Fuck Fantasy

Licking, sucking, thrusting, intense releasing, the fulfillment of yearning, sheet grasping, deep breathing, nipple teasing, tongue writhing with fluid streaming, reverse cowgirl with intensity increasing, lustful dreaming, sensuous screaming, deep fucking, anal fingering, many different positions, pelvic contractions, sensual whispers, vibrating butt-plug, sliding fingers penetrate wetness, engorged clitoris, length with significant circumference, thickness stretches, orgasms breathless, deep untamed kisses, breast squeezes, multiple impassioned releases, beautiful rhythm, breathtaking penetration, lustful temptation, hair pulling, ass spanking, lingerie ripping, primal awakening, an absolutely fucking unadulterated fuck session, a threesome; one riding, one rubbing herself with legs wide open moaning and watching, no stopping until complete drenching, perfect orgasms, long lasting, together showering, sexual thoughts for days lingering, then more fingering, magic wand vibrating, anal beads penetrating, immeasurable yearning, I need to be fucked so badly, uttering, dildo sucking, self-nipple licking, uncontrollable squirting, calling with heavy breathing asking him to come over again for another lengthy euphorically wondrous fuck session


With sweet whispers the darkness beckons me, methodically appealing to the deep sorrow of my tragedy. It says, I can take away the pain if you allow me. I embrace the bitter taste of misery to deaden the unforgiving sting of its potency. I now live in my own, but I was born of my mother’s agony. Resentment is the blood of my family, so I do not forgive easily. Through vengeful eyes I see my enemies. I dream no more of love — my nightmare resumes when I awaken; sitting on the edge of my bed I gaze aimlessly at nothing, and I am reminded that I am a man forsaken. Oh, heavenly father, look at what torment has taken. It seeks to utterly decimate me and leave me irreparably broken. I have become an apostate of love’s religion. In my state of affliction I have come to questions my past decisions. The man in the mirror swears at me under his breath; I stare at him for several minutes contemplating the depth of his sentiment. I scream like a madman within four walls to purge at least a small portion of the pain. Tiring myself out, I sit drenched in perspiration with tempered melancholy, and I am tranquil again. 

A hummingbird kisses a blue orchid. Rose petals dry the tears of the heartbroken. The scent of rain is a beautiful prelude to love-making. A once wounded bird flies again, spreading healed wings that were broken. A goddess rises from her slumber immersed in immaculate beauty. The gods whisper among themselves with tones of feral envy. A gorgeous grey haired woman dances under the soft glow of twilight slowly. In a French bed with embroidered canopy, lovers make moans of unlimited ecstasy. The once desolate find love and tightly hold on to it. There is a wondrous peace in the place that an Angel once slept. A field of flowers grow in the place that my mother once wept. The perfumed scent of white gardenias is the sweetness of an Angel’s breath. From her hair, a woman removes several pins and a glorious waterfall flows again. On an antique square white tufted ottoman, with crossed legs, she moisturizes her skin, and it is incredibly feminine. She thinks about finding love again, and her heart is comforted. A pregnant moon gives the ocean the fullness of her illumination — the dark waters accept her light and rise to meet her for the occasion. 

From the Heart

In brokenness the most passionate memories are all that are left. There is a deep sorrow still unknown to the yet bereft from love’s abandonment. There is a well with perpetual depths filled with the tears of all who have wept. There is healing in the whispers of an angel’s breath. There is a profound intimacy that is beautifully transcendent. There is affectionate and passionate sentiment from kisses on the neck. There is a silence when lovers are in each other’s arms that cause tears to fall. There is a tenderness when making love that expresses the intent of the heart. 

Eyes Never Lie

It is the eyes that are telling when gazing upon the countenance of a woman. The delicateness of her is immeasurably beautiful. She is a pink rose in the morning dew. You must love her to draw water from the deep well of her soul. The wonderful sent of her blow-dried hair could be considered something so simple, but in the arms of her lover it becomes something deeply intimate. The crown she wears is a crown of passionate kisses from the lover that truly loves her. The Sun is her father, and the North Star is her mother. She was conceived in December in the coldest winter that envied the warmth of her. The beauty of her countenance is the manifestation of the radiance of her essence that lies beneath the surface. She is the Phoenix eternally rising, her diamond eyes breathtakingly shining as she stares upon a celestial horizon.