… along the creases of my softest skin.
to fortify the morning…
It may be cliché but it’s true:
I awoke needing your mouth
on my clit…
feeling your beautiful hard
in my hand…
wake up call…
Here I lie, warm under my covers
and yet, my nipples are so hard. . .
hooked…
oh, my juice…
I masturbate.
I think of you.
I cum.
… because there is this: your lips, your tongue, your fingers, your anything you want… tracing over these dips and waves of me. You trace me, leaving a trail. And I watch you. I fucking want you. My hands hold you – slip along your nape – and my fingers slide through your hair as you pass over me again. And again. My fingers grip your dewy tip, I cup the throat of your cock, choking it, gripping your heat; your shaft warms me. I know because I feel your heat mix with mine – slick, between my thighs and folds of my sweet cunt – it slides between my ass cheeks. I am like this for you. We will fuck soon. I want you to fill me as much as you want, as deep as you can, as hard and hungry as we must. I tug and spin my clever fingers around the head of your throbbing need and down, down, to your rock-hard base. Your balls fit perfectly in my hands. You are so beautiful.
I kiss you and bite your lip – my tongue, a foreshadow of what is to cum.
You moan and grow even more in my hands.
Oh, my juice… I am so wet. So fucking wet.
i need to cum…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Mornings like this, I wake full of need… and the magic that is my hands, just doesn’t quite cut it. Fuck.
Achingly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
ps: Your moans are the sexiest thing… ever.
morning ache…
L
L
“The morning undressed the night slowly.”
L
– 6-Word Story #91 –
forever is composed of nows…
I wake to the memory of your body; kissing your back, your ass, your chest. My fingers running along your tummy and waist, under your shirt. Your smells. Our hands gripped tight in sweet, heated pleasure. My legs around your hips. My feet pushing against yours & in your mouth… the way you look at me when we kiss… of being in your arms, tracing your width, wrapping my arms around you.
Even when I’m not even fully awake, my body yearns for yours. All I want is to feel that again – to feel you on my skin and inside me, to slide you between my lips, and feel you so deep. Fuck. Here in bed, naked for you, you make me moan, like, out loud. And I want you to hear me, to watch me take my time, and hold me as I buck: fuckfuck fucking hot fuck.
Hit the snooze button.
Hit it hard.
Yes, hard.
Harder.
Fuck, yes.
H…
a harbour like st. ives…
Dear Gentle Sir,
There is this:
The morning dew.
My velvet petals.
My body coos for you as it often does in the morning… in case you’ve forgotten. In case you wanted to be reminded. And now, as I slide my hands down the length of my torso, my warm, waking body stirs to what I imagine are your hands. Like mist on mornings, I wake to wanting you and your ways on me. But there is more. And more I cannot say.
I think of Keats:
For you to trust me and me to trust you,
you have to accept me and I have to accept you
the way I am and the way you are,
fully seen and deeply known,
with no need of apology –
with my body imperfections and with yours,
with my character shortcomings and yours, too…
for you are a sacred gift to me
and I am a sacred gift to you,
and gifts are to be gratefully accepted
and heartily enjoyed,
but only if you trust me and I trust you,
can we let ourselves be ourselves
and forget real or unreal barriers,
conventions or inhibitions,
as to profoundly enjoy
what we’ve been granted:
you – the gift of me,
me – the gift of you,
as deeply as our inner worlds
can take us in,
with trust
and joy.
… that, and I want to make you cum hard. Yes, that, there is that.
Softly Yours,
Lola Moi xo