“Gluttony Without, Within” by @sensualstories   4 comments

“Greed is good.” Michael Douglas couldn’t have slipped these words thru his lizard press lips more effectively than you did.

Your hand at my hip, chin, a shepherd’s crook over my shoulder, across my clavicle, hot breath at my neck. Your survey eyes burned, lasers I imagined.
The mirror before me showed every anxious angle of my face–the left eyebrow that arched seductively on command or zigged and zagged in fear,
the nail-curve dimple on my right cheek bone–sliver sliced in a fall, the pout pulled bow of satin ribbon lips, the rapid pulse at the shallow of my neck.

Your reflection was a mound of shiny sicilian blue black hair, that thin patch at top, brawny shoulders tailored Crisp blue button down. Face turned to me, obscured, but the bob of your head, persuasive and presumptive motion, demonstrated clearly your hunger for the tender flesh of my chest. That strange dynamic–the stoppleaseyes of seeing something you’re not supposed to, naughty fantasy–realizing you’re living this surreal moment.

How many times have I told you no, sent you away from me with hurt feelings?

This afternoon when you stopped me just outside my office, watched me aimlessly shuffle syllabi, brushed past, then turned, allowed your Hand to press against my tummy, thin clad cotton, down the front panel of my Anne Taylors, fingers dancing signs that conjured, butterfly wing flits at my heart, in my stomach, thru tighttighttight passage to the dewy meeting of my thighs, you knew you could have anything you wanted of me.

Close-lean conspiracy, “You look hungry.” And I was. Hungrier than I’ve ever been–this is how you make me.

Crass and rude and despicable, I tell myself, but also brilliant and achingly, devastatingly wrong for me, every villain I’ve ever adored, and I long to swallow you whole.

Here we are now, mirror before us, me watching me watching you watching you and you sucking me in piece by piece. It isn’t Perfect. It’s nowhere near right, absolutely totally wrong, you behind me, me pressed hard in an uncomfortable spot, thighs against cold industrial porcelain, your masculinity hardpress insinuation at the narrow diamond partition of my dancer’s legs, you a traplatch curl
around me. Me only wanting every morsel to slide through lips that once would have denied desire. How often they did.

I imagine your forcing open my clamlock pink petal lips, these on my face, but I know already you’ll take me from behind first just to demonstrate that you may have whatever you choose. This is how it is: you owned me before I’d even ever surrendered my name, from the very first time my icequeen eyes shattered for you.

And now my trousers sliding down my thighs, your fingers tugtugtugging them, and my pantylless bottom rising with the natural arch of my back, you make our first kiss the consummating slide of you into me unlock my resolve to dissolve my sense of self.

“I’m greedy for your smile. I’ll turn you on from the inside out, hit switches you’ve never even known you’ve had, Baby Doll.”

You wind me up to twist and turn and preen, your pretty possession, gluttonous for you, awaiting only your command, as you reach around to gaze on me and paint my dolly lips into a pulsing smile, anticipation, throbthrobthrobbing as plumper pops each molecule, stinging reward for your lil toy.

I may write an entry for each of these phrases:)

Posted August 20, 2010 by thejournalinggame

4 responses to ““Gluttony Without, Within” by @sensualstories

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  1. Oh please do. I love reading your words. ❤

  2. “the pout pulled bow of satin ribbon lips” <= I Love this!

  3. Your words blows me away. #justsayin
    Thank you again Nola.

  4. Ditto to all of the above comments. Where do I begin with my favorite phrases … too many to count. But “every villain I’ve ever adored,” might be No. 1. Think we both have that “bad boy syndrome.” 🙂

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