Anticipation… The first touch.

A brush, a caress, a digit trailing from stem to crown hinting at one thing. 

You will be mine. 

Dressed, or undressed to tease to tempt, the desire to open yourself to the lust and cravings. Made to hold yourself there slightly open, vulnerable, and exposed. Nothing touching you save the air itself as the only sound in the room is the pulse of your breath inhaling, exhaling.

The extended wait, the impossible patience, the wanting turning into insatiable need. Only a single finger to give your body connection to me, its sole purpose to trace the outlines of your body. Lone and solitary as it travels from hairline to neckline, dipping into the crook of your shoulder and around the lines of your blade.It stops for a brief moment . Holding your breath as it holds it’s position. Once more travelling it’s long journey on the road of your spine as it begins its lonely descent into the crevasse of your sex. 

Heat and desire, lust and lavasciousnes, inviting the lone invader into her folds. Wanting, needing, lusting, craving, as it moves ever slowly parting folds like a predator through the forest stalking its prey. The scent of her desire moist upon the air. Aching and quivering, as it simply slides down further slipping from stem to budding crown of your sex, the treasure it sought if now found, as it enters it’s prize, so it gains the one thing it came for the most, the sounds of your moans.


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