NIGHT
NIGHT
Lips part, a finger pressed on her throat maddening her. There was need yes, but more so the guilt along with the fear of being caught that was arousing. The voice, the lips and the hands weren't anyone's; they were separate entities on her studio bed. She squirmed against her white sheet covers as sweat spread on her forehead and under her. The ache was maddening but she knew she shouldn't stop. Pending screams threatened to pour out along with those secrets that she had only read of. The fingers ran everywhere like frenzied monsters-fingering her lips, clutching her neck, grasping her heaving breast. Some moved below with maddening rapidity. The smell of an anonymous body, a thousand million of his words climbed into her head in different voices; she wanted to call out his name but she didn't know it. The fingers rushed along in their work as a hand flew to her mouth closing it with desperation. Her eyes flew open and searched in the darkness for something to remember-traces of light still weakly secreted from the burnt out bulb. She watched its afterglow till her eyes rolled halfway underneath her lids and surrealism took over. Her feet wide spread ached and there was an electric feel in her stomach. She muttered something she couldn't understand as the frenzy grew to painful heights. Waves of an old song fairly forgotten rolled in and she stopped; the irked fingers stopped as abruptly as they had begun. They withdrew to her side wiping away -partly disappointed- the wetness on her white sheets with the grotesque flowers before lying on her heaving stomach. And then she sung the neglected song feeling the wall still left unbroken, her body still on fire. There is no need now, she assured as she sung. The anonymous components relaxed in pouted acknowledgement. It was neither ego nor was it pride. It was unwillingness she comprehended. There had to be someday to regret this but not tonight. The still wet fingers, the faceless voice promised that this hadn't been a one-night stand.
They weren't her but soon would be.
Lips part, a finger pressed on her throat maddening her. There was need yes, but more so the guilt along with the fear of being caught that was arousing. The voice, the lips and the hands weren't anyone's; they were separate entities on her studio bed. She squirmed against her white sheet covers as sweat spread on her forehead and under her. The ache was maddening but she knew she shouldn't stop. Pending screams threatened to pour out along with those secrets that she had only read of. The fingers ran everywhere like frenzied monsters-fingering her lips, clutching her neck, grasping her heaving breast. Some moved below with maddening rapidity. The smell of an anonymous body, a thousand million of his words climbed into her head in different voices; she wanted to call out his name but she didn't know it. The fingers rushed along in their work as a hand flew to her mouth closing it with desperation. Her eyes flew open and searched in the darkness for something to remember-traces of light still weakly secreted from the burnt out bulb. She watched its afterglow till her eyes rolled halfway underneath her lids and surrealism took over. Her feet wide spread ached and there was an electric feel in her stomach. She muttered something she couldn't understand as the frenzy grew to painful heights. Waves of an old song fairly forgotten rolled in and she stopped; the irked fingers stopped as abruptly as they had begun. They withdrew to her side wiping away -partly disappointed- the wetness on her white sheets with the grotesque flowers before lying on her heaving stomach. And then she sung the neglected song feeling the wall still left unbroken, her body still on fire. There is no need now, she assured as she sung. The anonymous components relaxed in pouted acknowledgement. It was neither ego nor was it pride. It was unwillingness she comprehended. There had to be someday to regret this but not tonight. The still wet fingers, the faceless voice promised that this hadn't been a one-night stand.
They weren't her but soon would be.
Labels: Love Letters, Tales from the Bedroom
posted by De.vile at 2:46 PM
11 Comments:
Hey girl, whats this? Wheres yo poetic jab, making things seem dull and unbelievably interesting alternatively?
Not that I miss it, just...
Btw, hoping we dont hear Saby rant about small tits/small fonts now on.
Pleeeez de vile,
spare us and ashes dis depressing stuff,
he needs to get out of depressing tots, talk of love and longing for love and sex
dont no abt tits
but the font is OK
Just saying hello chikka...hope ur keeping well.
Keshi.
vivid imagery as what i've come to expect. maddening aches are signs of being human, i guess.
This isnt poetic?
@Saby: Is my mastubating disturbing to you?
@keshi: I am fine, hoping so are you.
@Cyen: This is real. Almost too real.
@Transience: I am trying to cut them down. They seem to be growing. Clothes, bracelts, CDs and now this.
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Interesting article, added his blog to Favorites
Lets just forget about it Cliffod. If she thinks it can save you.
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Lets just forget about it Cliffod. If she thinks it can save you.
Sportacus gave her a sweet smile that tingled its waydown to her not so dry pussy. You will marry me, you will marry me.
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Sportacus gave her a sweet smile that tingled its waydown to her not so dry pussy. You will marry me, you will marry me.
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Hercurrent miraculous shape was the product of a years salary in sculptingnanobots, but it had been worth it to her shed gotten the good kind thatbuilt to last, adjusting genetic markers as well as her surface so that if andwhen she decided to have offspring, theyd have a leg up in life. Her breasts havesagged beyond her knees not to mention the havocgravity has done to her ass.
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