Desperate

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Desperate

 

In the shadows of the back room at a party, their mutual presence and timing was serendipity. His eyes met hers. She stood frozen in his gaze breathing a little too hard, her voluptuous chest rising and falling to the rapid beat of his heart. Their emotions were palpable. His countenance was that of a wolf stalking prey. Their mutual attraction was evident and insistent.

 

“Damn it,” he whispered, closing the gap between them.

 

“No shit,” she countered, throwing her arms around him.

 

Both knew the electric-blue heat crackling between them would likely be their demise. They lit the fuse on the keg of potential discovery that night, and risked life-threatening lies with every meeting thereafter. Theirs was a desperate love, demanding fulfillment at any price, so they rolled the dice knowing that any time together was too priceless a gift to remain undetected.

 

They lived on the fringes of practiced poker-faces, weaving in and out of the razor-sharp edges of night, skillfully navigating every possible means to spending time in each other’s arms, living and dying together by the tick of a clock. One ill-timed second, just the space of another breath could shatter too many lives. The intensity of their love and the depths of their attraction should have come with a HAZMAT label.

 

They were desperate and dangerous, a fatal combination, doing anything to sate the flames burning unchecked between them. They skated on killer blades across shards of icy domesticity, holding onto memories that could blast a Grand Canyon into undeserving worlds. They came together with precision, kindling, lighter fluid, and concentration. This love sliced the fragile ice with a single spark so potent it threatened to set the pitch-black night ablaze for all eternity.

 

With each of them married to another and too many lives dependent on their own, the culmination of lethal passion meant gambling everything; meeting in the small hours, slicing precious seconds in stealth to be together, or carving it out of thin air. They only existed together, arriving in disguise, signing names no one could trace, skating between luxurious hotels, the back seat of their cars, or anywhere they could lie together anonymously.

 

He breathed fervor upon her lips with his kiss and she drank his elixir with the desperate need of unadulterated addiction. He inhaled light that shone in her eyes that spoke of combustible emotions for him. Her eyes flashed an unmistakably beautiful light, like that of a Turkish lantern, conveying the sheer love in her heart and he could not look away.

 

They made vehement love with limbs wound together, bodies writhing in a deeply fierce, primal, copulate frenzy, much more incredible than either had known prior.  She vowed that her life was in the mercy of his hands.  He swore his only reason to breathe lay in the mercy of her presence in his life.

 

Together, they were salvation and damnation.  With that knowledge, they threw their craven bodies to the wolves within.  Fearlessly, they twined and bound their limbs, fondling and twisting entangled together on desperate coital fringes, loving more deeply, more intensely than their bodies would allow.  Their love was both lifeblood and lethal tonic.

 

They were junkies engulfed in gambling all on the chime of time between mundane days and rapacious nights. The two were drawn together by the pull of love like the pull of moon upon ocean, both were powerless to resist. Silently, they accepted the consequences of certain death in discovery, only truly alive in suicidal satiation, greedily welcoming the divine culmination of little death.

 

They knew the beauty of heaven in a flash that breached earth’s atmosphere with the hellish craving of junkies, both pimp and prostitute, together, offering up everything, gambling all on the craven need to torch the kindling with every dizzying orgasm. Supply increased demand and they embraced it with the honor among two who love, like thieves in the night, stealing what was not theirs to keep.

 

This couple, these two that defy every obstacle, to love, to share and bestow as one soul, united them in stealing a breath of life, each for the other, in meeting and fulfilling their ravenous taste for ambrosia, on the sharp end of a needle sans judgement, caution,  warning, and defying all labels.

 

Anyone barely glimpsing the power of their love would have killed to bottle and sell their combustion, knowing anyone would happily hand over his soul for a single sip of their cocktail. These two stole time to drink heartily and chase it with sensual fulmination; an explosion having a brilliance that blinded the gods and drowned them in their own nectar, sated and ecstatic for whatever time they claimed, each time, until the next desperate moment.

