The idea of what he does to her...playing with her, toying with her, slowly groping her chest. The way he presses her butt against the bulge in his boxers. Squeezing her hips enough to spread her cheeks. Sacred entries rubbing against their owner like an excited pet. Salivating like a passionate kiss. A hand presses against her lower back. It insists she bends over. She arches her spine to oblige. Her hands land in bed and then wait. Her face enters the sheeted heaven and then waits. Her legs spread like the light sticks of an airline groundcrew guiding in an airplane. Two thumbs press against the dimples in her lower back adjusting her arch to the perfect angle. Her hips spread as the head enters. She grabs the sheet as the neck enters. He pulls out. Leaving her alone. Leaving her vulnerable. Leaving her craving more. A passionate thrust eases her pass her threshold. He grabs her shoulder and repeats... faster and deeper. She pleads, “don’t stop, don’t stop”….
Elegant muse for elaborate fools. I declare myself an idiot. A question mark dotted with a clouded period. For I don't know what you are. Enchanted by breasts. Lips, Far less perplexed. Addicted to cravings of flesh. I'm Indigenous, carnivorous, to the flavors in your neck. Somehow you've driven me into savagery. Pussy Hypnosis. I barely know you but will you marry me. I wonder where women like this are made. Are these gifts or curses in a sick game to be played, of one man's gifts being another man's treasure. I'm protective. Which fool didn't appreciate this. I'd be a fool not to abbreviate this and change that miss To misses. A sucker like any man. Giving pieces of my soul for a false God's kisses. Lost in my fabrications. I've somehow graduated to lust. Lost in her eyes. I victimize myself by giving her my trust. Sweet Gypsy
At a heightened sense of our elaborate schemes a woman's body is a pastry - a desert. A slowly caramelized, churned drip of butterscotch that warms your tongue. Aside from being stroked and grabbed she desires to be devoured. Taste her like the first lick of an ice cream comb. Lose yourself in your craving like an animal who has hungered for too long. Allow your sweet tooth to take over. And over and over...and over. Face first. A rare dish needing no utensils. Just teeth, barbarism, and an appetite for more. Use your God-given strength to push her knees by her shoulders. And feast. Bite a little. Lick a lot. Dig your teeth in until their roots tingle. Unleash whatever you please. Hagen Daz without the burden of brain freeze. This sweet craving between the two of us. taste your way up and enjoy the sugar rush
Warm Ice Cream
She wondered how he could leave her body like that. Ruffled sheets show some sort of struggle. Dead skin and dried blood under her nails reveal scratching. A certain scent in the air mixed with the past and present. She asks herself with a calm smile “what happened”? She needs to find her clothes. She needs to collect her thoughts. The small tingling sensation left in her legs gave her mind a clue to the last few hours. A standing lamp saved her bra for it's departure. She wondered how it got over there...then remembered. Him behind her, his breath racing around her neck. It all happened so fast. The straps unlatched and he twirled her around. She unsheathed her arms and the bra vanished. A blush made it’s way to her face at the thought. She stands up slowly. The feeling in her legs hadn’t returned entirely. Her heightened view revealed a large wet spot in the sheet. It had to be the source of the scent. Part of it had to be him. She's sucked him awake enough to remember his distinction.
She sniffed the air again and recalled the part of the stain that was hers. In her scent, the answers of last night revealed themselves more. Memories of the sheet compressed between her fingers came back to her. She remembered his right foot pressed into the bed by her elbow and her arm constricted around his leg. She remembered holding on as hard as she could. Taking it as long as possible. Etched in the springs of the bed were the sounds of his desire inside of her. Her moans turned into pleas toward God. As he went faster she remembered thinking how she couldn’t take it. She let go of the sheet and tried to push him away. He smacked her hand away and placed his own around the back of her neck, anchoring her opening into his thrusts. Her freed hand dug into his forearm, grabbing whatever it could. She looked at the dead skin and dried blood under her nails to confirm. The resonating tingling sensation made its way up her spine. She sat back down to allow it to take its course.
Her breathing slowed as the scene played back in her mind. The earlier strokes were slow. The pain of his entry made her flinch slightly. He catered to her at first. She loved that about him. He was never too rough in the beginning. As he slid in and out with more ease he surprised her by going deeper. The sensation of him in her cervix jolted across her spine. It hurt when he went too deep but she loved it. The memories continued and she laid back in the bed, trying to relive the moments. Her fingers played puppet master to her memories. Occasionally diving into the pinkness. They can't substitute for her him, but they imitated him anyway. No man ever made her feel this way. No man ever made her moan to tears, and quiver into ecstasy. Twenty minutes went by until she heard keys turn shingle at the front door. He was home. If it were any other person at her door she would’ve scrambled to put her clothes on, but this time she choose to stay right where she was and remain unclothed. She took her hand off her clitoris. She wouldn't need it anymore. He screamed, "babe!”, but she remained silent. Words had no place here.
