Inventing vocabulary can be sexy.
😉
😛
And people think conversing with me is intimidating.
Pssshhht…
Trituration
Knees up, thighs splayed wide, my slippery wet is overriding my fingers’ desperate attempts to unhood my clit.
He is between my knees, kneeling, pushing his ringed hardness (Where are your cock rings? I’d asked; he knew I was not asking a question but stating an expectation) into me, the sensitivity of his swell against my slick making him groan.
But I am groaning for another reason:Â I’m frustrated.
While the current excess lubrication is a comfortable counterpoint to those times when my biology must be circumnavigated if I’m to reach completion, this juicy squelching glide is not at all what I’m used to, and no matter how tight I clench against his cock, I cannot gain the purchase I seek.
I need…
.
Use your imagination…
.
The intention with which you pulled against the filtered end of your cigarette, your lips sucking the death out of its spongy tip the way culture sucks down words, ignited ember-ash desire low, deep, and throbbing in my gut.
I hated that you smoked.
But every drag mimicked the suckling tug of your mouth drawing at my nipples, and no matter how sore or chafed or
just.fucking.used. they felt
from the insistent teeth-scrape milking they had received the night, or the afternoon
(on the couch, remember? ~ your swollen cock dripping hot and urgent between us; my soft breasts – red tips elongated and stinging with the pain of pleasure – swaying on either side of your hot hard before I took you in my mouth, swallowing you all the way down to the wet silk embrace of my throat),
or the moment just before,
I would watch you burn the tobacco into your lungs,
inhale the anxiety,
and revel in the hot-pain pinprick
sensations shooting lines of fire
straight to my cunt.