Doing Things With Skin

I am over-run, jungled in my bed, I am infested with a menagerie of desires: my heart is eaten by a dove, a cat scrambles in the cave of my sex, hounds in my bed obey a whipmaster who cries nothing but havoc as the hours test my endurance with an accumulation of tortures. Who, if I cried, would hear me among the angelic orders? - Elizabeth Smart

I run my fingers, down along the length of my neck, and think of you. Your hands, your fingers. Tracing circles around my nipples, following the concave arch from my breasts to the softness of my stomach. My muscles tighten as your name slips past my lips.


Through the wonderment of my own paradise, I see you there; in my minds eye. Exploring, tasting, touching. The wetness pools between my thighs - my finger tips like butterfly kisses from your lips.


My breath catches, my heart races while beads of sweat form on my brow. The heat nearly too much to contain. My hands create just the right amount of pressure, cupping my breast, rubbing my clit. One finger in….then two…. your touch creates waves, my hands channeling you; waves of orgasmic glory.


Stars appear before my eyes. Bright and full of you. And you are there, waiting to meet me ….in the stars.