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The rain taps against the window. The wind howls through tree branches. Limbs and leaves fall heavily on the roof. A Florida rainstorm in full force.
It soothes and distracts. This isn't working weather. This is snuggle weather. Snuggle with a blanket and book. Snuggle with a cock or cunt. Whatever your preference, this is a moment that deserves warmth and touch.
Instead, I sit under a harsh light, hair pulled back, fingers clicking and clacking away, desperate for the luxury of a smutty thought. An erotic picture in my head.
The images are as elusive as the desires are strong.
Yes, tongue on skin sounds quite nice. No, I can't conjure up the desire to describe it - or the words to do it justice.
Yes, deep thrusts and the friction of skin on skin are memories that live just below my skin. No, I don't recall the pulsing, throbbing desire.
Yes, the scrape of carpet on knees and denim on my cheek is a strong craving of mine. No, I won't give in to the urge right now.
Instead, I'll search for words that don't matter on topics that don't excite and pretend lust isn't my flavor of choice. Maybe later, when I'm naked and out of the harsh glare of light, able to snuggle under dark covers and blot out the world, maybe then I'll forego words and focus on action.
Hands roaming. Fingers strumming. Body pulsing. Cunt throbbing. Knees spreading. Thighs parting. Breath catching. Nipples puckering.
Yes, maybe later. But not now. Now, I work.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday where the prompt for this week is 500 years in the future. Unfortunately, I can't focus on that right now as I'm mostly focused on five minutes in the future. Until then, I'll attempt to ignore my own smutty thoughts and get back to work.