Thursday, November 5, 2009

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.

4 comments:

The Muffin Fan said...

Mmmm. That gave me a hard-on. :-)

Cheeky Minx said...

Glad to hear it hit the spot, Muffin Fan... ;)

Marcus Myself said...

I pick up your pungent scent in the dark and follow the trail. My nose leads me through the room and eventually to the bed. As i climb on the bed your scent thickens. I can sense the delicate differences, tell where it is most fresh. Now my mouth begins to water with hunger. I follow the path to the source and begin to feast on the flowing spring of nectar. I lap at the source, needing the sweetness that feeds my desire. I explore he soft folds, searching for the ultimate source.

Cheeky Minx said...

I'm more than a little flattered my hunger inspired your own, Marcus. Thank you for the very sexy continuation...