The lightest stroke against my body ignites a flame. Desire is the spark. His touch, the fuel.
I writhe and moan. I scream and whimper. I turn inside out, begging for more and for less.
No words are spoken. He knows I’m trapped, caught in a snare made of nerve-endings and desire, pain and pleasure.
I plead, for what I don’t know.
I scream in frustration, both wanting and fearing more.
I offer other sweet bits of skin for his pleasure, anything to make the burning stop, to make the overpowering waves of need subside.
All I’ve done is thrown kindling on the fire.
Strums of fingertips are joined by flicks of tongue on sensitive skin.
I melt into a puddle of pure want.
More, I must have more. Don’t stop, never stop.
Please, God, stop. I can’t take it.
No is not a safeword.
Until I hear the words that will set me free.
“Come for me, girl.”
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! Lately, I’ve been super-sensitive and some form of this keeps happening. It’s both amazing and maddening, but he seems to like it. Okay, enough about me. Go forth and read other bits of smutty goodness!