Want, Circa 2014

When you have me at your disposal, I beg this one thing of you - don't touch my pussy. Ignore that part of me. Show not the least bit of interest in it.

Take the rest of my body and ravage it. Stand me in front of a mirror, your arm wrapped around my torso, holding me to yourself, my hair bunched in your fist as you tilt my neck back to take in a whiff of my perfume. Trace your possession of my body in minute detail, your hands and fingers claiming my eyes, my lips, my nose, my tongue as yours. Trace lines over my thighs, my hips, my stomach - but don't pay any attention to the valley 'twixt my legs. Bind my hands behind my back with your belt, making me shiver at the feel of leather on my skin. Only bother to run your fingers over my panties when you slide them off my ass to squeeze and fondle it.

Bend me over the couch with your hand at the small of my back, positioning me just so to receive the blows I deserve and crave - deliberate, unyielding smacks that turn my ass cheeks warm and red, my cries muffled by the gag you've casually shoved into my mouth. Don't stop until my upper thighs glow just as brightly, and all I can do is squeal unintelligible things as my legs tremble from the sensory overload.

Ignore my aching cunt because it's not time for it yet, but grab me by my restrained arms and pull me onto your lap, still just short of being able to grind against your erection. As you undo the belt, kiss me, consume me, own me; pull my hair, devour my breasts, whisper your intentions in my ear, and call me out on all my wicked behaviour - make me feel the burning river of shame and arousal trickle all the way down to add to that pool of damp heat.

Make me so wet, so desperate for you, that my sodden panties make a mess on your jeans. When you notice it, set about punishing me for being so needy, so lustful, by hauling me to the bed, tipping my head back over the edge, and giving me a throatful of cock to choke on. Tell me how wanton I look lying there with your hard shaft pumping balls-deep into my mouth. Tell me how you can hear my moans as I suck and slurp at you. Tell me how good it feels to feel my throat convulse around you. Watch me squirm, watch me try to touch myself, slap my hand away, and watch me buck against thin air, my whine making itself felt as a humming against your cock. And just when my throat is starting to feel raw, pull out and come on my breasts and my face, my gasps spurring you on.

Lie down beside me to catch your breath as I catch mine, one hand idly clutching my breast, absently pinching the nipple hard enough that my pleasure/pain receptors short-circuit. Even now, ignore my cunt and its stream of wetness, even as I futilely attempt to gain friction against the sheets, my hands, your body, anything. Hold me down as I struggle, denying me still. Describe how needy and desperate I look as I do this. Hear me moan in response, a continuous feedback loop to infinity. Make me beg for your fingers on my cunt before you even begin to consider it.

Some Like It Rough

There is a fierceness to desire that I love. The burning heat, the urgency, the moaned excitement, the little noises of arousal and intensity - all these markers of want drive it up for me a few notches and make an already good scene superlative.

I want to drive a man so mad with want that he leaves impressions of that madness on my skin, in bruises where his thumbs dig in while we writhe together, our bodies feeding off each other's reactions. To hear a shuddering breath and feel my own pulse quicken in response, to bring his hand to my throat and let my racing heart reveal itself in veins quivering against his grip. To let my fingers speak my intentions, let my nails graze sensitive flesh, let my palm curl around hardness and heat in ways so intense and so demanding that incoherent cries are all that he can give me as I give him deliverance. To moan into sheets as I feel hot drops splash onto my breasts, to feel marked and owned by the hands that rub that seed into my skin, leaving me with reminders that I can wash off but never let go of. To be held hard and tight, arms wrapped around me, holding me in place, to be fucked with an appetite so large that I am sated and begging before he comes on my face.

One More Night

That night keeps running through my head in flashes. It gives me little shivers, jolts I can't quite handle, causing sharp intakes of breath as I recall in vivid detail the things we did, the things You did to Me.

I want more. More of that.

More of your body, which I can't get enough of - I want to run my hands all over you, just feeling the skin and muscle and heat, feeling all of you alive under my fingertips.

More of your cock, warm in my hands, rubbing gently over my lips, my cheeks, my closed eyelids.

More of your hands, running down my sides, dancing along my back, the feather-light touch making me gasp and arch for you.

More of your fingers, slipping into my slick pussy, the heel of your palm grinding against my clit, your hand laying claim to my wetness, my arousal.

More of your lips, thickly meshing with mine, then lazily meandering down my throat, your tongue wreaking havoc on my self-control as you envelop my neck in wet heat.

I want more of you all the time.

When we're out getting coffee. When we're singing. In your car, going somewhere. Talking (sometimes I stop paying attention to what you're saying, lost in miniature fantasies). Walking down the street, my eyes drinking you in as you make your way ahead of me.

You say I have no shame. I say I can't make myself hold back. I can't. I won't.

I want to turn to you to say something, only to find you looking at me with naked want in your eyes. As we hug hello, murmur into my ear that I look eminently fuckable. Grin at how I involuntarily stiffen at that, my eyes widening slightly. Leave a promise in that grin, a promise to follow through on your words.

Pull me into a kiss that leaves me breathless and biting my lip - you know that look well. Turn me on by words, by your clear intent, by your lips on mine, by your hands winding into my hair, then sharply tugging it back so you can nip at my neck; turn me on steadily, deliberately, painfully; until I beg, shamefacedly inarticulate, cheeks hot with need, for you to take me.

Deny me still, as I squirm and writhe beneath your touch, until, finally, you give me a taste of what I'm craving. Dispense with the preliminaries and just reach for my nipples, tug at them, pinch them until I moan and ask you to fuck me. I will. I'll bite my lip and hiss it, spit it out, mean it with all my soul. Don't listen to me. Instead, hold me down, ignoring my frustrated struggling, and bring your lips to my aching cunt.

Snippet

The scent of you is still here, lingering on my fingers -
The most maddeningly delicious whiff of what came before.
It quietly works its way into my mind, a little at a time
Till I'm driven quite insane, and can stand it no more.

I must have you again.
Must feel the blinding heat again,
I need to close my eyes and feel you
Speeding through me with every heartbeat again.