black erotica
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You asked me to touch you. With purpose. I watched you enjoy the feel of your own hands on your body. Until, in the dark, your tongue made your way around my nipple and my control melted. I came so hard the memory of it makes cum again. You went from 101 to 401 as
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Hey babe. Not to brag, but did you know my pussy has super powers? My pussy is the lazarus pit healing you, restoring you and giving you immortality that you may rise again and again and again. When you wake up, yesterday is just yesterday because my pussy was the spark to create the fire
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He stole it. His photographer’s eye watching my face for every shade while his musician fingers played sonatas under the privacy of the table. Every time I got close he pulled back “No. It belongs to me now.” And paused his manipulations until I was almost back to thinking in coherent sentences. He milked my
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Your tongue is the starring feature in a scene played across my mind while my hand vibrates lips and I shake with the remembrance of orgasms past and yet to cum Photo by William Stitt on Unsplash
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I admit it. I fucked up. Caught between awake and dreaming, I thought I could control it. I thought it would be easy since in the past, when the buzzer sounded, I always woke up. But this time, I lay immobilized listening to the incessent screech threating me with ecstasy Dreaming and remembering. Smooth, heat,
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Show me you thirst for me Grab my hips relentlessly as you heave me back toward you. The feel of the weight of your hands in the crack of my hips holding me as you use me only for your pleasure not worried about anything else except the wet, heat of my pussy spread just
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I paused the first time I saw one of your photographs scrolling through my feed and found myself involuntarily gripping my lips together. What I saw reached a place inside of me only accesible by a ladder of vulnerability. I realized I was viewing the visual representation of what I wanted my poetry to be. I found
Wandering & Wondering 