She breathes heavily and tastes herself, utilizing her hands efficiently, pinching her erogenous erect nipples and rubbing the source of her wetness with vibrating metal in rhythmic motion, intermittently lightly and heavily pressed against wet and throbbing flesh.

Another Holds Her

I take an inventory of myself, and I retrace the steps I made on the day you left. Still, my heart beats for you.

But someone else takes away your breath—

Diligently, I search the vast emotions of my depths to find memories of you smiling in your favorite sundress.

But someone else takes away your breath—

I whisper vows to the mighty archangels, telling them of my contriteness; my tears falling on heaven’s steps until there are no tears left.

But someone else takes away your breath—

I ponder theories of love and reunification after death, lying silently in bed with my hands over the place within me that you are secretly kept.

But someone else takes away your breath—

Tears drop on pictures of you as I reach for but a sliver of your aura with my arms outstretched.

But someone else takes away your breath—

With every loving touch and passionate kiss I received from you, parts of your heart, I secretly kept. Your love is in me forever, fused to the foundations of my deepest depths.

But someone else takes way your breath—

Intricate Intimacy

The purity of transcendent intimacy;

The expressions of true love that heal the brokenhearted
and flow flawlessly;

The pleasure of intense sensuality;

The oneness of a woman and a man who
are dedicated to one another completely;

The adoration of the delicate nature of a woman
in the beauty of her femininity;

The wondrous protective strength of a man
who holds his woman tightly.

Their love is like the revelation of
a long pondered mystery;

A display of rendered emotions born
of many beautiful intricacies.

Inanimate Secrets

Inanimate objects keep the secrets of the erotically anonymous. Oh, if only walls could talk and tell of heavy breaths of lust and euphoric screams from every thrust; or the arms that brace against them when wetness drips in white satin; or the girth that teasingly rubs against a pulsating clit before it slowly slides in, causing an intense orgasm from euphoric anticipation and adrenaline; or the shaking legs that are widely spread, supported by red open toe stilettos that display glossy red gel nail polish on sexy toes. Fucking will commence, but only the two participants and inanimate objects will know. Makeup is smeared against white walls, leaving behind the only sign that she used her face to brace herself as she brought herself to orgasm by rhythmically rubbing her clit as she was fucked hard from behind.

Oh, if walls could talk and tell of the exquisiteness of ecstasy right before and after a lustful voice whispers, Cum for me. The walls feel the reverberation of her release, but they keep their silence. They never speak. Forever silent, they will never speak. Red heels make sounds that echo from walls because of shaking legs and the hardness underneath, but imamate objects hold secrets that they will never speak.

Luciana’s Sensuality

Luciana’s last lover didn’t know how to touch her, and his inexperienced tongue couldn’t please her. She tried to be his erotic teacher, but her frustrations boiled over. She would even touch herself in-front of him so he could learn the most secret places of her desire, but he was inadequate and had no fire. She loved the hugeness of his cock, but he couldn’t quench the blue flames of her desire. She would mount him and tell him to stay still so she could enjoy the length and thickness of him, but he would never last long enough for her to reach orgasm; her often visible anger was the manifestation of her sexual frustration. She was tired of having to play with herself right after sex to reach her climax. On more than one occasion, mid-fucking, she stopped him and instead used her magic wand and butt-plug in-front of him to achieve satisfaction.

Now, in experienced hands with a new man, Luciana surrenders herself to pleasure, eagerly getting on her knees to suck her new lover’s cock before he uses his tongue and fingers before penetration to please her. Her throbbing pussy hasn’t had a tongue like his in so long; two fingers are inside of her at the same time as his skillful tongue makes Luciana close to climax as she heavily moans. He navigates her body amazingly. He is a diligent lover. He is not lazy. He introduces her to new positions that increase inner as well as clitoral stimulation; she’s intrigued enough to eagerly try them again. She is a mature woman who only an erotically seasoned man could satisfy. Her desires are intricate, and her sexual appetite is not mild. Luciana is not shy in her approach to pleasure, and she is not afraid to vocalize her most lascivious desires to any lover. She truly appreciates men who are well hung, and who practice excellent dental hygiene and can fuck for hours with never-ending stamina. She is a gorgeous woman with a beautiful vagina.

