dessert

It is a sepia dream and I am stripped down to burnt umber skin.

You’re sitting on a peeling wooden chair, just in jeans, your crème brulee torso a frame to push against. I’m looking at you with a slow smolder. I sense a vague reproach in me. I want you to know how it has been to be burn, burn, burning like this. You will understand how it has been to be wait, wait, waiting like this. Determined copper in my eyes.

This time I will not bend to you, this time I will not be weakened. I am resolute, do not let my raw sienna smile deceive. You will be branded at the point where this incense burn ends.

You smell the smoke of my sex as I approach, feet landing pointed in a straight line.

I kneel down at your feet. Do not be deceived.

My hair falls in singed rolls of cinammon onto your lap. My face is just breathe, breathe, breathing there, hot on your lap. You want to take a palm and place it under that hair, at the point of my neck where it all begins. You want to trace a triad of lines on my stretched neck with three fingers. And then further down, all the way down my brandished brandy back.

Hands to your sides please. I combust your plans with my own and you laugh, but you obey. I finger the thick material of your jeans at the waist. I take the cold shiny top button in between a thumb and finger. I thread it through and out. I pull down the rusty bronze zipper. The buzzing sound of its descent is a familiar call.

I lean back away from you, on the floor, elbows on a polished pine floor, stomach taut. My legs are spread slightly open, a pointed cliff peaking at my knees, waiting above your feet, left and right. When you look down, your first view is of my maroon sex, waiting below you.

I look vulnerable like this. Do not be deceived.

I play with myself, smiling stickily, looking right at you, fingers circling at a secret nub, syrups of pleasure beginning to form and coat me.

Touch yourself please. You grin and wriggle down your pants and push them aside. Your shove down your briefs and push them aside. My smile deepens cherry red, pleased. Your caramel cock is revealed, and it is golden, and its melted form is stiffening, and it is beautiful to watch, and it is all I can do not to taste to see if it’s as sweet as it looks, to stop and lick sticky spirals around it with the tip of my tongue.

I watch your luscious sight for a while instead, my fingers still probing at me. Your hand is at your base, because I want it to be there. You are stroking, because I want you to be.

I stand up finally. I straddle you, keeping one leg rooted on one side, and throwing the other one over your lap. I do not touch you still, supporting myself with my hands at the back of the chair, my body struggling, my ginger nipples straining close to your mouth. Hold my hips please. My warm whisper drips like nectar into your ear.

You let go of yourself and your fingers dig candy cane stripes into my hips, holding me up. I take your cock with one hand. Your touch from before has you hard, my touch now has you hard, and my dark plum core is hovering right above you, and this has you hard too.

I inch my way down, tensing up my knees, closer and closer. I waver in the flash moment before we touch. I imagine you flinching at the shock to your nerves from what feels like my fire. I picture myself reduced at our first touch to a pile of sawdust ashes under your feet. I know I must keep this all in, I know I must maintain control.

I am joyful inside, but I look at you grimly, and I descend on to you, guiding you in with my hand. And it is just fine, more than just fine. The excess heat is there in our joint gasp as we meet, and it is there as my cunt captures your cock like a parted baked peach, my cooked apricot flesh cradling you tightly. I move down slowly, and you plunge your way slowly up into me, pushing everything back in my mind. My razed insides respond, molten and soft, and you respond back, stiff and unyielding. I withdraw my hand, and, gripping tightly at your shoulders, I begin to ride you, sweeping you, as your hands slide down closer to my ass, guiding me up and down.

It is so sweet and it is so delicious, and our delicate skins are so wet and smooth against each other, and it is just exactly want I wanted from you. To be filled by you, to have your friction to myself again, to use your pleasure as my own and oh there is nothing to know but the next thing I know – next thing I know- there is nothing I know but the next thing I know-

Next think I know, I am not just sighing anymore, I am gripping you tighter, not just with my hands but with my cunt walls. And I am squeeze, squeeze, squeezing on your cock. And I am strokes of dark blackberry stain wet all over you. And next thing I know, I am moaning with a loudness my shattering mind cannot gauge, and you are groaning too. And next thing I know, my knees are useless, and we have melted off the chair and we are on the floor.

And I am shaking but I am filled with a sudden want. Lick me please. And you pull out, and your expressive face is quickly lost between my legs, and your tongue is burrowed inside my still pulsing pussy, our musky spice dripping onto your tongue.

Your roving tongue jolts desire anew in me, and this time you do it before I can ask for it. When you do it this time, you are not thinking of my want at all. You pull me up from my legs, away from the solid pine floor, my ankles to your sides. You jam yourself inside, encountering little resistance, shoving me over and over towards where you start. So I feel I never end, my liquid brown eyes wide, my chocolate mouth open and open, my wet cunt splitting open and open as your thickness grows. And your face alone in this moment could make a girl cum. So I know I stand no chance.

I make my last request, before I lose the last of my control. I push it desperately out of my contorted mouth. My worn-out throat. Cum inside me please.

And you do.

Icing on my cake.


Note: I was hungry when I wrote this (in more ways than one). :) And I love being silly like this and going over the top with a theme.