even as I am drawn in the tones of their in-between, my passion for you transcends this monochrome frame, it is every colour, tint and shade either of us can conceive, it is every gradation of light and shadow, it is the inky darkness of a carnality which tears at my flesh and shreds my soul, it is the ashen green of jealousy, this barely contained envy of the women fortunate enough to drown in the hot rains of your lustful fury, it is the bronze of your skin kissed by the sun, the burnish of your glans hard and dripping in mouth, on tongue, it is your chocolate gaze, it is my azure look as you drive yourself to my clutching limit, it is the pinkness of my cunt, hungry, rapacious, the cream of my thighs bound tight about your waist, the scarlet of the heart bleeding its loving ache, it is the kaleidoscope, the splinters, the shards blinding, arresting as these fingers seek skin, as they spread open the lips, as I fuck myself, as I give in, as I surrender to the wanting, to the imagining, to you here in this room, reaching, reaching for me through time and space and improbability, through the impossible, through the unthinkable pleasure of this body, this offering, the pleasure that takes me to breath’s end, that takes me to the brink and back again, that brings you to me, that delivers me to you, that devours everything, all hue.

Do you recall the sound of my pleasure, my breath and my voice as I come? Do you remember the way I exhale your name as I tease my clitoris, as I finger my cunt? Do you recollect the ragged whispers, the moans, my half-spoken pleas, as your hands take hold of my hips, as you drive your burnished glans into my depths, as your kiss finds my lips, as you fuck me, possess me with a sweet savagery that leaves me captivated, addicted, obsessed?

Do you remember? Do you recall?

They were the very sounds that filled this room as I touched myself and thought of you, as time stopped and space closed itself in, as my body arched off the chair, as my orgasm crashed over me, as the air was overwhelmed with the scent of sex and the cry of my passion, as my want and desire and need for you clawed through the pretence, crawled up through my core, rose up through this flesh, returning to haunt me, to taunt this woman once again.

Fitful sleep. A night of sirens, police choppers, climbing, roaring, planes. Tossing, turning, this weary body unable to rest. Sleep, sweet sleep, but only for a few precious moments, awoken again by the shadows clawing, touching, dancing across the walls. Waking at dawn, eyes stinging from little slumber, the birds singing, intermittently breaking the silence of the world around me safely tucked up in its bed.

And now, now, a restlessness born from the phantoms of the night, from the visions of the figure hovering over me, and now, now, a disquiet born from this yearning, this craving constant, unerring to have you, to have you, to have you in my bed, to have your hands on my body, to have you in my sex, to have you in every way I imagine, in every way I’ll never forget, in all the ways that hurtle through this mind, this body, this sexual soul, the images, visions, whirring, racing, my fingers seeking out the soft, aching centres of pure sensation, the images, the visions flashing, rushing, jump cuts, time fragmented, space morphed, broken, each scene barely lingering, there and gone before it is present, an assault on my senses, scent and tang and the musk of naked bodies, the light, the darkness, the dim afternoon, that sultry jazz ballad weaving, binding us together, the rain splattering, the storm raging, the sun blistering our skin, your tongue tracing the outline of my lips, the kiss gentle then bruising, our mouths mashed together, hungry, devouring, clothes torn, shredded, your strength bending me backwards, bending me over the arm of the sofa, my breasts pressed into the table cold and wooden, your cockhead teasing my clitoris, your thumb feeding itself into my mouth, my lips and tongue suckling, devouring, fellating, craving most of all the cock standing proud between your legs, the collision of flesh, flesh on flesh, man in woman in a heated, carnal frenzy, my hand around your cock sliding you effortlessly into my hot, plump sodden cunt, my back arching, my legs wrapped tight around your waist, rubbing, sliding, sweat fusing, separating, our bodies on the floor fucking hard and mad and loud, my body beneath you, rising up to meet you, to have you inside me, another part of me, your cock swallowed by my cunt, your thick hard shaft teasing, gliding between the impossibly smooth dripping lips of my sex, my tongue licking the pearl of precum nestled in your head, your hand inside my panties as the movie screen flickers, as the sound booms around us, your fingers pressing inside me, curled and tucked, fucking me, killing me softly, my mouth moaning into the cock gliding between my lips, sucking you, willing you to come, willing your come to rise up and drown and mark and own me, your face between my legs, on your knees, licking and eating my cunt in that dark sheltered alleyway, the bustle of the city just a few short metres away, your eyes, your face, your mouth, your words of lust whispered hotly into my ear, your stubble on my neck, on my thighs, the globes of my arse, your flesh buried deep inside that forbidden virginal place, your flesh buried deep, deep, so deep, finding that little death and once again life, your flesh, your flesh, your come, my own fingers a fucking, fingering blur, my body spread out, this body breaking, my gasp, my moan, your name, my cry, your name ringing out, shattering, shattering the hush, demolishing the bricks and mortar of this haunted little room.

