#Adore
So that’s how it is. No words or phrases stolen from prose and poetry; no Shakespeare, no Joyce, no Woolf, no Wordsworth, no cummings, no black spirals inked on handmade paper; not a sigh nor a gaze, fingers intertwined or … Continue reading
So that’s how it is. No words or phrases stolen from prose and poetry; no Shakespeare, no Joyce, no Woolf, no Wordsworth, no cummings, no black spirals inked on handmade paper; not a sigh nor a gaze, fingers intertwined or … Continue reading
At the top of the hill, under the old yew tree, you moved your lips against my mouth, my face upturned. You held one finger pressed under my chin, and slipped your other hand beneath my skirt. The rain dripped … Continue reading
“Take a seat.” He said lazily, indicating the chair opposite. The table was out on the piazza, bathed in white hot sunlight, and the babble of people at neighbouring tables filled the air. I sat down, carefully crossing my legs … Continue reading
My eyes shoot open and I look up at you, upside down. Your expression, high in the darkness, is commanding, and against my lips you rub the heated head of your cock. A moan of pleasure buzzes through my pout. … Continue reading
Delphic. Always, Delphic. I battled your ambiguously blinking eyes. You were perplexing. Opaque in your intentions. When you fucked me, focus was vague, blurred. Definitely not there. So I took it away. Gave you nothing to lose. And on the … Continue reading
Panting palms, smeared across silken skin, as eager, hungry, fumbling fingers traced the outlines of unknown muscles. Dusty spyglass, watching near, but far, in the corner of that cobwebbed attic, where he laid me back, ceremonial as sacrifice, pure as … Continue reading
#WankWednesday is hosted by Ruby KiddellThe Erotic Notebook every week. This week’s prompt is #Spare. Lips locked, frantic fingers tugging at clothes, we crashed through the doors, until we were inside, laughing at our somewhat slapstick foreplay. Flailing, limbs splayed, bodies bumping … Continue reading
Ruby at The Erotic Notebook started a “weekly festival of smut” tagged #WankWednesday. Here’s my piece. First prompt: #Spring. Christmas, he said. Christmas became the new year. Then Valentine’s. His final promise, Spring. He’d leave her by Spring. In April … Continue reading