Lost and Found

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 hole, 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.

Present Tense

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.

E-male

It begins with an innocent double click. With the attachment finally open, her eyes grow wide, mouth drops open, the space between her legs begins to thump.

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.

You

You. Dark hair, chocolate eyes, six foot two. You.

I’ve seen you glancing, glimpsing, looking. I’ve seen you watching, stare unflinching, gaze undressing.

I’ve seen the way your eyes consume my curves, eat up my form. I’ve seen the way they run along my collarbone, around the swell of my breasts, hugging my hips, devouring my legs, my arse, my purring little puss.

I’ve seen the way you shift as I enter the room, the way you lick your lips. I’ve seen the way you teasingly scratch your stomach, fingers trailing down the line of fuzz that leads to the manly musk below.

I’ve seen you too. I’ve noticed you also.

Now what do you plan to do about it?

Gesture of One

One simple gesture. One enticing move. One brush of his fingers across his stubbled cheek. One glide of his hand along the curve of a neck. One insistent touch from his chest to his hip. One hand resting short of his visibly throbbing sex.

One simple reaction. One inviting response. One rush of heat, one quickening pulse. One sharp breath freed from blushing parted lips. One teasing stroke of her sweet heaving breasts. One aching dewy place as she impatiently looks on.

The In-between

There is a time, a space, a fissure, between darkness and light, sleep and waking, dreams and consciousness, where he comes to me.

He steps out of my sleepy imaginings, his phantom form made material, filling the place beside me. The bed sinks under his weight, the pillow rustles with the drop of his head. His heat overwhelms the white expanse on which I rest.

Just as I stir threatening to wake, he moves in to me. His body greets my soft nakedness, his hands play with my curls, his lips brush along my freckly back.

Filled with the pleasure of his simple touch, I then move in to him. Enveloped in his arms, his heartbeat and breath mingling with my own, I relish the sensation of his silky wrapped hardness against my skin.

But as the light beams through and my eyes begin to register the day, the spell is broken and I am alone once more. While he fades into the glow, I lie in bed hoping he will appear to me again with the breaking of another dawn.

Blush

Taking advantage of her momentary solitude, she heads to the mirror. The reflective glass frames a rising blush on the creamy cheeks at the base of her arching back. Lightly stroking the newly tender skin, her fingers find the just visible outline of his hand as a small smile forms on her lips.

Devour

Once she straddles his thighs, he relinquishes all control. Her hand slides down his neck resting at the nape, drawing him in to her heated breath as she begins to tease herself with his thick and almost painfully swollen cock.

Rising up over him, she opens her plump lips to accept his glistening head. And here she pauses. Looking him squarely in the eyes and covering his groaning mouth, she lowers and squeezes her little wet cunt until she has swallowed him all up.

Touch

He moves up silently behind her, his presence at first a suggestion rather than a certainty.

She closes her eyes and excitedly exhales in anticipation of his touch. One finger languidly traces the strip of her freshly showered skin peeking out from between her girlish pink knickers and lilac tank.

Legs now invitingly parted, she stands eagerly awaiting the next touch.

When she least expects it that same finger hooks and twists itself so tightly into the right side of the waistband her sensitive clit begins to purr.

Need

Standing there, I see him gradually being overtaken by it. I can see it, feel it, crawling through his flesh, rising up to his skin. I can smell it coming off his body.

Suddenly against me, he tries to explain. This is what he has become, he whispers closely, fingertips grazing my neck. This is what he has become against his will, against the reasoning part of his mind. There is nothing but the hunger, the desire, the need.

It is a need, he says gently leaning me into the wall with his overwhelming frame. It is a need and not a want or a wish or a whim that might be pushed down or away. It can not, will not, be replaced or displaced.

It will not leave him, it will not leave him be. The need transforms, changes, alters beyond all recognition, his mouth murmurs, the tempting weight of his body pressed firmly into mine. As evidentiary proof he places my hand on his rapidly beating chest, carefully guiding it down his stomach to the growing swell below. Pulsing through the fabric prison, he is, at once, hunter and prey, willing victim and rebellious target, give and take.

And how he wants to give and take, he tells me, thumb tracing over my moist and parted lips. Give and take, take and give, now easing my willing legs apart with his own. Take, take, take, his tongue exploring me, consuming me. Give, give, give, grinding his hips slowly, rhythmically.

I need to feel, he breathes hoarsely, my small breasts engulfed by inquisitive hands. Running his generous hardness along my aching sex, he shows me the need to feel the flesh and heat of another.

Softness and wetness urge him on as his hands coil round my creamy thighs to cup a plump and eager mons. My softness, my wetness are his needs. I oblige on both counts as his fingers lightly dance along the sheen and gracefully work their way in.