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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© January 11, 2016 – 02:16 AM

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You’re Mine (The Original)

Female Masturbation1

Standing in the shower, soapy hands in my hair, absentmindedly working the lather as I think of all that we have shared and your words echo through my mind as I lean back against the wall.

 

“You’re mine,”

 

Reaching to finger my clit as I remember your face, only inches from mine and your breath against my skin as you hissed,

 

“You’re mine. Only mine,” and I know that I am… that it is all I ever want to be.   I press one finger into my tight, hot pussy, already longing for you in ways that I have never desired another and I wonder about tonight, about the future, about how and where you will touch me, about what will become of me.

 

Closing my eyes, I run my fingers from shoulder to breast, imagining your hands on me, your fingers grazing my nipples and sliding down my abdomen, always with your voice in my head,

 

“You’re mine. You’re only mine.”

 

And I know that I am, but will never admit it.  

 

I wonder how long I’ll crave you as I slip two fingers into my aching wetness, imagining your long, hard cock slamming into me as my breath comes harder and faster. Stroking my clit harder and letting the hot water pummel me while I picture you driving your tongue into me, licking and laving me there, driving me into white-hot desperation as whimpers escape and I give in to this passionate assault.  

 

I am trembling with desire, tears are stinging my eyes, threatening to give way to the ocean behind my eyelids knowing that my soul is not my own anymore, that this heat and desire is all about you, always you, “You’re mineMineOnly mine,” and I cannot protest.

 

I cannot, will not refuse you anything, knowing that you possess me now; that you own my secretive thoughts and traitorous body. I am painfully aware there is nothing I can deny you.

 

“You’re mine,”

 

And I whisper the only reply that I have, “Yes, love. Yes. I’m yours, all yours, only yours.”  

 

Feeling you penetrate me, your cock driving into me flaming-hot and so, so hard as my tight little pussy explodes and I let the tears fall, finally admitting it, if only to myself, while fervently praying that you never test me, never find out just how much power you have.

 

I let my breathing slow picturing your strong arms pinning me to your chest, locking me into your embrace and I know… and I know… I am yours.  

 

I rinse the soap from my body with the last of the hot water. Wrapping a towel around me. I make my way into the bedroom and open the closet to pull all my work clothes aside, working my way to the back where I stashed all my “sexy clothes.” Your voice is still ringing in my ears, “You’re mine, my love. Only mine.”  

 

I pull back the dresses meant for office parties to find the short, skimpy dress that I bought just to wear for you, the one that remained hidden until now.  With trembling fingers, I pull the dress from the hanger and hold it up to me in the mirror, rolling my eyes at the slit that is almost all the way up to there, and wondering why I dared to buy such a skimpy outfit. Then taking a seat on the bed, I lay the dress beside me to lay out stockings, garters and five-inch stilettos, and then quickly pull the blankets over me.

 

I lay back on my pillows holding one against me, imagining your hard frame on top of me, feeling the weight of you holding me down. You are kissing me deeply, passionately and I am arching to press my body to yours, needing you with a fierce intensity. I slide my fingers between my thighs imagining you holding me down, pinning me hard against the mattress as you press the head of your thick, steely cock into my fiery, tight, little cunt.

 

Your hands, so much larger than mine, cup my breasts as I drive my fingers into your hair. You take my hard nipples between your lips while I close my heavy eyelids and surrender to this sweet agony. Always hearing you tell me, over and over again,

 

“You’re mine. You belong to me.”  

 

I push two fingers into my steaming-hot cunt fast and hard, thinking of your granite girth filling me, and stealing my breath as your demanding lips claim mine.

 

I remember how I fought you; fought for my very sanity and fought my own desires, squirming and writhing beneath you, fighting and pushing against you. Then both your hands were at each side of my face not letting me turn away, even as I  cursed your strength you kissed away the last of my fight.  

