I want the world to be dark.
So dark and in complete solitude, no sound at all except soft piano music playing a calming melody.
No light at all.
The room is empty, no furniture at all.
A soft thick carpet covers the floor and over the carpet layers of quilts are scattered with pillows and cushions of all sizes and shapes.
You can see the layout of the room briefly as there is light whilst the door is open. I take your hand and pull you into the room and then, as the door closes, all is in complete darkness.
Don’t say a word or utter a moan, no sound at all.
From then on, our all is touch, taste and smell as sight is removed and sound is calming.
We are standing fingers touching In the complete darkness, I am aware of all you are, I can sense you with my 6th sense, your desire draws me to you like a need for heat in an ice cave.
My fingers trace up your arms, the gentle curve of your muscles is enticing, your skin soft and supple with the delicious texture of your body hair.
Your naked body impacts on my skin as thousands of sensations draw your breath in sharply and I breathe a ‘shhhhh’ as my fingers trace your cheekbones, bringing your lips to mine, a sharp pull of my teeth on your lower lip, claiming your soul for my use.
Your all is mine.
Subtle yet demanding, the journey of my fingertips pulls the crave of your need as they travel to your shoulders and push. I want you on your knees and your wish is to fulfil my predilection, you have an appetite to savour my unique tang. My hips are held firm in your tight grip and I raise my arms your tongue traverses my curves, breath inhaled deeply, teeth nipping at the soft flesh of my breast, finding a nipple with a suave of your tongue and the chilled release as you exhale.
Further still, the sound of you becomes fainter, the pressure of your fingers bites at my flesh, the very tip of your tongue slipping between my lips, delving into the dew pooling there, waiting for that anticipated moment as my spice finds your palette, sound escapes your throat, a husky exaltation of victory. Your noise tremors through me and I hold your head softly, fingers slipping through your hair, twisting it tightly to the point of pain. I have you, all that you are, at my whim, where my need is greatest and I whisper to you, ‘my good boy, such a beautiful good boy.’
Enflamed, your palm spreads across my lower back, strong worn hands pull me closer and down; you rock backwards slowly lowering me to my knees, straddling your face. Reaching for my breasts your grip tightens and pulls, grasping me tighter to your mouth, my gasps flying from my mouth.
And my hips gyrate an ancient dance of naked need growing wilder inside me.
©️ Juliette Turrell