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(in)delicacies…

I straddle you, naked. I am far from perfect but what I am is soft. Unbelievably smooth. You’re reminded of this as you feel my inner thighs rest on the outside of yours. As your hand caresses the side of my hip and traces down, gentle in its casual admiration. You stretch yourself out for me and my hands trace your chest, your shoulders, and lift your hands to my mouth. I kiss you. First your fingers. I place your hands on my breasts, under so you can feel their giddy roundness, the subtle weight that small, perky breasts offer. I kiss your hands that give me such pleasure, luxuriating in your length.

My other hand gently circles again and again around your head – the glistening pre-cum giving me all the lube I need. I take my time with you. I take my time discovering you anew. Mewing my approval so much so that you wish I had tied you up so that you could truly give yourself over to me. My appetite for you is boundless. We both want you to watch me do exactly what I want with your body. Your cock bobs its magical dance to the sound of my voice, transforming my radiant wish into… something more.

“I want you to moan.”

And before the surprise in your exhale has time to rest, my cunt is there, paused just above your face. You think you are the only one who feels helplessness; you don’t realize how distracting your mouth is for me every moment of every day we are apart. My head falls back, anticipating you, us. I can feel your hot breath between my legs.

And you feel it too – you smell my juice – just reading that.
Don’t you?
The moan that just slipped from the back of your throat?
It’s mine.
I claim it for my clit.

I rest my weight on your face. Finally. My back arches in response—in delicate, luxurious echo.

Again, the moan that just slipped out, it is mine—along with all the ones that follow. I bite my lip, I want you so fucking bad. Right now, your claim is the fuck juice between my legs and the tremble in my hands (as I type and) as I hold your head and lift your beautiful face even deeper inside me. My sigh is every pleasure for you unveiled.

There is nothing hidden right now, especially not with the weight I give your mouth as you split me wide and unblushingly suckle, slurp, and seize my folds between your tongue and lips and teeth (so fucking clever, you). And I can’t help myself; I can’t stop grinding every millimeter of my sopping, silken pussy onto your mouth.

My ragged breaths inspire you. I’m riding your face now, sliding up and down, sideways and around, everything you’re doing is so fucking perfect. From between the slick of our sounds, your voice is a growl:

“I want you to moan.”

And the moan that just vibrated out of me now, is yours. Please, claim it for your cum. You must. For the throbbing, bobbing cock begging for release as you read these words and for my swollen, velvet pussy lips that threaten to squirt all over you.

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to experience becoming…

When I am with you, I look at you. I search your eyes for pleasure. I watch your jaw, the crease of your mouth, waiting for the taut line of resistance to give way to blushing pleasure. When I smile at you it is not just because I love the way my pussy petals bloom under your dextrous tongue and suckling lips – it is because you are there between my legs and you, wonderfully naked you, are more than I could’ve hoped for. When I moan with you, when I moan your name, it is because my skin against yours is like nothing before or after. You take my breath, now, then, there, and here. Fuck. My outline on the bed, my arms reaching for you, my legs spreading and my hips teasing you is real. This juice sliding past my velvet folds and over, slicking up my clit – all this wet is you and what you do to me.  My hands read you like a book and give with every breath they take. My nipples… a meditation I trace your body with. Our moans: such humbling, hungry need. I am butter against all your beautifully warm skin and your gorgeous hard cock. When you bend me over, I look back at you. I want to be your pleasure. I offer up all the naked I am for just one moan. Just one pump. Just one cum.

… and then, more.

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holy fuck, yes…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is a spot in my clit that, when pressed/squeezed/sucked, fills my entire body with delicious squirm. There is a spot along your jaw that has the same effect on me – mostly when you look me in the eyes and smile. And always when you moan. Always then.

There is spot in the crook of each elbow (cousin to the same spots behind my knees) that, when licked/suckled/nibbled, fills me wet and raw with hunger. There is a spot under the head of your cock that has the same effect on me – mostly when you groan and tremble uncontrollably with electric need. And always when you blush. Always then.

There is a spot between us that is silent, still. A space that awaits your touch – suspended time. A breath between us, sometimes translated into words we read. Other times, into the secret, soft crevices of the other’s ear. A pause that is the slick juice between my legs, the hardening of my nipples, the arch of my ass into the air, the sweet swelling of my lips, and the reaching of my heart’s skin to feel you inside me. Again.

And again.
Fuck, I need to feel you again.
To see your eyes full of need for me, and for you to see mine, too.

There is a spot inside you, inside me, that neither of us can deny. (As much as we have tried. And will likely try some more.) You: the calm before the storm. Me: the “yes” to your “no.” We trace these spots – so many spots – in our mind’s eye, each time we lick the tips of fingers that still shine with the slick secret of our honey cum.

To remember is to do.
To do is to create memories new.

“Tell me more. Show me.”

Please,

Lola Moi xo

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the sun came and so did i…

I wore a skirt today.
Had you put your hand between my legs
I would have moaned quietly
In the back of my throat with low, soft cries
And looked you square in your beautiful eyes.

I wore a pair of lace panties today.
I almost didn’t, though.
Had you slipped the lace to the side
You would have felt warm, silky lips
Licking your finger tips.

I wore the memory of you
When I slipped away “for a moment.”
Had you only been there.
Each moan undressed me, my gasps commands
As my throbbing clit fed hungry sex to my hands.

Chorus:
I came three times today.
But there you were inside me.
I came three times today.
And there I was astride you.
I came three times today.
As you cried out beside me.

— Lola Moi —