endless possibilities.

I find myself at a loss of what to write to you. How can I put into words, the feelings you conjure, and the tantalizing visuals you produce in my head? How can I write a fantasy, knowing it will never be exactly what I want, because I orchestrate it, rather than we? When my lips brush yours, would you lightly stroke the nape of my neck with your fingers? Or would you suck my lower lip, asking without words to gain entrance so that your tongue could find my own? Perhaps you'd demand, rather than ask, pulling me tightly against you until my body is crushed against yours, your mouth devouring my own with no apology.

Each action can in turn set off its own chain of possible reactions, which would in turn set off different responses from me... the possibilities are quite frankly endless my darling. Endless. Let's return to that simple, innocent kiss.

My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your fingers curl to the nape of my neck, stroking the fine hairs until I feel small shocks of electricity. Gasping, my lips part and you seize the moment, your tongue stroking my lip, coaxing my mouth to open more. Your hands slip down my back, softly tracing the curve of my sides, the tiny indentation of my spine. I exhale slowly, my breath warm on you as my tongue dances tentatively with yours, a game of cat and mouse -- meeting, retreating, but always returning. My hands cup your jaw, thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks as we both close our eyes, lost in a moment that has become an eternity of tenderness.

My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your teeth catch my lower lip, sucking it playfully. Rather than pull away, I press my lips more firmly against yours, coaxing your teeth apart with my tongue. My hands glide restlessly along your chest, unfastening the buttons in their wake until my fingers soothingly slide against your unrestricted skin. As my tongue swirls against yours my fingers bite lightly into your hips, pulling the evidence of your arousal against my abdomen, where each shift in my movement brushes against you intimately. Our mouths part and my lips move of their own volition along your neck, seeking the hollow of your throat. I hear the soft groan of approval just as I feel the shiver of your voice directly against my lips. My tongue strokes the spot lazily before moving to the side of your neck. My teeth scrape your skin as I suck lightly, tasting you and then bathing the spot in soft tender kisses.

   My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your growl in response causes my heart to leap, and before I can think, your mouth is hot against mine, demanding entrance with such a force I have no option but to concede. Your hands snake around me, grasping my backside and pulling me roughly against you. There is no thought but your taste, your scent, the feeling of your thickening manhood pressing through your pants as if it is mocking the flimsy material of my skirt. Your hands ride higher, sliding underneath my blouse and along my back. My hands grip your shoulders helplessly, and I feel needful, wanton. Your hands stop momentarily at my sides, your thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts and a faint grunt of approval as you find I am only clothed by the shirt. I feel your muscles clench beneath my hands and somewhere mixed in with the sound of my blood thundering in my ears come the rip of cloth, the pop of buttons.

Drowning against you, in you, I wrench my head free with a gasp for air, trying to clear my overloaded senses. Before the breath fills my lungs, it escapes in a moan as you lower your head to my exposed breasts, your mouth fastened to my nipple. Your tongue flicks harshly against the sensitive nub, a tortuous pleasure conceived to once again banish any logical thought from my mind, replacing it with a pure, almost primal, feeling. A desolate sigh leaves my dry lips as you relinquish your possession of my breast. Within moments your shirt is off and my hands aimlessly roam your back, stroking every muscle, every shift and plane in your flesh. You pick me up and deposit me without fanfare on the counter, lowering your head once more to my other breast before I can utter a word. Your lips and tongue circle the rigid peak of my nipple, driving me to distraction as I shift restlessly, trying to coax you into sucking my nipple. Cool stone chills my flushed skin. I tilt my head down, watching you, and realize you've pulled my skirt up to my waist without ceremony. Your eyes catch mine and hold them, a silent challenge reflected there. You continue to watch me as your mouth finally hovers over the painfully hard nipple, lightly brushing your lips against it. My eyes flutter shut and the sensations instantly stop, and as my eyes open once more I watch you, watching me.

  Your tongue flicks once and a strangled moan escapes my throat, but my eyes remain riveted to yours. Your teeth scrape lightly and I shudder, watching you intently with what I know is a pleading stare. You finally concede and I am swept away again as molten heat spreads through me with each suck and scrape of your mouth. My nails rake down your back, . I squirm uncontrollably, desperately, until you grab my hips and pull me forward.............


  ... I really must apologise... I had a point... but I forgot it. Right now my only desire is to have you close to me, to explore these endless possibilities.

 

NSFW.... NSFW.... Shhh secrets I keep ......NSFW... NSFW..

For P. 

Giving pleasure to my lover is something that transcends arousal, for me - it's everything. There is nothing more erotic, more satisfying, more unbelievable than giving untold pleasure to your partner and watch the pleasure ride them until everything breaks loose and they jump and shudder and moan.

