You run your mind gently across my lips and let it slip down the soft slide of my left breast. Your thoughts nibble at my provoking nipples, one tiny red pillow adorned with the barest remnant of a scab. Memories poke up their tousled heads. You chase them away, and force your errant brain deep into the yeast dough mound of my pale belly. Your ruminations tickle my clit before slipping into my pussy.
Miles away, I groan, and wish I had permission to touch.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
3 comments:
Lovely prose!
Thank you, baby girl. I thought of it as sort of a prose poem
"Memories poke up their tousled heads.". Don't they, though! This is evocative and awfully sensuous. Some of the greatest sex is had in the mind, and this is a snapshot of processes my brain recognizes. Yummy - and thank you. - jcn
Post a Comment