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Click hereIf I met you
I'd start with a kiss,
Holding your face in my palm and
Brushing my mouth against your smooth lips
For hours, feeling your hot prickled cheek, your rapid breath,
Torturing you with my gentleness.
You'd move your fingers to nipples, waist, mound,
Torturing me with your determination.
These excruciatingly slow gestures,
Move me the most,
Send my snatch into prolonged longing.
In pixels, you kiss me tenderly and take me violently,
Meet my clumsy French with crude positions.
We drift to extremity, possession,
Arms tied back, ass fucking,
Anything for a wet pussy and a hard cock.
We share fantasies when we're edgy,
Realities when we're spent,
But all confessions are simultaneously true:
When you say "You are my toy"
It is true,
When I say "I belong to you"
It is true,
When you say "My wife is beautiful"
It is true,
When I say, "I hope I make you hot
So you can fuck her hard,"
It is true.
The if-clause is true, too:
If only I could rub my cunt against your hand,
Leave language behind and love you with my mouth and skin,
We'd find another true thing.
I love the flow of this so much. So evocative and beautiful. It's brilliant and I love it!