I need to feel and smell and taste you with everything I am. Breathing hard, our pleasure winding, building, I set him free. Fingers circle his swollen glistening head before my hand works his throbbing length. Urgent teeth rip through foil, his rigid cock swiftly encased in a shiny rubber sheath.

As we stand there against the wall, pressed into each other, needing more, needing it all, I finally break. Now breathing, spoken, embodied, it overpowers me. It reaches out of me, for me. For him. I need you, I need you, I need you inside me, it makes me beg, plead, moan.

Hungrily, I slide my juices along his erect shaft placing him at my slick entry. Greedily, he feeds his thickness into my tight wet cunt as we groan simultaneously. 

But before we begin, before we begin moving, thrusting, slapping, fucking, moaning, gasping, grunting, screaming, before we ravenously paw at each other’s flesh forcing in more, more, more, before I demand he fucks me harder, harder, fuck me harder, before we can barely hold ourselves back waiting to hear the sweet cries of come for me, come for me, come all over me, come inside me, before we call out to one another when we finally break, before the voracious beginning and the sated end, we stand perfectly silent and still.

We stand joined together against the wall clutching, throbbing, vibrating, seeing each other, seeing into each other, breathing in one another, breathing as one, skin on skin, skin becoming skin. We stand joined together in a primal, awakening rush.

We stand merged together finally understanding the force of this need. And at this moment it is the only thing that truly matters.

Hunger II

Gnawing, growling, insatiable. It grips me, possesses me in the dead of night. Night after night it takes me by the hand, urging me on to that sweet release. Body spent, drained, gives out as it falls into a restless sleep.

As always it is there on the margins, in the periphery, watching and waiting to take me once again as the morning dawns.

Feast

The table has been laid for a different form of dining. One lone setting has been placed at the head of the long table where he sits awaiting her arrival in the room’s warm glow.

She announces her presence with the glide of the door over the plush carpet. He breathes in sharply as his gaze roams over her fair form. On this night she is dressed in little else than an ivory lace balconette bra and matching lace topped stockings.

Upon her in a matter of a few strides, eyes bright and hungry, he scoops her up and walks her over to the table, delicately placing her naked bottom onto a red velvet cushion. Weaving one hand through her locks while the other sweeps along her curves to the small of her back, he overwhelms her eager mouth with his passionate kiss. 

Taking his place, he lays her out and begins to trace lazy circles inside her thighs. Edging closer to fully receive the sweet scent, his lips lightly brush her plump sex. Unable to resist any longer, he dots the slick excited flesh with a series of soft butterfly kisses as a throaty moan emerges from deep within her slight body.

Smiling wickedly in the knowledge this is the first of many courses, he lowers his greedy mouth and luxuriates in the pure indulgence of her creamy feast.

When the Moon is Full

Listening to Billie Holiday wishing on her own, I wished on the blood red moon hanging in that September sky.

I wished for your health, for your recovery, for the continuation of a life barely lived. I wished I could sacrifice something of me, something of my own life for you.

Looking out at the moon as it glows on this cloudless night, there is only you in my heart and my head. And these small, inadequate and incompetent words. Words that can not possibly tell how much we miss you, how much we miss our gorgeous musical boy, especially when the moon is full.

Unrealized

Time shifts, space bends, sound drains away. Suspended in slow motion, their each step an open possibility.

Shameless lust, unconcealed desire. Fixed, dilated stares, small, flirtatious smiles. Brazenly undressing one another as they brush by.

Horn blares, moment shattered. Lost in an instant, both swallowed up by the city crowd.

Songbird

Bundled in his arms as the light faded low, he sang to me. Softly, sensuously.

Soon after he sang into me, breathing the lyrics into my skin, humming the tune into my flesh, as his lips trailed down, down, down my fair body.

Shaving Cream

With that first marshmallow puff, it all came rushing back. He came rushing back in an olfactory wave.

After all this time he was here again in my bathroom, smelling the way he did once his face was smooth to the touch. As if his freshly shaven face, a whisper away from my own, was ready to drown me in his long, lingering kiss. A kiss that made me weak at the knees and creamy wet.

In the beginning it was the scent of new love, of renewed love after a long absence, of a lust and desire so intense it might burn us up.

And in the end it did. In the end, the aroma imposed on me daily spoke only of our alienation. It told only of the way we avoided each other’s lips. No longer weak at the knees, we were both merely weak, unable to find an honest way out.

While this scent reminds me of that time and that man, it also makes me hopeful for the possibility of another loving man whose kiss will leave me breathlessly strong.

