If he be a pirate, I be the treasure he seeks.
Plundering depths. Ravaging shores.
Leaving raging fires in his wake.
John Brownstone has this way of approaching me when he’s in a particular mood. Calm and quiet, his gait becomes stealthy and graceful, like a man whose got his sea legs and knows the exact path to take.
He traps me with a gaze. A word. A crook of his finger.
I’m also the most willing of victims, happy to be plundered, ready and willing.
My body responds to the first look, long before the first touch. When he dips a finger into dark folds, wet heat greets him. Muscles clench, drawing him in, as if to say, “This is the treasure you’ve been looking for.”
When he presses his body against mine, I yield. No feeble attempts to push a brute away. Hell no. I fucking invite this brute in, spread my legs and offer myself as tribute.
He may be a marauding invader, but I’m a land happily conquered. Throw open the hatches, and let pirates descend. Guide them to port and set anchor.
Who needs rum, when I’ve got something sweeter to offer? What good is gold when he can have silk and satiny skin?
“Not all treasure’s silver and gold, mate.” – Jack Sparrow
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This week’s prompt is pirates, and without even trying, today’s image of John Brownstone put me in mind of an invader. Need more? Click below!