 

You were stroking my hard, sensitized clit and I was grinding against you, letting you claim me in ways that no one ever has. I let you bruise my lips, my neck, branding me your own, and I know… and I know… I am yours… only yours.  

 

I ache for you, my skin burning for your touch and I already feel my soaking wet pussy clinging to your rock-hard erection, driving into my hot center, forcing me open to you. You are pushing me past all of my limits, shoving me straight into the teeth of elicit, white-hot desire and making me burn for you as I stroke my clit faster and harder.  

 

I picture how you rubbed your cock against me there, grinding against me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to have you inside me. Remembering how I reached between our bodies, finding just enough space to take you with both hands and plunge you into my fiery tightness. Recalling the feeling of you, your unrelenting, steely need and letting the tension build into unbearable, electric-lust.  

 

I’m longing for your delicious completion as I force my fingers into my aching pussy again and again, harder and faster, arching to feel your broad, firm frame crushed to me, your lips on mine kissing me long and hard.

 

Your fingers stroke faster and harder until my pussy erupts, throbbing hard around my fingers and I can almost feel your full, hard length pulsing inside of me… almost… and I know… and I know… and I know… and I whisper it aloud, as if to dispel this demon, “I’m yours, love. Do with me what you will,”  

 

The words echo in my mind as my breathing finally slows. Always, always hearing you, over and again, “You are mine. All mine, only mine. Always,” until I come down from my all-consuming climax, where can I open my eyes into the darkness and still imagine you here.  

 

By Wildfire8470

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© November 24, 2015   8:36am – All Rights Reserved

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Craving Kitkat

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Craving Kitkat

Kit

 


 
 

Henry woke to the sound of a motorcycle rumbling outside and squinted at the digital clock, grumbling, “2 am. on a Tuesday. Don’t the neighbors know I have to work in the morning?” 
 
 

He rolled over pulling a blanket with him when he heard knocking at the door. For a moment he hesitated but urgency propelled him from his bed. It was an uneasiness he hadn’t felt in months. Henry fought to surface from his dream-laden sleep, talking to himself and attempting to recall when he’s last felt this way.
 
 

“Not since I was seeing,” He cut short his thoughts and pulled the door open to find Kit leaning against the doorframe wearing a familiar look; one that seemed to say, “What took so long, asshole?”
 
 

He smiled despite himself. She was the only woman he couldn’t read, but even entirely disheveled, with her hellfire hair windblown and tangled, she was a vision.
 
 

Kit incited feelings in him that were utterly endearing, if somewhat disquieting. She was woman and child; part fully grown, tougher than nails, strong in her own right temptress and vixen, yet part playful, silly, wide-eyed innocent, coquette with a bit of wild child.
 
 

Henry studied her wondering whether to fold her into his protective arms or pin her to the wall and ravage her. He could never quite discern what was veiled with practiced stealth behind her eyes.
 
 

When they lived together briefly, he surmised that she meant to send no obvious message, intentionally leaving him to wonder whether she wished to appear mysteriously alluring or had, perhaps, arranged for his early demise. Her turbulent seastorm eyes and lips that only turned up slightly at the corners could mean one of two things, his greatest joy or worst fear realized.
 
 

Had he been Superman, she would have been Kryptonite. Kit loved with an intensity that left him gasping in astonishment, and in the space of a breath she could be the embodiment of tornadic wrath swirling around it’s entirely too attractive eye.

You may be the death of me, he thought, remembering that she had always been a volatile creature, albeit an enticingly beautiful one. He was certain she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She had certainly lured him with her charms and left him in emotional peril with his hopes dashed.

Even entirely disheveled, Kit was stunning with fiery locks framing her angelic face. He had nicknamed her “Hellcat” for the riotous red waves she could never quite tame. Hellcat eventually merged with her given name and she was his “Kitkat.”

Henry shook his head clear and steeled himself, “Kitkat! What brings you here?”
 
 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” She laughed.
 
 

“Of course I do. You never forget a moment of your first love. It seems appropriate now. You’re stunning. Wow!”
 
