THIS BLOG IS DEDICATED TO THE ART OF SEXUAL POSITIONS AND OTHER SEXUAL/NON-SEXUAL THINGS I LIKE.18+, PLEASE.
The first one comes easy.
It flies. A bird from her open cage.
Then another and another, they bunch together, each one connected to the last and then to the next. They tumble, end over end, the beginning of one burrowed into the end of the last. Pearls on a string.
But after you’ve surrendered these first little seizures to me, the ones that follow come more deliberately.
Your body demands more persistence.
More patience is needed to coax the next one into the open.
Your body begins to show the first sign of fatigue.
Now, your petite morts space themselves, so that each has a distinct life of its own.
This is usually when you first ask me to stop. Just for a minute, you say. Let me catch my breath, you say. Let this feeling sink in
And so when I go instead for the next and the next and the next, your body begrudges.
A part of you wants to cum — you’re a dirty little girl, and a part of you always wants to cum, is never done cumming, has never had, and never will never have, enough of this release — but the convulsions have taken their toll.
Your libido and your body begin to argue
Your muscles have worked so hard.
Your back has arched.
Your core has constricted, pulled tight as a fist, tried to relax, then pulled taut again, over and over again
Your muscles, all of them, all over, from your neck down your spine into your calves and your thighs … even your wrists are oxygen-poor.
They don’t want the seizures that keep coming.
They want only to lay limp.
And so the next one is the one I want.
That next one is a weave, pleasure with pain and exhaustion.
That one comes dressed as surrender.
That one sounds like depletion
That’s the one your body hates — wants so badly to deny — but that I so desperately want
And that’s the one I intend to have.
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