ARIA Girl

Today only your winning words will do:

… but my soul it wants out
its got big dreams and wants to go south
with the bats the byrds and the bees and some of me …

… so go I’m driving fast
down the street I’ve cut my knees
they’re bleeding all the words that I could not say …

Bertie Blackman, ‘Shout out’, Secrets and Lies

Stroke

Grasping her ankles, he pulls her toward him at the foot of the bed. He opens her wide, positioning each leg on the periphery and runs his hands insistently along their length.

Arms wound tightly round her hips and bottom, he plunges himself into her wetness in one deliciously selfish stroke.

Music Man

As he growls then whispers the lyrics, she marvels how he could so accurately read the life of a woman a world away from his own.

Smiling through her tears she doubts if any other man will ever be able to do the same from up close.

Heat

I am melting into a little puddle. Even as I sit here very still and naked, I’m hot. And bothered.

This late spring heat is a shock to the system. No gradual warm-up just a wallop so intense it drains your energy in an instant. It’s the kind of heat that skews my brain and makes me achingly aware of my body.

I suppose this is the upside. The awareness of my body, its boundaries and limits, its cravings and needs.

Right now it is responding to the simplest of pleasures. The cool air on my sweat beaded thighs, tummy and breasts as I sit spread eagle in front of the fan, the ice cubes melting gorgeously on my tongue, the dripping dew from a cold bottle traced along my neck.

And yet what I really crave at this very moment is more heat. A searing, pulsating hardness to quench the fever coming from within.

Cut

It came as something of a surprise after his tender, sensual kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my mouth before languidly devouring me. I stood swaying, eyes shut, body tingling, begging for more, as he broke away and momentarily left the room.

Finally opening my eyes I saw him standing before me, blade in hand, a wry smile playing on his lips. Breath quickening, nipples erect, a new surge flooded my already blushing cunt.

Stepping forward he raised a finger to his lips silencing my unspoken words. Running the handle carefully down my cheek, neck and collarbone, he pulled me in to kiss him once more.

Poised at the top of my dress, the light reflected off the cutting edge. Closing my eyes, I surrendered to the darkness and the exquisite sounds of destruction.

Stitch by stitch, tear by tear, a destruction that would leave me bare and ready to bend to his will.

"Where did a nice girl like you...?"

I know that you can’t quite believe everything that’s said in the heat of the moment, but when he growled out the rhetorical question I couldn’t help myself, I had to smile. I looked up at him spread out before me, my mouth filled with his delicious tumescence while my hands travelled the length of his arching body, and contemplated if he knew just how much I enjoyed giving this kind of pleasure.

I’m unsure if I’m all that exceptional in this area but, every now and then, it’s nice to hear my talents being appreciated.

More words about words

They weave a very particular spell, those words of his. Quite unlike any others, they wind themselves into and through my body. Sliding, slithering, caressing, tickling. Ablaze, my body becomes pure sensation. Hungry, yearning, open. Ready. Willing.

With each passing word, each passing day, I find myself wanting. Wanting more. Wanting to be her. Wanting to be the woman who inspires his force, his passion, his reflections.

I know I am not alone. I know there are countless others communing with the page, consuming in the light, devouring in the dark, desirous of the very same.

So I sit and read and yearn and ache while feeling the words. Feeling up his words as if a body laid bare for the taking.

And when I am sated I wonder if my words will ever have that effect. On him.

I live and hope and dream.

Bloodline

We are bound together, the women of my tree and me, bound by blood and time and history. Bound by the sacrifices, the struggles, the pleasures, the moments of love and hate and lust and longing, which have made up our everyday lives.

I like to think of them around me, surrounding me, looking down on me, on us, looking down on the lives of the women of their blood.

So many have been lost, their names and connections long forgotten, their histories slowly erased from family tales overtaken by the narratives of their men. The only traces left behind are the women of this time and place, both a world away from their own.

While it pains me that I do not know them, will never know of them, I take comfort from having them within me.

Their lives have led me to this time, this body, this woman I am today.

Lucky Charm

Dressed in his best suit, he walks out into the living room tugging at the shirt collar.

“It’s too small.”

“It’s not,” I reassure him.

He grimaces. Even though he’s trying to remain composed I know his nervousness is overtaking him. Just as he’s about to run his fingers through his wavy hair he stops short. He fidgets and paces. I begin to worry he’ll wear a track right through the new rug.

“Are you wearing something red?”

“Huh? ... What? ... No. I don’t have anything in red... Where are you going?”

I walk calmly towards the bedroom having thought of the very thing that will do. As I rummage through drawers and begin to ready myself I hear him resume his pacing and mumbling.

Just as I turn to exit the bedroom I notice him in the doorway. My curls are now around my shoulders, lips newly rouged and silk robe open to reveal naked flesh save the tiniest of black mess knickers.

