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how hard is hard enough…

Dear Gentle Sir,

What is it like to see the look in my eyes change because of the pleasure you bring to my body? What is it to feel my wet heat seep between the fingers that are knuckle deep in my cunt? How do my warm folds snuggle up against your pumping cock? What part of your body clenches when my mouth drops open as so many moans for you tumble out?

I want to be your chest that heaves with urgency as you undress me. I want to be your eyes that watch our bodies become one and separate and become one over and over again. I want to be your nerves that tingle when my tongue traces around your ears and balls and inner thighs.

What is it that makes it so easy to say “no” to me? What is it that whispers in your reasoning mind when I admit how your skin makes mine heat and my clit ache? What compels you to turn away knowing how I gush and soak my panties every time I hear your voice?

I want to spread for you. I want to jiggle with abandon as we take turns riding riding riding. I want to make you dizzy with permission. I want your hand to be mine and feel it squeeze from the intense pleasure you give me. I want to watch your jaw set with determination as my cum draws near. I want our lips to almost touch as we make a delicious mess together.

What is it that makes you say “yes” to any part of me? What is it about me that charges your balls to swirl under your raging-hard cock? What is it that invites you to think about me even when you don’t mean to or want to or imagine you should? What is it that compels you to spread me wide with your imagination?

I want you. I want you to want me. I want to be you with me; to watch what I feel and experience that deepening of yourself inside you. I want to be your tongue that tastes my goodness and light and power and promise. I want my pleasure to drip into your mouth as it fuels your spirit. I want to look down or up or sideways or over my shoulder, seeing you there… with me.

Deeply Yours,

Lola xo

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the sound of things falling…

The smooth edges of my pussy glide up along your legs to your hips and farther still; I shift and adjust, finally resting at peace here behind you. I trust you with my weight. With the smoothest part of myself, I come to stillness atop your broad back. The oil slides. When I stroke and knead, your body winces from memories it will not speak – the details of all your hurts and joys I will likely never know.

There is a knot wrapped around one of your ribs, under your arm. I place my hand on this, this secret. My long legs straddle your width and our flesh mingles. My clit nestles. You are warm; I am grateful for your heat. With each inhale, I feel your expanse under the soft of my palm. I ease myself into this tender spot hidden under your arm, in the shadow of your bony cage.

For all our uncertainty, you allow me here – with you, in this place. I hold it dear, like a fawn who has yet to try her legs. I protect what lies under hand. This is what I do for you. And in return you close your eyes and breathe… just, breathe. This is what we are: a man and a woman, naked. We are the shadow.

And there is nothing between us. . . nothing except the hot breath of secrets.

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under a waterfall…

Dear Gentle Sir,

Those fingers between my lips – both of them – are yours. Here, against the shower wall,  I spread my long legs (with my foot propped on the ledge, leaning against you). The split of my impossibly smooth thighs invite you to push deeper, to race along the velvet corridor of my cunt. My hips tilt, guiding your eager tips to my sweet g-spot. My jaw drops. My hands find the back of your neck as the water races down, over my smooth mound. I am spread again. For you.

Our eyes meet as my hand grips your wrist, holding you inside me. I push you farther in. I want you here. I want you finger-deep in me and I want to fuck like this. At least for now. At least until you slip out and rub my clit with a focus and intensity that drills me into my hungriest self.

Then back inside. Please. Come back inside. Fuck me hungry like this. For now. Again.

Your fingers make me bite my lip, make me arch my back, make me push into you so that your muscles strain to hold me upright, to fuck me straight. Your fingers plunge, they make me moan. Even reading this, you feel the vibration of my breathless cry in your bones… and our desire leaks out of you in dewy drops that crown the head of your glorious cock. My juice fills your palm, and down your forearm, bathing you in adoration.

I need you like this, plummeting my depths, stirring up this passion, this connection we’ve only dared dream. All this that falls out of me and over you – is a waterfall of grace, appreciation… intimacy. It is my soul. This trust that spreads me and fills me, that makes me buck against you – calling me to dig my nails into your shoulder, bite your chest, and moan from the most secret part of me – is my gift to you.

Yes, you.

I love your hands; a gentleman’s palm… always. You, my sweet lover’s caress. My secret hunger made gorgeous flesh in you. Go on, choose: choose two fingers and turn the hot water on.

I’m waiting,

Lola Moi xo

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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