The phones are slow today and I’m stuck here thinking about you. A raging hard on trapped inside a cubicle. To be more specific, I’m thinking about fucking you. In a myriad of ways under a thousand different circumstances.
Animalistic, against the wall in a quick midnight rendezvous stolen from the demands of our respective work a day lives.
Or passionate and sweat filled in the of the day. The sort of sweat created only by lust that, afterwards, turns into velveteen sleep.
Or loud and gleeful in a cheap motel, a lover’s holiday planned weeks ago.
Covetous of my rambling and lurid thoughts my cock is throbbing as I concern myself with hypothetical details I hope soon to turn into intimate realities. The smoothness of your waxed pussy, the sent of your juices as they linger on my hands and face, the look of anticipation on your face as I wickedly tease you, or the shape of smoldering lust burning from eyes as, on your knees, you look up at me with my manhood buried deep in your mouth and touching your throat.
How glorious it must be to fuck you, to grasp the quick rush of penetration and surrender to your body, wrapped around mine. How rapturous your screams and moans must be as they are thrown to the heavens with abandon or cast forcefully to earth through the pillow at your face as I fill you from behind.
Your back must be exquisite as it arches to my touch. Your hips must be poetry as they fill my hands when I grip and pull you to me. The promise of your embrace must illicit strife and all sort of unknowable atrocity all in the name of competition. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You must be that perverse thing for which the word beauty is rendered as light and inert as air itself. You must be because beauty is the willfully sought possession of the beholder and I dare not relinquish you to anything other then the loudest and most sensual of admirations.
I want to lay waste to the clothes and bind us. I want to soil the cheats that cover us. I want to know you as only a lover can.
I have stripped this declaration of anything that may tie us to the world of obligations, for ours is a lust best left embraced by subterfuge and shadows dispelled only by the two of us. These words however are given to the world because they come from the world. These words come from humanity and shape a desire known to all.
Animalistic, against the wall in a quick midnight rendezvous stolen from the demands of our respective work a day lives.
Or passionate and sweat filled in the of the day. The sort of sweat created only by lust that, afterwards, turns into velveteen sleep.
Or loud and gleeful in a cheap motel, a lover’s holiday planned weeks ago.
Covetous of my rambling and lurid thoughts my cock is throbbing as I concern myself with hypothetical details I hope soon to turn into intimate realities. The smoothness of your waxed pussy, the sent of your juices as they linger on my hands and face, the look of anticipation on your face as I wickedly tease you, or the shape of smoldering lust burning from eyes as, on your knees, you look up at me with my manhood buried deep in your mouth and touching your throat.
How glorious it must be to fuck you, to grasp the quick rush of penetration and surrender to your body, wrapped around mine. How rapturous your screams and moans must be as they are thrown to the heavens with abandon or cast forcefully to earth through the pillow at your face as I fill you from behind.
Your back must be exquisite as it arches to my touch. Your hips must be poetry as they fill my hands when I grip and pull you to me. The promise of your embrace must illicit strife and all sort of unknowable atrocity all in the name of competition. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You must be that perverse thing for which the word beauty is rendered as light and inert as air itself. You must be because beauty is the willfully sought possession of the beholder and I dare not relinquish you to anything other then the loudest and most sensual of admirations.
I want to lay waste to the clothes and bind us. I want to soil the cheats that cover us. I want to know you as only a lover can.
I have stripped this declaration of anything that may tie us to the world of obligations, for ours is a lust best left embraced by subterfuge and shadows dispelled only by the two of us. These words however are given to the world because they come from the world. These words come from humanity and shape a desire known to all.
