I have a thirst that cannot be quenched. I am hungry but have no sustenance.
I need all the dirty, sexy, kinky things he does to me. I need to beg. I need to crawl. I need to kneel. I need to submit to his every whim.
I want to suck and kiss. I want to nip and bite. I want to spread myself wide. I want to endure every sadistic moment.
We’ve been apart so long now, longer than ever. I could ask for relief. I could ask to play. I could ask to orgasm. I could ask all of those things. But it would be no different than offering a thirsty person a single drop of water. It would never be enough, and I’d only become thirstier than before.
Watching others fuck. Reading friends’ experiences. Hearing sultry, sensual voices. All of these things cause an ache in my belly and at the apex of my thighs. I lean forward as if I can somehow enter that space and taste the fruits of their passion myself.
I am hungry, starving for him, for us, for every passionate experience we can wring out of each other.
Closing my eyes, I can feel the heat from his hand searing my flesh. I know the sound of his voice in my ear. My scalp burns with the remembered tug of his hand in my hair. The flick of his tongue across my most sensitive parts, the blood rushing to swollen bits, the pulse and throb of an aching desire – I remember them all well.
I miss the soreness of a throat seared raw with screams. I miss the puffy lips from biting kisses. I miss the tender folds from relentless fucking. I miss the sticky proof between my legs, dripping out of my body, reminding me that I am truly marked and owned.
Fierce in my hunger, my lust knows no bounds. I am starving.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday. This week’s prompt is “Hungry.” Bet you can guess what I’m hungry for, huh?