This isn't completed, but I didn't want to miss out on all the Wank Wednesday goodness! I'll finish this off when I get back from the Lakes on Friday. The prompt this week was conference.
We are an odd combination. I have often thought it. We are from different times, different places, different morals and experiences and ideas. We have so little in common. And yet it is there, in our differences, that we find the conference of our souls. You are so delightfully uncomplicated when I am thinking far too much. You are one of few people around whom my endless torrent of babble comes to an end and I am content to say nothing, to just be. You are a river, lazy and quiet, swallowing the harrowed waves of my stream and bringing them to rest.
It is the conference of our souls which draws me to you, and despite what I may think about the suitability of our match, here I am in your arms. Nobody kisses like you. When I kiss you I never want to come up for air. We just kiss, hard and fast, tongues hot and intertwined, mouths connected, your hands pulling in my hair in a way that I find deliciously satisfying, and I never want you to stop. I often suspect that you have no idea quite what you're doing, you're just feeling everything out and seeing what works. This experimentation is somehow awkward and yet somehow right.
Your hands are greedy, not content with the curves of my body until you have found the skin beneath my shirt. My skin flushes at the prospect of your touch, tingles and flames when your fingertips make contact. You drink my body in with wandering hands, urgent and hungry, consuming rather than touching me, not asking for permission before taking whatever you want from me. I am drowning in my lust for you, unable to think coherently, just wanting more and more. I want skin on skin, and swiftly remove your shirt, pulling you in towards me and wrapping my legs around you until I feel the swell of your cock against my panties. I want you to fuck me but you are a tease, pulling away when I try to touch you. I drag my nails down your back to get a rise out of you, but you are stoically silent, your own lust evident only in the hardness of your sex pressing into me.
Marking your control over my desire-drenched body, you sink your fingers between the folds of my cunt, taking satisfaction in my moans of frustration and pleasure. I wrap myself around your body and hold you close, digging my fingers into your skin to stifle my urge to cry out. You dip into my wetness and smear my juices on my clit, rubbing in slow, sweeping circles that make me bite my lip and bury my head in your shoulder. I yearn for more contact, and kiss along your collar bone, up the side of your neck, nibble your ear, anything to illicit a reaction from you. I need to know you want me as much as I want you, crave your approval of my body, which I wilfully place at your mercy.
Your fingers have quickened in pace and I rock backwards and forwards on your hand, frustrated at how you tease my clit, around and around, only to knock me breathless with a simple upwards swipe of my sensitive button.
“I want to make you come,” you whisper, and they are the first words you have uttered since your lips first crushed mine at the beginning of our frenetic encounter. So rare are your words during these encounters that I am almost overwhelmed by them, and my body responds like you had just set fire to me, aching and burning to satisfy you....
To be continued.....