 

Henry froze, certain that her heart slammed shut the moment he said ‘love.’ It was a hard and fast rule for her. Kit couldn’t handle love.
 
 

Ironically, by way of reply, she flew into his arms kissing him hotly, ardently pressing her slight frame to his and raking her nails down his back. Instinct urged him not to question his good fortune as all reason deserted him, but there had to be more to this picture, more he wasn’t equipped to handle at this hour.
 
 

Henry struggled to extract himself from a hormonal cocktail, feeling as though he were in the vice-grip of something much stronger than himself. After a heated moment locked in passionate embrace, he managed a step back and rummaged his thoughts for a plausible excuse, “Kitkat, this is a very welcome surprise,” he informed her, “but I have company tonight.” He glanced toward the stairs holding his breath.
 
 

She paused, smiling at the nickname he’d given her, and immediately called his bluff. With one eyebrow cocked and eyes sparking challenge, she flatly stated, “Get rid of her.”

Again, Henry wondered if her eyes flashed lethal lightning or promiscuous promise. He loved Kit, always had, but he wasn’t going to hand her this ‘win’ on a silver platter, “Why,” he questioned, feeling every inch the liar he was.
 
 

Kit felt his defenses weakening and stated with calculated deliberation, “Because I’m more.”
 
 

Henry understood what she had shorthanded and knew it to be true. She was more of everything he wanted, needed and desired whether it was best for him or not.
 
 

They were thrown together years ago. She was forever in his heart and he in hers. Their lives were irrevocably entangled. Together they were a force to challenge Heaven though the match may have been the design of hell.
 
 

Without waiting for reply, she marched through the house and into the kitchen. By the time he caught up, she was pouring Coke into glasses and asking where he kept the rum.
 
 

Henry stood behind her smiling, enjoying the sweetest derriere he had ever admired, quite lost in a flood of memories. He could never accuse her of a single dull moment. With his libido barely in-check, he relented, “Okay, I give. Be quiet and I’ll go get rid of her.”
 
 

“’K,” she acknowledged with off-the-cuff nonchalance, as though there hadn’t been another option.
 
 

Henry climbed the stairs pretending to gently remove the fictitious suitor from his bed and escort the figment out the door, then remembered to place a noisy kiss to the back of his hand for effect.
 
 

Kit had perfected her ‘Whistler’s Mother smile’ long ago. Her countenance gave nothing away. Her expression could be infuriatingly ambivalent. On more than one occasion he couldn’t have guessed if she’d just won the lottery or totaled his car.
 
 

Silently, he laughed at himself knowing this was the source of his unease, her unpredictability and capacity to touch him profoundly without physical contact. I should have known, he chided himself, we have always been connected somehow. I’ve always known when she was hurting or when she really needs me.
 
 

Kit broke her silence and his train of thought, “Hi, Henry, I’ve missed you.”
 
 

Her affectionate lilt sent him reeling headlong into his own hard-won defenses, like a wrecking ball into walls it had taken years to erect.
 
 

For half a second, he wondered if she could hear the noises, the explosion of brick and mortar walls built in mind, the racking sobs that rivaled cumulative wailing wall cries, the rending of woven fabric into separation.
 
 

His shredded heart still screaming it’s excruciating pain, the shattering of personal safety, now an illusion that lay in quivering, bloody chunks of self, of labor, heartache and tears, whimpering in the spaces between them with the illusion of safety now thrashing on the floor, dying at her feet …and he wondered, Does she know? Can she feel it, hear it, or is this a one-way connection?
 
 

He swallowed around the enormous lump in his throat and fought for composure, “Hi Kit, how have you been?”
 
 

Henry was well aware that being raised by wolves would have been preferable to the rearing she had received. It was the pink suede elephant perpetually in their personal space. She had spent too many years trying to escape what was done to her in the name of love, family, relationships and obligation.
 
