Tuesday, August 21, 2007

opened and used without a word being said

It's night-time, late and I am in the big bed, the red and green blankets pulled to my throat, the cat settled in at the food of the bed. I'm on my side, my wet fingers rubbing the soft skin around my clit, my other hand teasing the vibrator at the edge of my cunt, and as I press the soft buzzing tip against the warm flesh I close my eyes and think of you:

Morning, the light grey, both of us sleeping on our sides.

I wake because you are touching me, your big legs pressed against my hips, your cock pushed into the curve of my ass so my hips fit right into your thighs. You arch your body against me and I feel your cock start to stiffen, growing hard, moving from a soft snail to a fleshy club, and you angle yourself in between the cheeks of my ass and start to rock, rubbing yourself against the skin, not a word spoken between us, not a whisper or a sigh.

Your hand holds my hip, pinning me where you want me, angling my body at just the right edge. I hear your open your mouth and know you are licking your hand, making it wet, and know that had it going to end up moistening me, creating an entry way for your body in mine.

Slowly, with great care, your fingers work the puckered tight flesh till they push their way inside. Slowly, with great care, you touch and rub and make things wet till the moment you can push yourself inside me, inserting your big tip with the greatest of care, following deeper with a rush that makes me pant and sigh.

Do you know how wet it makes me to remember how we rocked together, your cock in my ass? Do you remember my sighs of pleasure as you plunged so deep, so tight, then came out right to the edge, only to plummet down deep again?

Your moans as your cock rubbed its sensitive spots inside my tightness.
My whisper "You own all my holes."
The pleasure of us coming together, of how good it felt to have you so deep inside me, joined so near the heart.
The pleasure of the morning, of being awakened, of being opened and used without a word being said, the pleasure of you in me

I come and come and come again.

It's wet, and strong, and good--but it's not you, it's only a recovered memory of what I felt when we touched.

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