Upon his breath (Part One)

 

Men say their cocks ache when aroused, that just the mere whiff of a tryst sets them on the sexual precipice.  The smell of her skin, the slightly musky undertones of arousal that register long before the notes of her perfume hit your nostrils sinking into you deep.
 
In this way of arousal, I find myself thinking of you, what little I know has enticed me no end and I find my fingers creeping down my panties at random times to satiate the growing need for your voice.   Our interludes have awakened me.
 
I long to hear you laugh, to learn of the little things that make you unique, happy and full of wonder.  You tell me I’ve been on  your mind, thinking of gasps and audible moans you alone elicit.  My name upon your lips is like sex, dirty, earth shakingly good sex.  You know the kind that makes your pussy clench every time you remember it in minute detail.  The kind that makes  you bite your lip tellingly.  The kind that may break some small barrier of control you thought you had.
 
 I tell myself I want to hear you say my name over and over as you fuck me with the power and mercy of a man that lives life with passion and disregard for niceties.  You say my name like it’s a gift and a question all at once.  My pussy is already throbbing when I slide into bed to exchange intimacies with you, and we start slow for this journey is not to be rushed. 
 
You explore my mouth first with hard tongue, and gentle lips – pulling my neck back to your face to tenderly assault my senses.  You remember I’m most sensitive here and tongue your way along the taut muscle with infinite care.  I’m aware of the wetness of my cunt seeping down into my cleft, my clit and my knickers as you take your time, always relishing my smell, my soft mews and my finger tips scraping against your chest.  Small licks along the collarbone to soft  nibbles on my ear as you tell me I taste good, and that you hope my pussy is getting wet for your mouth.  We both know it is, but there is no rush to the centre of my desire just yet.
 
Kissing goes from open mouthed to hard and punishing as we test each other, combatants in the most intimate duel of all.  Tongues meshed together, breathing as one you stop to look into me, to remember the moment as if a snapshot.  My cheeks are flushed, eyes opening widely to look into yours with a slight sense of shock and vulnerability.  Eyes you first thought of as a cool blue are a strong shade of grey, and the storm in them is only going to be unleashed.  You wonder if my eyes will light up when I ride you hard, taking you at my whim and you stiffen just a little bit more, the precum leaking more profusely now.
 
You edge me against your desk carefully, the juxtaposition between hard desk and hard cock isn’t missed by my body or wanting mind. “Are  you wet for me ??  show me”
 
I smile at you and say “You forgot please” wearing that god damned incessant smirk on my face.  You smile back for only a moment before pinning me against the nearest wall, your hands grabbing my slender wrists and pushing them above my head.  My reaction is to look at you wide eyed, and in lustful shock.
 
My insolence merely leads you to edge your fingers up my thighs, above the stockings I’m wearing adorned for your eyes.  You note the silky texture is not a match to my soft, warm pale skin.  The faint smell of powder mixed with my musk making you throb painfully.  I’m wet enough for you to smell, and those fingers push up against my knickers to feel the effect.  There’s a sense of satisfaction you feel whilst stroking me through the fabric, that the momentary discomfort is lusciously wanted.

The Study (new poem)

I get much inspiration from like minded sensualists, so thanks for fuelling the fire and roleplay.

The tone is meant to start off slow and in control within a study, or a private den surrounded by books and leather, it’s comforting, warm and a soft lull. As the poem continues it’s meant to be in the tone of a woman realising she’s a little out of her depth, pushed beyond her safe little sensual world. Spacing in poetry tells as much as a story, silences and pauses are very revealing. Enjoy x

The Study

Your hands on my ass means
acceptance
The silk against my wrists
exploration
Your lips against my neck
arousing
The hardness of your cock
urgent
Your fingers tease my cunt
s l o w l y
The linen of your trousers
denying
Your eyes peering into mine
unravelling
The length of you rubbing into me
wanting
Your utter control of my skin
unwavering
The need to shed my layers
desperate
Your kiss……. getting me
closer
The crescendo of want

Please

Make

Me

Cum

Stethoscopes are the new sexy?

Yes, you’ve read correctly and are probably raising an eyebrow.  That’s good, as maybe someone out there in this big, vast world of fetishes can tell me why stethoscopes are possibly sexy.  Not used concurrently with a naughty nurse outfit just on their own.  I ask because it’s something a medical professional in my chat room asked for and was deadly serious about wanting to see adorned on me.

I’m also noticing an influx of lactation enthusiasts wanting me to somehow produce milk, the best do is to get the milk out of the fridge and open the lid slowly, with infinite care when ‘open milk bb’ is uttered.  What’s that… you didn’t want or expect milk opened from a container?  Oh well, should have specified your request better.

I have had some of the best moments taking things very literally when yes I know the intent and meaning but I turn it around to be fluent in sarcasm.  Hence melons invite real fruit, puppies denote pictures of cute little animals and all the while those with an attitude of entitlement are bewildered. 

I’m heartened that so many men are asking for poetry readings online by myself, there’s a genuineness to exploring writing and creativity in a respectful and erotic manner that surprises me.  I think I’m projecting my own sense of anxiety and performance pressure but I’m looking forward to doing this when I have the appropriate ‘stage’ and attire set up.  I’d like to appear in a velvet, bosom enhancing number with burlesque style tassles and nipple covers so that as I use my voice, my hands and persona to entice the body facilitates and mirrors the sensuality of the words and images spoken.  I’d love to smoke an elegant cigar but I fear I’d then start coughing and sneezing in such a way it becomes a comedy routine.

And if someone can tell me just what ‘dick leather’ is (probably courtesy of google translate) I would be most obliged.