 I like to be noisy - again, I've always found it to be a powerful aphrodisiac both for my lovers and for me, as well. Being noisy lets your partner know how well you're enjoying their hands, their tongue, their cock.... or any other body part, for that matter. And to me, sound is an important element in the act of lovemaking - sex is never better than when it involves all the senses fully. The taste of sweat on your lover's shoulder, the musky smell in the crease where hip meets thigh, the feel of hard muscle, soft skin and crisp hair, the look in your partner's eyes as they feel pleasure, and the moans and gasps of sex all combine into a delicious cornucopia that is veritable feast for the senses.

I like to tease, at least temporarily. You know I find it arousing to hold back and delay the gratification... which only serves to make it more powerful when the time finally comes to fulfil the wish that has been promised but not delivered.

What don't you know about me?

You don't know how my face looks when I'm being touched, how my eyes grow smoky and lidded, how the little crease between my eyes deepens as I bite my lip against the onslaught of pleasure.

You don't know what my voice sounds like as my pleasure builds, as my body begins to tighten and I cry out with desire and wanting and...

But what you don't know, most of all, is my secret fantasy.

For all that I love to give pleasure, for all that I love to watch a man shudder and jump between my palms, my lips, my biggest fantasy lies not there.

It doesn't involve whips and chains. In this most secret and important of fantasies, there need be no three-inch heels, rubber toys, devices that vibrate or penetrate or both. No famous people are involved, and very few props would be needed.

My most intimate fantasy is this:

To be touched. Touched in soft and unhurried ways. Touched for the purpose of drawing out the pleasure rather than hurrying it up.

I'd like to be laid out, tied up even, wholly at the mercy of someone (you) who would take their time, build the suspense, draw out the pleasure until I feel like I'm on a rack and someone is slowly, sweetly, tightening the screws.

I'd like to be kissed as though that kiss is the most erotic thing in the world, for either of us. I'd like to be touched in places not so obvious - the sensitive area behind my ear, the back of my neck, the valley between my breasts, the hollow on the inside of my elbow.

I'd like to feel your tongue in places not so obvious - the crease between neck and shoulder, the inside of my knee, the length of my spine.

I close my eyes and imagine your fingers circling my nipples, featherlight. You don't know that my nipples are incredibly sensitive, but they are. I've even had an orgasm just from having my nipples touched and sucked. But that was a long time ago...

The tips of your fingers just barely circle my nipples, and they grow tighter and tighter beneath your touch. I'm going insane at your teasing - whimpers coming from my throat, gasps, while my body starts to shiver from arousal.

I imagine feeling your palms running over my skin - my shoulders, my arms, my chest, my waist, my legs... There are so many places that have gone untouched for years. I imagine your hands finding every hollow, every crevice, every satiny smooth curve.

In my mind's eye, I can see your face, and this is by far the most powerfully erotic component of my fantasy. I can see the satisfied little smirk on your face as I watch your fingers hovering over my nipples, not quite touching. My body is moving restlessly and I'm wholly focused on the movement of your fingers over my body.

I watch your eyes darken as I lift my hips towards you, pleading for your touch.

I feel your eyes bore into me as you lower your head to my breast, taking me into your mouth, watching me as I close my eyes and moan at the sensations glittering through my veins.

You suckle so sweetly just at the very tip of my breast, making my breath come faster, the pulse between my thighs throb harder.

You slide your tongue along my inner thigh. I gasp at the feeling. There is nothing in my world at that moment - no thoughts, no sounds, no scents - nothing in the world but the sensation of your tongue sliding along my inner thigh, so close to where I want you that the imagery stuns me, makes me weak.

You're watching me, fascinated by the play of emotions over my face. Suspense, desire, and a hint of curiosity too.

You slide a hand up my thigh, slowly, and I watch your fingers as they travel higher, higher.

You slip that finger softly, so lightly, between my lips, already wet with desire. My spine bows a little and my muscles start to clench. Your first touch inside me makes me shiver.

You tease and soothe, advance and retreat, over and over and over until my breath is jerking and my muscles are tight and I'm begging you, literally begging you, to end my torment. I feel like a marionette all tangled in knots, all tight strings and helpless tension.

Just as I feel I'm about to scream out in arousal and frustration, you untie my limbs and climb above me and slide your cock in deep, riding high on my clit, grinding your pelvis against mine. I stiffen and shudder and moan with the force of my orgasm, and before I've even had the opportunity to draw breath I can feel you sliding inside me, giving me no quarter, tiny revolutions of your cock against me followed by deep, hard thrusts that seem to fill my entire body.

I can't help myself, I'm moaning helplessly, buffeted by sensation as I wrap my legs around your waist, pulling you down into me harder and harder with each thrust.

My pulse quickens, my breath shortens, even my nipples lift and ache when I think about what you don't know about me - my secret, most cherished fantasy.

Being wanted. Being pursued.

After a seeming lifetime of having to chase, having to beg and being rejected, this alone could drive me wilder than any position, and place, any other scenario. And at the same time, it could serve to heal the wounds that the past several years have left on something essential and womanly inside of me.

For now, at least, the secret is mine to keep.