He footsteps grew closer. Her lips pulsated with every thump. It's owner was home. He swung the bedroom door open to find her, laying in the nude. Her eyes gave him a look he knew all too well. He pulled his tie downward to his right side; the business man was no longer needed. He removed his clothes: charisma was no longer needed. Without words he knew what she wanted. It was time for round two.
Every woman can be sexy because she is a woman. She is soft to the touch. She is decadent. She is open. Kiss her where she doesn't expect. Take her when she isn't prepared. There is something in you that she wants.....give it to her.
Addicted to bliss. She'd never imagine leaving you and enjoys needing you. Lifting some of your burdens with her pleasure. She's graceful yet grateful that somehow you're still together. She knows how much you enjoy what you're getting. Being yours and not being ashamed at doing certain things in all settings because shes happy giving her man what he wants. She adores being wanted. Admired, Courted, and flaunted. Joyous to have been captivated by a man that completes her. Not a day passes by where she doesn't know that he needs her. Her mind, her soul and her body. Softness loyal to his oblique hardness. His trust in her serves as indefinite narcotics. Her body is his. And before he ever doubts she reassures, by staring through his strength and telling him. "It's yours"
I don't really talk about sex. I just let it run through her mind like a dream carefully implanted. Two steps ahead of her conscious thought. The foreplay of what I might do makes her think of what I can do. So when I tell her I can change her life, she'll reply, "can you"? The seductive invite of flirtatious questioning, only satisfied with an indirect answer of equal intrigue. Will I say "yes"? No. But will I send her a text telling her to come outside in the middle of the night? Yes. Will I grab her ass and tell her that its mine? Probably. As desire increases and our personal space diminishes, she'll have an internal tug-of-war of whether or not to invite me inside. Before she makes up her mind ill give her a kiss good night then smack her ass as she walks away lol. All the while her mind and body will imagine the day where we stop playing. The day where we can no longer resist temptation. The day when I take what she's been wanting to give me. The word "sex" will never leave my mouth. It won't have to. So tell me...what's on your mind?
The art of seduction is never lost in translation. Just do me a favor and let me paint. The joy of sinners is not having to be saints. Tasting who you are to wet my paint brush. Loud shouts to dignify who we are and whoever ain't us. My victory comes in your quivers. Climatic ascensions separating me from other niggas. Blotting out a man's ego of whose dick is bigger. Feeling who you are is my biggest conquest. So to juice you I squeeze upon flesh. Out pours of who you are create mess. I give different levels of aggression to refresh. Reminding her of whose is it. Taking her to oblivion and pulling her back in the distance. She bites her lip to the idea of a man that can tame her. And as she has an out of body experience I fuck the remainder.
Sand shaded hands. Curves written in sand script. Her hair screams of ebony by her eyes whisper mixed. Her shoes screamed Sax Fifth. And I wondered if my confidence could match. A smile to foreshadow my no strings attached. I had a thing for unloosening a latch. A thing for disciplining brats. She found charm in the way I made fun of her. A challenge in how I didn't run from her. Whatever I was, was surprising. And the fact that I never mentioned sex was enticing. She had never met a man like me. And I had never placed my hand by the sea. Yet somehow my fingers got wet. Somewhere before the morning and after our eyes met. In the blur deep kisses and queen sized bed squeaks our emotions found sweat. My finesse stretching her P90X. My name must've been noise, the window pane must've been moist. For all that could be seen was blinds of steam. We rode the moon far beyond its reach. I awoke the next afternoon with sand from the beach.
Your father hates me almost as much as I hate myself.
But It's fun letting go of restrictions
Ice skating in the world of I don't give a fuck
And twirling you around as my partner
Sometimes dropping you on occasion
Maybe even on purpose
You'll be angry enough to throw shit and shove me
Yet addicted enough to still love me
Needing whatever I have
Convicted into coming back
My name baptizing your skin
I'm the worst for you
And you might be the worst for me
But how could I discard someone that worships me
I'm nothing without you
And you're nothing with me
We do shit that they won't
And say things that they can't
Because we suffer what they deem a consequence together
Inconsequential, monumental freedoms
Let's moan in a place where they can hear us
Ill grab you so they know its mine
Foreplay in a foyer with indulgence as our forte
They know we fight but watch us make up
It's always been about us.
We Destroy each other but get addicted to the destruction. I bring out the worst in you, but it's something that you never felt.
Our laughs are sickening.
We are what people consider, inappropriate
But fuck it
We get us