Calmly, she lies. Her mind is empty today, a rare phenomenon.
Numbly, she ponders. Her heart is cold today, an unusual condition.
Gentle music echoes through the air; the chords mute the usual cacophony of thoughts that spiral through her cortex.
There are no demands thrust upon her tonight. There are no problems to be solved. No needs to be met. No facade that must be maintained.
Her mind flickers; brief memories flash like lightning bolts in the darkness. Memories of places, memories of faces, memories of whispers in the shadows. She quietly remembers and then lets them fade away. They exist only in history now.
A contented smile settles across her delicate pink lips. Lips that whisper in the shadows. Lips that whisper in the light. Her lips can recite torrid tales of temptation. Her lips can taste caressing and cruel kisses from secret corners. Those corners are closed now.
Emerald eyes blink at the ceiling; they fixate on the soft shadows that pattern its canvas. She settles into a hypnotic trance; her eyes glaze. Eyes that have seen sorrowful souls. Eyes that have seen salacious sorcery. Eyes that can envisage pictures of perversion. Her eyes can scan beyond the obvious, through the drama of dominance.
Her strong spine sinks against the sofa, shrouded within the softness of cushions and comforters scattered upon it. A spine that stands her straight. A spine that supported her through satyric surrender. A spine that has steadied the souls of wanton wanderers. Her backbone holds the weight of others she has carried.
Her hips grind down into the couch, pushing against the padding, seeking comfort and repose. Hips that hold her honeyed treasure. Hips that have enraptured the minds of obscene obsessives. Hips that hide imprints of depraved duplicity.
Her hand reaches between her thighs, her soft fingers probe beneath the white silk panties shrouding her molten mound. Fingers part her smoldering slit; her sexual core whispers her needs of womanhood. Needs others tried to ignite; needs others tried to extinguish.
Her pussy weeps. Salacious sobs. Tears of desire drip from her. Tears of lust leak from her. Tears of greed gush from her. Tears of obscenity ooze from her. Tears of fantasy flow from her. Tears of deviance dribble from her. Tears of perversion pour from her.
Her cunt cries. Carnal calls into the void. Only she can soothe them. Only she can satiate them. Only she can answer. She succumbs; under her own spell. She’s a special type of magic.
