Words have power. They can make a believer out of you. They can tear you up and tear you down.
Words are an extension of my will and hunger. With words, I can place you under my hands. I can tempt. I can take. I can make you wet – and more, I can make you need it. Read the words below in one breath. Let them unravel in your mind like a crimson ribbon of sex and secrets.
Is there a particular moment where the strength of words has touched you in a way you can never forget? A conversation that lingers with you, and makes you shiver when recalled? A voice on the phone that made you do things naughty and wicked?
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Too far, too little, too much too fast to realign when the signs all say go. With sensations sweet and surpassed only when your momentum slip slides glides free under your feet and casts you free.
Words like fingers wrap around the throat and pull you in until you can’t breath through the heat and the desperate hunger. Reaching inward for safety, but driven there by need until you release all else and give in, give in completely to the desire for more – to not stop with just one touch, one kiss, or one bite. Addiction in moments, using the edge as a reminder of life, flushed skin a heated sign of how tight those fingers can be.
Breath. Breath. Breath.
Now stop.
Pulse of the wrist, pulse of the neck, places of supplication and surrender. Pulsating, perseverance through pressure, protracted pleasure in the way you writhe. Writhe? Right now. Rhythm of reckonings made of rigid lines, wracking your body with risks too sudden and too soon to be questioned. You are here, now, in this desperation and too deeply in debt to a devil you only too willingly sold your soul to despair when all else is said you are simply a morsel too delectable to be passed over.
You are naked. Bare. Stripped. Exposed, exploited, explained and x-rated. You are an empty canvas, melody without words, poetry in heat. You are lust, sinfully languid, lingering in limbs made of little but caresses carved from cradled hopes and lasting dreams.
Mmph…thinking makes it impossible to write, because then I get the shivers all over again…blood goes to other places…and Vicky becomes a begging, quivering, shivering mess. =^.^=