The slip of your skin is beyond my hand’s ability to understand just how good it is to touch you. My fingers smile as I lie next to you, in heat again for your touch, your scent, a look. Your attentions keep me maniacally focused on your breathing with hope for some shred of knowledge that will allow me to learn the secret of making you come so hard your total sexual devotion will become mine for this moment, all mine to make it so you can come again and again in loss of understanding as to how and why it feels so good when your every cell believes it is so wrong/right, so innately wrong/right to let go, to feel openly, voluptuously aroused. Feel it, I want you to feel the thing that’s in you, on you, mounting you again and again in raw wanton need, the thing that you think about when no one knows, when even you don’t know what it is, the thing you mount with your swollen phallus. Your ever wanting need for the best, the biggest, the most complete sensation of cramped and cramping hard clasping crotch, hungry needy greedy open orifice willing to take all of everything to satisfy the endless bottomless, drooling thing that are you in rut. I want you. Want you every time I come. Every time my body bows up in supplication to your memory I cry and whisper your name, goddess of wants flesh drives me writing, your least attention to me leaves me in trembling want of your ass, your skin, your heart, your very wet, hot soul. I want to always leave you pooled in wonder and exhaustion, disheveled and drooled out available for whatever happens next – agape indeed. When you are not near I invent you in every way again and again so I will not perish from the lack of your touch, your warmth, your most amazing lips and skin. Your endless deep open guileless eyes, receptors of reflection, gaze in total darkness with complete comprehension of exactly what I am. Reach for me, any part of me is yours. Put me on you, in you. I want it, want to, with you, now. Your wetness a salve to my tongue heals flesh with soaked connection, heating my soul with satisfaction that the sacred contractions of dripping completion are fundamental to the existence of all.


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