fuck…

Dear Gentle Sir,

When you fuck me, don’t say we’re making love.

Just ride me. Let me ride you, my dark mane gone wild. Slip your need deep into the velvet caress of my throat. Mould my tits to your strong hands. Squeeze. Ply me open with your tongue. Sweat with me. Thrash your head side to side, try not to grip the pillows. Try not to get lost. Try not to want more. Try, with each groaning gasp to tell yourself this fuck is not who you are. Let all those fingers slip inside and pound my tender cum-spot. Make me ripe. This wet splashing over eyes closed, arched spines, clenched toes. A cock alive, dancing for more. Pumping. Pounding. Pulsating. All into me. Turning us each inside outside the other.

This is not love. This is more. And nothing like before.

Fuck,

Lola Moi xo

4 Replies to “fuck…”

      1. I’ve actually had an explosion of thoughts about this all morning, in a dozen different directions. This might be one of the rare posts where I’m questioning my interpretation of this post.

        An odd question for me to ask, perhaps, but do you want me to throw those thoughts out here unfiltered? A genuine question.

        1. I love that your brain explodes with thoughts in a dozen different directions – my brain does too. 🙂

          I am very appreciative of your insights, interpretations, and queries. Even if they may not be spot-on, that doesn’t mean they are invalid – they are your response to the post.

          So, of course you may throw your unfiltered thots my way (as you always have) but for the sake of discretion, I may not always address them as directly as you may want me to in such a public forum…

          I remain genuinely interested in your thots, Dave. And as with many of my posts, I think there are several entry points (pun intended) to this particular post… so, it doesn’t surprise me that there may be twists and turns in your thinking.

          🙂

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