“Come here. You need something for luck.”

He looks as if he might protest but then decides to obey. Now up against me I run my hands down the front of his shirt brushing his sex very gently with my own. I sink slowly to my knees and press my nose in to breathe him in. As I unbuckle the black leather belt and unzip his trousers he weaves his hands through my hair.

“I don’t have time for this…,” he trails off unconvincingly.

I smile up at him knowing full well he won’t be getting what he expects. He reads my smile as something else all together.

I nuzzle into him again, this time inhaling the full extent of his musk. My mouth begins to water at the sight of his growing hardness but I remind myself I’m on a different mission.

As I pull down the right side of his black trunks exposing his hip he gasps in a way which makes me smile again. I trace his outline with my nose and cheek looking up at him once more. Head back, lids hooded, hips forward, ready to be taken. My fingers dance over his soft skin enjoying the tease.

And then I kiss him. One deep solitary kiss from my slightly trembling red lips. One perfect red charm which marks him with luck.

One kiss to remind him, when the day is done, I’m here ready and waiting.

Knock

Two sharp raps. Two sharp raps on the door signal his arrival.

Two distinct raps belonging to him and him alone.

The sound of his hand on my door. The sound of his desire making its entry, marking my entry.

Command

He has given her very specific instructions. A simple list that masks an undeniable complexity.

She knows the consequence for any deviation. Straddling the red leather chair in the manner of Christine Keeler, she wonders just how long it will take him to notice.

Hearing his key in the door she shivers in anticipation of what will soon follow.

Text

The beeping phone woke me just as I had drifted off into a fitful sleep after a hard day with words that wouldn’t obey. Three messages in short succession.

I’m on my way over to edit the daylights out of you

Tonight you are my toy

No refusals

Good man.

Words about words

I read your words aloud, savouring their flavour, their texture. I roll them round my mouth feeling their rhythm and pulsation. I tickle them lightly with my tongue before greedily devouring more. I open wide to be filled with them all.

Tease

Kneeling behind her, his hardness ready and waiting, he meets her eye in the mirror. On all fours and through a curtain of flaming curls he can see and feel her frustration.

She pushes back ever so slightly but his strong hands on her hips stave her off. She has been teased, mercilessly. The wetness dripping down her legs for the past hour has left its mark on the bed. He runs his hand tenderly over the length of her back and around her fair bottom, which he kisses lightly at first and then so deeply a low moan escapes her body.

She has been teased long enough.

Psst...

He stands before me proud and hard, his cock straining the front of his trousers. In a bold move, he runs his hand along his member tracing its outline in a way he knows makes me ache.

My eyes locked on his I open my stocking covered legs. He moves a little closer wanting more, a mischievous smile momentarily flashing across his lips. I wriggle in my seat, inch up my pencil skirt and spread wide.

As he leans in I swear I can feel his hot breath even though he is standing on the other side. Lingering over my body his eyes take in my every detail as he strokes himself. Heart pounding through my chest, a light sheen of wetness now covers my throbbing sex.

Just as he’s about to step forward we hear them. Meeting ended, the surrounding cubicles are filled once again with unwanted bodies and prying eyes.

Like model employees we get back to work.

Weakness

I didn’t stand a chance. I really didn’t. Once his fingers found the back of my neck I knew my resolve would disappear. Once those big, beautiful hands began their languid yet discreet caress I knew I would be his for the taking.

Just like that.

So easily done. And so damn easy.

Hunger

The hunger. The pure, unadulterated hunger shakes me out of sleep once more. Untamed animal desire. Awake again at four a.m. we look at each other. While it needs feeding, it is beginning to look a little bleary-eyed. We are both exhausted, my desire and me, but continue to circle each other in the dead of night. Our own witching hour where no one else can see.

I am nothing but a silhouette. Nothing more than form, texture, flavour, smell. My pungent scent fills the space between my legs, the bed, the entire room. Fair-skinned body on white sheets begging to be soiled. Heat prickled skin, wetness overflowing. Hands, arms, fingers, all exhausted, barely able to move, manage to find their way once again.

I ache for release, for relief, for pleasure, for pain, for pleasurable pain and painful pleasure. Hooded lids heavy from sleepless nights long to see him at the foot of the bed. Long for his large, strong hands to work their way up, across and into my body. Every which way. Any which way. All the way.

Compulsions

The pulsation of my body, the flow of my words. 

Together again they overtake me, they wake me in the dead of night, gnawing, grabbing, demanding. Begging for the page, the pen, the cursor, the screen. Begging for skin and heat and lips and hands and hardness.

Open and ready, I surrender.