Craving

I'm craving you. I've been craving you all day.

So much so that earlier in the night, over drinks, my friends noticed something was up. "Are you feeling okay?" And later, "You seem distracted. Like spaced out or drugged."

"Hmm? What do you mean? I'm fine..." I smiled absently, and they laughed. They could tell I was only half paying attention which confirmed their observations.

"No, like your eyes are dilated, and your face is all flushed. Seriously, what's up with you?"

"Nothing, I'm very much fine." I was pretty sure my face had become even redder because I could feel a blush burning hot under my cheeks. I definitely wasn't in the mood to share details with them. I don't like to kiss and tell, and besides, I wasn't sure they really wanted to hear about it. I was anxious to slip away and end the evening. To be alone with my lust again.

Now I'm safely back in the solitude of home, free from their inquisition and walking mindlessly from room to room. Heat is radiating off me as if I'm asphalt on a 100-degree day. It's uncomfortable and inescapable. I need the release that only you can give me.

I wander into the bedroom just as my longing is reaching a tipping point. Settling into the soft sheets of my bed, I run my hands over the welts and wounds you left all over my breasts last night. They're swollen and sensitive. I press my fingers into every spot you've made tender. Each one is aching and throbbing. And then the throbbing spreads. Everywhere. But especially deep between my legs. I press again. More firmly now because you're not this gentle. And I squeeze my inner thigh hard. My heart beats fast as I try to recreate it, the way I vibrate with need as you make me hurt. The way I am in your presence, my mind turned off, left with only physical responses and impulses.

The sensations I'm teasing out pull me deeper into my desire for you. The throbbing gives way to tension and fullness, and I move my fingers to my swollen clit, then lightly teasing my lips. I'm wet. So wet. I dip a finger into my slickness, slide it out, and suck it clean. Our flavors are still mixed together, the perfect blend of your salty sweetness and my tartness. I savor it while my other hand works on reigniting the flesh you claimed. Digging my nails into the curve of my waist, I can feel you clawing as you thrust into me. I try to bite down on my arm like you do when you cum, feasting on me like a rare delicacy. But I can't make myself scream the way you do. And alone without our energy exchange, I'm just your pathetic, wanton slut unable to satisfy the thirst you've stirred.

I close my eyes and wrap my fingers around my throat in an attempt to imitate how your hands choke me. I know it's futile because before my consciousness falls away, I'll lose my grip and automatically release the hold. It's worth it, though, if I can experience even a trace of that fizzy current that flows through my limbs. That tingling right before I lose myself in the darkness and sink against your warmth and safety. So I do it again, squeezing until all I can see are tones of blue and violet, like the galactic splashes covering my thighs. That's where my hands hungrily move next. I pinch the large firm knot where the blood has pooled under my skin the most, halfway between my knee and hip. But even the sharp pain I produce is only a weak suggestion of the cruelty you can inflict.

Groaning in frustration, I push my face into the pillow beside me. Either I need to stop, or I have to cum. As I breathe into the coolness of the pillowcase, I gasp in surprise. The cottony material has released your scent. Sweet, spicy, earthy, heady. It envelops me, and I'm instantly drunk and salivating. Burying my face into the pillow again and drawing the sheets over my head, I decide I never want to resurface. I wish I could asphyxiate myself on you.

And now it's your fingers working my pussy. They fill me and fuck me hard. Rhythmically. I feel your breath in my ear, your teeth on my neck, and then your voice low and growling, "Cum for me."

I moan, and my whole body shakes and shivers.

Tears and sweat soak my face. I lay that way for several minutes. I'm breathless and spent, but as I wrap myself in the sheets and drift off to sleep, I'm still craving you.