A few of her past lovers boasted about their sexual prowess but couldn’t last more than five minutes inside of her. Luciana could pass for a woman half of her age; her long dark hair, beautifully accented with strands of silver. She sees no need to dye her hair — in a mini sundress with a plunging V-neck and stilettos, she causes women to take note and men to lustfully stare. Her sensuality is exuded flawlessly, and she has an erotic flair. On top, is her favorite position; a man would have to be in good shape and exude sexual discipline to take the intensity of her aggressive rhythm to last more than a few minutes and following seconds. For her, one orgasm can be gratifying, but she loves to cum again and again. A seasoned lover will know that when she say loudly, Just fuck me, she wants to be fucked roughly to reach her release. A sheepish man would be somewhat intimidated by the levels of her sexual intensity — but her experienced lover lies her down on her couch slowly, to take his time with her tingling body, pleasing her willingly until she reaches the higher heights of her ecstasy.

Ecstasy of Agony

She tingles with anticipation, breathing heavily without being touched. Her wetness denotes the depths of her sensual rush. For so long, her true desires were hushed. For so long, her hopes for unbridled sexual expression were crushed. Patiently, she awaits the ecstasy of agony; leather strikes against willing flesh will take away her breath. With every lascivious whisper in-between the familiar feel of leather, she will be become wetter, and her breathing, deeper. Her wet desire will be explored with experienced fingers — places will be explored by the tip of the tongue where far after it’s over, the ecstasy will still linger. She will be blindfolded and fucked, and her climax will be exquisite. She will ride him vigorously without the need to see as her erect nipples are teased, sucked, and licked. Her hair will be pulled; her ass will roughly spanked, and she will love it. Her lover will satisfy her engorged pulsating clit. After her pretty toes are sucked, positions will be switched, and she will again be thoroughly fucked. Her mind will record her erotic experience in perfect sequence, and she will rely on her vivid imagery to climax when she’s alone and horny. When she can no longer deny the throbbing of her pussy, from her closet, she will retrieve the vibrating source of her ecstasy and recall leather against her flesh, and the deepness of her breath. Climax after climax, she will find her euphoric depths. In the secrecy of her bedroom, she will spank herself with her special belt. She will spank herself to orgasm until she is totally exhausted and there is nothing left. Until there are deep welts on her flesh and there is nothing left.

Emotional Depths

With every beautiful whisper, I turn around to see if it’s her. With every vivid dream, with tears I reach for her. With every light breeze, I remember the floral savor of her aroma. With every strand of her long dark hair left on white pillows, there is a portion of her angelic aura. With every tear that falls, there are remnants of her. With every utterance of her name, I caress every letter. With every beat of my heart, she is closer. With every precious memory, I embrace her tighter. With every thought I transcribe to paper, she is my constant fire. With the depths of my longing, she is my never-ending desire.

The Whispers Cry

In the interim, I look at the man in the mirror and speak to him; he whispers of lost love and unceasing suffering. He speaks of the pain that never ends. He talks about who is more precious than even the most rare diamonds and implores me to never betray the heart of a woman. Maybe I’ll see him again, but until then, I will internalize his sayings in deep contemplation. Before he left, he told me to remember him and he weeps at every inference of the tears that rolled down the face of his beautiful woman after her heart was broken. It was the way she looked at him with tears in her eyes, that so touched him. Through wails of regret, he admitted to me in secrecy that of her love, he is no longer worthy and that he sincerely wants her heart to heal and he desperately wants her to be happy; his whispers are that of a contrite man shattered and decimated in totality from his past iniquities. I try to comfort him with references of beautiful memories, but still, he cries unceasingly. He speaks softly when he speaks of her, reaching as if she is still there; and still, he weeps unceasingly. Through loving whispers, he weeps unceasingly.