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 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.

She vows it will be the last. She vows and promises it will be her final hit as she plugs herself into the slim silver box nestled in her palm, her body resting gently against the window of the crowded bus, the landscape a blur of rose-tinted shopfronts, flickering neon lights and a beeline of traffic winging its way homeward.

With the lightest touch of her delicate finger, the cable of pure white cocoons her in the voice deep and accented, transporting her to his room where he is lying in bed naked, his cock oiled and very hard, his hand stroking the flesh that has been aroused by her body, by the woman, by the desiring eyes captured for him and him alone, by the need to feel her warm skin, his fingers gliding and moving, registering the transition from lace to nylon to her soft and yielding flesh, by the overwhelming urge to fill her, fuck her, to come deep, deep inside her, the walls of her velvet heat absorbing every last drop of his seed.

And even though her face betrays very little, the only movement her eyes, darting and snatching the odd detail as the vehicle picks up speed, her body screams and shouts, riots, the blush blooming on her fair skin, the prickling mist merging with her perfume, the black silk triangle fusing to her cunt with each beat of its slick and needy rhythm, the full mouth involuntarily parting, the pink lips even now aching to swallow the ragged breath, the groan, the very essence of the man half a world away.

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?

… My sex is so soft, so plump, so intensely slick my panties are fused to my bright flesh. This is the result of thinking about you, thinking about your face, your body, imagining our mouths locked in the perfect kiss, slow and sensual, then urgent and bruising, our mingled breath already hot and ragged and shallow. Breaking away, my lips and tongue give and take and explore, brushing, dipping, licking the sweet, clean skin of your neck, travelling along its curve, moving down, down, down to your chest, to your hips, branding you as mine in their wake, my tousled curls leaving a teasing trail as I savour and consume you, my long, delicate fingers finding your throbbing hardness, grazing, tracing every ridge of your thick shaft before finally entwining the meat most desired, stroking you slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, my gaze now fixed to your desiring eyes, my thumb circling your burnished head, smearing you with the glisten I long to taste.

… My tight red knickers are deliciously constricting, hugging my hips and bottom and mound. As I sit here in the close, spring heat, I’m teasing myself over the thin cotton fabric, mapping the damp spot growing ever larger, prolonging the moment my fingers find my need as I hunger for your nakedness here in my bed, as I hunger to know every last inch of you, as I hunger for you to drink from my cup, as I hunger for your glans between these pink, sticky lips, as I hunger for you to bury yourself deep, deep inside me, my hips rocking, my pelvis grinding, our flesh melting, merging in the bliss, swallowing your groans and words of desire, our climax breaking the still of the night, your hot seed coating the walls of my velvet, my fair, lissom form your canvas to paint and create.

… My entire body burns with its fevered ache; my entire being calls out for you and you alone, its need to have you near me, next to me, inside me too great. In a very short while, I’ll move off into the bedroom, shedding the fabric along the way, fashioning a path for you to blindly follow. When I reach the white covered expanse facing the large mirror, I’ll perch myself on its very edge, spreading my creamy thighs wide, wide, wider until I see the gloss shining in the low light, until I feel my crazed passion rising up and breaking free. Then, and only then, will I fuck myself with my silicone proxy, slipping and sliding the thick shaft along my portal, circling and teasing my clitoris, before nudging it into my cunt inch by glorious inch, watching my petite form surrender to a pleasure at once too much and not enough. And as I fuck myself for you, for me, as I thrust the cock in and out, in and out of me, as I watch my body arch and buck and writhe, as I watch the lust lining my face, as I allow my mind to sink into you, as I allow my body to drown in you, as I allow you to take me over even at so far a remove, as I moan and scream and cry out my orgasm, it will be your name on these lips, it will be the name of the man I want with a softness and a violence that surprises even me.