Uncommon Curiosity

I love the way she smiles when I growl into her ear.  That giggle and shudder when my words snake down around her body, scraping red lines into her imagination with dangerous suggestions,

I will put you up on the dinner table, love, the main course at a feast for strangers.  I will hold your arms above your head, lying face up, while tongues and fingers find your soft, wet, sensitive places.  I want to study your face as strange teeth bite and rough hands press against your defenses, forcing their way in, as you lay there, beautifully helpless, eyes wide and begging me to stop, because I know they don’t mean it.

As I speak, my voice slides into her, drumming a rhythm inside her cunt, soft at first, but then more insistent, letting her hear the wolf in me that wants to stalk her in a dark alley and watch the fear rise in her throat, so when I pounce and devour her I can feel the beating of her heart as it echoes between her thighs,

I will tie you down across the footstool, legs spread wide and head pulled back while I sit in my easy chair to enjoy the view.  Beside you, a bottle of lube sitting in a bucket of ice and a box of gloves, and, across your back, a note scrawled in lipstick saying, “use me.’  I want to watch your back arch as the cold jelly touches hot, pink skin and thick fingers fill you fast and hard, making you gasp.  I want to watch as fat cocks push between those sensuous lips to fuck your throat and choke your mouth until tears roll down your cheeks.  I want to see you reduced to shuddering, whimpering, exquisite meat.

I remind her of my touch, how I know her utterly inside, the soft fleshy and the firm smooth, stroking and scratching, panting, keening, thrusting and fucking.  I weave spells with my words and bring her here to me, where my lips and tongue can suckle and taste and I can sate my hunger with her flesh, her need, her sex.

I am hunger and she is my meal.