i am hunger…

i am hunger 1i am hunger 2

All night you waited for morning,
all morning
for afternoon,
all afternoon for night;
and still the longing sings.

—Ruth Stone—

 

 

A taste of you slipped
into me
like moonlight in a
locked church.

—Janet Lees—

making art is hard…

You will bite my bold nipples through my shirt. I will strip while you watch, leaving my panties for you. You will slowly slip my panties to the side, pausing to adore my smooth, swollen lips. I will spread my long, smooth legs as you press your tongue hot against my clit. I will buck against your teeth. You will suck some more. I will moan and grab your head, pushing you deeper into my slippery warmth. You will moan. I will echo so ardently you almost cum. Your face will fuck me wild. I will cum in your sweet, hungry, clever mouth. And neither of us will apologize.

art is hard

we sit down to sup…

I want to lie face up. Legs spread. Looking you in the eyes. I want to trace my body so that you follow my curves and mounds and perfect imperfections down to where I most need you.

Then, I want your mouth to kiss my knee caps. I want your nose and mouth to trail down from there until you come to rest right between my legs. Smell me. I am the flower of your need. I am in full bloom. My petals already glisten-smooth-silk for you.

Let me feel your tongue slide along my slot. Go on, slick me up. Whet me even more than I already am. Feel the tip of my clit, flick it with your tongue… hard. Dip in now. Feel my lips enfolding yours as you suck me in.  I don’t want your tender, tentative mouth; I want you to draw out what ails me until I am nothing but feverish moans.

I want your mouth to bury itself inside my velvet seams until my back arches and my head falls back with a gasp. I want you sloppy, greedy, ravenous. The wet on your mouth, chin, and cheeks will become the same flavour that drips from my cunt and glistens on my thighs.

(Oh, how I want to feel your swelling cock in my hands, my mouth, my everywhere right now but now… this right now? We are here. Oh, fuck, you. are. so. here.)

Slurping, swallowing, sopping and suctioning yourself to me will only make me want to fuck you hard and deep and long – so passionately that your head will spin. My gasps and deep, throaty moans may suggest I need you to stop, that I need to pause to catch my breath, but no… oh, fuck, no:

“Don’t stop. It’s perfect… oh, so perfect. Please, please don’t stop.”

In fact, this is when my soft inner thighs will grip your ears so I can buck my hips up and thrust my clit deeper into your mouth. Deeper. I want to feel my clit bloom, wrapped inside your suckling, craving tongue.

This is when I want you to look up. I want you to see what you are doing to me. I want you to watch me delirious from the pleasure you give me. I want you to feel the heat off my rosy cheeks.

I want to look down and see you there, pinned between my legs, latched on to my pussy. I want to look into your eyes as I gasp your name… my treasure, my glorious lover.

Don’t ever stop.

paradise by the dashboard lights…

I was driving today in the rain. Stopped at a light, I dropped my chapstick between my legs… like, deep between my legs. When I went to retrieve it, my fingers brushed my clit and I paused. Slowly, I began to trace the smooth material covering my most secret of parts.

I realized how hard it must be for you to find the trip wire of my clit when I am packaged so. I imagined you reaching from the passenger’s seat – like the last time we drove together.  My legs parted gently. I saw your beautiful face, your intoxicating eyes, and a moan escaped as I – as you – pressed hard on the tip of my warming iceberg.

The vigour of my rubbing increased until the friction peaked in a pulse of wet, soaking my soft and pretty-now-slippery panties. Cars were honking and driving around me by now, the light having changed long ago. I slipped my hand into my tights and from the side, released my pulsing lips.

Soft.
Fuck, my cunt is so warm and butter-soft when I am like this… when my body remembers your touch.

I danced my fingers between my folds. I could smell myself and my sweet aroma of need. I licked my lips, dropping my head back on the headrest. My thumb rubbed and pressed my clit (exactly the way I love – the way that makes my legs tremble)  as my fingers spread and slipped into the wet-wet of my cunt.

When my fingers (yes, plural) filled me, it was your hand. My gasps and moans were echo to yours. The heat of my rosy cheeks fogged up my windows. My hips shimmied around my spontaneous self-pleasure. My fingers – yours – plunged in and out, in and out as my clit grew fuller and unbelievably plush under my thumb – the same thumb that I now imagined was your mouth.

Wet.
Fuck, my cunt is so wet and thrumming-with-thick hunger when you are with me like this.  You whipped me into a moaning, trembling, arching plea for more.

When finally I came, my cries matched the rhythm of the dashboard’s hazard light. My breasts arched to the sunroof and my toes curled inside my rainboots. You must’ve heard how your name danced on my O-shaped lips between the cacophony of “yes!” and “oh!”

I licked my fingers for you, sitting there catching your breath beside me. I licked my fingers as my other hand slowly opened your pants. I licked my fingers as my wet mingled with the heat inside your underwear. As I gripped your beautiful hard and kissed you, your hand returned the grip as it slipped into my hair.

Hard.
Our mutual grips re-heat our imagination and I don’t care how many lights need to change for you to cum with me… I just need to hear your sweet release.