 
He had no doubt that she loved him but was fully conscious of the fact that she had no acceptable definition of it. She had only a few diseased examples for comparison and all of them made her feel sick, trapped, and suffocated. If she couldn’t avoid the feeling, she had certainly stricken the word from conversation.
 
 
“I’m fine. You?”
 
 
“Kit, you always say ‘fine’ when you’re not. What is it?”
 
 
He hadn’t meant to blurt it or care as much as he did, but she was here, and in her presence he was suddenly invested again.
 
 
“You know, just stuff. Life happening.”
 
 
“Yea, I hate it when that happens,” he laughed, trying to lighten the moment.
 
 
“I’ll drink to that,” She quipped, relaxing into the overstuffed couch.
 
 
Jack checked the time already knowing he would never make it to work as expected and there would be no untroubled sleep tonight. He went to replenish their drinks, asking over his shoulder, “How about we have another and we’ll watch your favorite comedy? I can play hooky tomorrow.”
 
 
“Sounds heavenly. It’s okay to crash on the couch?”
 
 
“As long as you don’t mind if I pull out the sofa bed while we do.” Henry held his breath wondering if she had just changed her mind or would change it now and he remembered, Kit can downshift faster than the speed of light.
 
 
With so much of her youth being lost to mental enslavement and emotional blackmail Kit had sought out the only love she could relate to. At eighteen, she left home and became involved with several abusive men.
 
 
Later, she took refuge in a motorcycle gang. They were warm, welcoming, safety in numbers, able and willing to abuse anyone who mistreated one of their own. They ‘had her back.’ Ultimately, they were the family she never had.
 
 
A precious few had been lovers but all afforded her protection; gave her a semblance of stability, shelter and succor. They accepted her unconditionally. She belonged solely to herself and with her chosen family. As long as she owned what was left of her battered mind and body, they were balm to her wounded soul.
 
 
Kit understood love only in that context. She was safe with them. Anything resembling obligation or commitment made her want to run screaming into the night.
 
 
She studied him with an expression that could fill with infinite affection, guileless innocence, or wanton lust, as quickly as she could drop an iron curtain veiling malice, venom and murderous intent.
 
 
Henry risked a timorous guess, testing the waters in making the couch bed into a comfy sanctuary. Kit seemed content, and thankfully, ill-prepared to bolt. He sensed she needed a cozy hideout in a familiar fortress. She came to him for consistency and stability.
 
 
He loved her more than the salvation of his soul, and was wholly convinced now, that she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She certainly had the capacity to lure him in and leave him in emotional peril with feelings raw and hopes dashed.
 
 
With certainty, he knew they could climb to ecstatic heights of incomparable pleasures founded solely in genuine love, as certainly as he knew she would be gone before he woke.
 
 
He had wanted to give her the world but she already had her world on her terms. What he learned the hard way, and only just realized, is that he wanted to give her his world, on the condition that she share it.
 
 
He would ask her to bend after a lifetime of bending and breaking. His idyllic view of family would be her certain death.
 
 
Finally, he understood and accepted that clinging to her freedom was no more selfish an act than asking her to love him in the fashion he would visit upon her. How could I expect her to conform to my definition of love and family? She comes from her own little war zone; her own personal hell having that exact prerequisite.
 
 
Henry wanted to give her the love she longed for and so obviously needed, but in a flash of understanding, he realized that the most loving thing he could do for her is let her go no matter how many times he would have to. Bikers were her family, and for the foreseeable future, he was her home.
 
 
As they rested spooned together, safe in the night with all other appetites satisfied, her words came back to him, “Because I’m more.” She was absolutely right but wrong. He closed his eyes slipping into sated sleep, whispering, “Because you’re everything.”
 
 
Kit smiled knowingly and closed her weary eyes. With her need of affirmation and acceptance; her ultimate craving finally fulfilled by the only man she ever truly loved, she fell into a more peaceful sleep than she had ever thought possible. She was home.
 
 
By Wildfire8470
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