Tag Archives: animal pleasure

no magic formula…

Put your hands on my knees,
she said,
and think of me as a book you’ve been dying to read.

—Michael Faudet—

what a lovely mess…

Let’s have the kind of sex that makes me lose track of where my body is.
That makes me pant and moan like an animal.
Mouth. Pussy. Ass.
I want you everyfuckingwhere.

Protected: but(t) more…

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

never the same again…


All sorts of things in this world behave like mirrors.


— Jacques Lacan —

staring at the sun…

staring at the sun


and bay the moon…

All night I hear
so many echoes in the forest I’m tempted
to look back, to save myself in hindsight,
where all I see is the absence of me.
Where all I hear is your voice…

— Chard deNiord —

the stars burnHow should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

— W.H. Auden —

always something there to remind me…

You beg for your dinner; your mouth sucks the marrow of each moan from me.  My hands reach for the promise burgeoning between your thighs. You pulse with ache, marking each and every grind until you are so thick my fingers simply cannot meet around the heat of your shaft.  What surprises me is your length… and girth. And at full salute, you are profound. You are glorious. You blush when I say so and my pussy gushes with pleasure. Pushing past the grip of my hungry lips, I am breathless with how you fill me… and all I can think is “again.”

always something there to remind me

when we belong to the world…

Another evening ends, and the public goodbyes are said. They walk under cool skies, appearing calm to anyone who might see them. Yet their hearts beat brisk as they walk side by side, wrists barely touching.  They sneak a kiss under a tree and again around the corner as he pulls her to him, pressing her against the brick while she, standing on tippy toes, eagerly reaches to meet his lips…

Your voice husky in my ear: you can’t wait for me. This is what you say.

Another moon rises while songs and words echo from the evening’s entertainment – an evening like so many others but none like this – just before this moment. He holds yet another door open for her, inhaling her as she passes under his nose. His cock is bone-heavy, and pushes against his pants, almost panting, he wants her so badly. He leads her now, holding her hand where no one can see, through a door they’ve walked through countless times before.

My voice hungry in your ear: you touch yourself for me. This is what you do.

And when he locks the door he knows this is it; he knows he will never go back, that nothing else will matter like this will… does… and she, she will never be the same.  Finally, they are alone. There is no hiding, no more waiting. She is wet. All she wants is for him to slip between her smooth folds, she has shaved especially in anticipation. He smiles at her sweet shiver.

Your breath catches: my wet wraps around you. This is what you want.

The soft music fills the air around them – this music, playing on a cd he’s made for her because he wants to fill her with music – like she does him. When his thick, full rod throbs against the end of her small, tight cunt their music swells and every time after this, whenever she hears this music, she will hear his whimpers for her supple curves, feel his tongue suckling her ear, neck, and pert nipples; she will feel the vibration of his moans, and feel his hands tugging on her like his life depends on her.  Looking only into the brightness of her adoration, and her vitality, he blinds himself to everything but this music.

You look deep into my eyes: my small makes way for your big. This is why you are here.

Her voice gasps his name. His rhythm pounces on his need and she obliges, she obliges, she begs and nods and grasps and arches and he drinks her in with every inch he is.  Their muffled animal cries sink into corners of the other’s skin. She imprints on him, in him, to the end of his bone(s). She is one of many and yet, somehow tonight, she feels like the first, maybe even… and so he lets her be the Only for this moment that lasts forever.  And when they cum, they cum together slowly, their breath hot as the Sahara – fevered and languorous. Each breath takes a lifetime to catch again.

(They listen between settling breaths: traffic winging in the distance, a branch against a window, raccoons fighting, buds blooming, or maybe snow falling, a faraway sigh between commercials, rumblings of metal below…)

You kiss and caress me: you smile your love.  This is what you take.

That is where we are.

to be the candle…

Sex isn’t all that important, but it is when you love someone very much.

– Ava Gardner  –

to be the candle

until it’s done…

a bridge too farOh, to be that hand that fondlespinchestwistsprobessqueezes
Oh, to be that mouth that slurpscaressesdrinkssuckles
Oh, to be that cock that dancesplungespoundsfillspulses
Oh, to be that cunt that takesitallandmore

to be wanted
to be the first and most
to be the last and beloved
to be all that I am not




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox

Join other followers:

%d bloggers like this: