Sex Talk

"La Petite Mort"

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Sprawling, earbuds-nestled, skin-writhing atop flesh-warmed leather. Leaving traces of moisture in my wake to decorate its welcoming caress.

Podcast me baby. Whisper sweet entreaties into my receptive, wanting aural canyons. Sibilant s-es slithering seductive, singing sonatas to my supine form. Demanding d’s directing digits to delirium.

Digits lost amongst juice-slick folds as nailed tips bury themselves cuticle deep in the sopping wetness of my desire. Still the words flow, resonating through my flushing form; fluttering breathlessly betwixt throat and heaving breasts; exploding with wild abandon in my aching sex.

“Sandstone hand-carved with geometric Romanesque detailing…”

And I die a little.

Published 11 months ago

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