Erotic Romance, Fiction, Love and Lust, Passion's Invocation, Romance, Thursday Thrills

Hungry

Hungry

 

 

I am agitated, pacing the floor with my skin prickling. I’m thinking of you and I am hungry for you, and constantly remembering; the night I lay in your bed, curled into your back to spoon you, allowing my hands free access to roam.

 

The memories come to me, though I rarely ask for them; the day I tried to swallow your shaft, gripping your sweet, spankable ass cheeks, the perfection of trailing my lips up your hard thighs and caressing you with my tongue, nuzzling and breathing you in. The memories comfort and assault making me hate when we’re apart even more than is usual.

 


My thoughts are too inflamed and tumultuous. I cannot handle this heated torment another second, so I get up to make coffee, mumbling, “Need caffeine by the truckload,” and then pace the kitchen floor, waiting for it to brew.

 

I am walking for lack of any other release. My fingers long to touch and wrap around your long, thick manhood, trying to memorize you indelibly, from my fingertips to my wanting, greedy palms. I can still feel the handfuls that made me spread my fingers just to cup your full, firm balls.




 

Finally I shake my head clear and check the coffee pot. Why is everything taking too long? Everything in my life is hurry up and wait!

 

My home is too small to contain my anxious person and defiant thoughts. The last cock shot was the last straw. I need you right here right now! I bolt angrily from the house to go walk it off.

 

Heading out onto the beach, the moon is punctuated by high clouds drifting across the night sky. I break into a sprint and cover a quarter mile before I am winded. 


Stopping to catch my breath, I bend spontaneously and my hands land on my knees. The feel of your steely shaft returns to me. Your iron cock is burning hot, hard, and ready, as though forged in fire. 


“Stop it! Don’t think,” I scream my impotent aggravation into the salt-sea air, “Walk it off! Go!”

 

I begin again as midnight waves pound the shore with an oddly satisfying Rush, whoosh, and smack.

 For a moment, I am mesmerized, and I pause to watch the sea claim the sand dragging it back to the ocean. Claiming its own love no doubt.

 

Again I shake the thoughts from my mind and focus on running. 


Another mile passes before I drop to the sand exhausted. For a long moment, I realize I have been trying to outrun my own thoughts, but your words return to me as though you are whispering them to me right now. “You’re mine.” Rush, whoosh, smack.



 

I close my eyes letting your voice blend with the waves and the sounds I’ve grown to love. Your mine. Rush, whoosh, smack, and I spread my fingers to feel the forceful ocean reclaiming its own. 


Water and sand trickle through my fingers, lulling me into sleep with its perfect cadence. Rush, whoosh and smack. You’re mine. You’re mine. Rush, whoosh, smack. Mine. Only mine.

 

The call of a night bird wakes me and you are instantly in mind. I open my eyes to take stock of my surroundings.

 

The moon is behind thick clouds now, the beach is still deserted, and daylight is nowhere near. Rush, whoosh and smack. I need you so badly it hurts and I don’t relish the walk back feeling like this.

 


Instead, I turn to lay on my back and ease my zipper down, listening hard for anything nearby. Then I push my jeans off and bend at the knees, enjoying the feel of a summer breeze caressing my nether regions. Rush, whoosh and smack.

 

Conjuring your naked body in mind, I close my eyes and slide my fingertips down my abdomen in between my legs. You’re mine. Rush, whoosh, smack.


 Your voice commands me; a distant whisper that is ever present in me. Just hearing you sends my thighs up in flames as I stroke my hot needy clitoris. Rush, whoosh and smack.

 

With you, I am brazen under cover of darkness. I long to feel your weight on top of me and the picture of us is instant, too easily returning to me as I try to ease my own wanton desires. Rush, whoosh, smack.



 

The first touch is an electric spark and I imagine your strong, masterful hands stroking me with one finger and plunging the other into my aching wetness.


 I’m on fire for you and I need your completion. I am twisting and writhing as you tear off your swim trunks and drive your sword straight into my molten center. Rush, whoosh, smack.



 

A cry escapes me, blending into the night sounds. Rush, whoosh, smack.

 You’re mine now. You were made to be mine, and you slam your iron need into me harder, making me whimper but not ending this sweet torture. Rush, whoosh, smack.




 

“Say it and I’ll give you release,” you taunt, pulling your hard length back so I am barely clinging to the tip of your cock. Rush, whoosh, smack.



 

For a moment, I am defiant but I imagine your stare. You hold my gaze with your own, waiting for my surrender. Rush, whoosh, smack.

 

In another moment, I collapse in fiery, urgent need as you drive your iron cock into me harder than you ever have, and in the moment before you steal my breath, I whisper, I’m yours. Brand me your own.”

 


Finally, you slam into me harder and faster until orgasm claims us, sending both of us tumbling into ecstasy, and my cunt is throbbing hard around your staff, jumping and throbbing in my wet sheath and spilling your seed into me. Rush, whoosh, smack.



 

When I am satiated and no longer trembling I open my eyes again, knowing that I am safe in the night, restored in loving you and in sharing ultimate release, exchanging energy that lends me strength.

 

Finally, I am strong enough to wash and frolic in the waves, to face the long walk back, and to endure the time and space between us, ever hungry.

 


Rush, whoosh, smack.

 

 

By Wildfire8470 

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©May 6, 2018 at 12:32 PM – All Rights Reserved
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected

 

Tags:  #18+ #adult #adultcontent #love #lust #long-distance #longing #relationship #erotic #romance #Thursday Thrills #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #masturbation #exhibition

 

Erotic Romance, Love and Lust, Passion's Invocation

Naked Beauty

Naked Beauty

Part 1

 Naked Beauty

 

 

Jermaine had thought of nothing but the success of this assignment. He boarded the plane with his hopes up higher than the flight would take him. Then Vera had fallen ill. He got her voicemail at the hotel.

 

Vera hadn’t realized that the milk in her refrigerator had turned while she was bucking for a promotion beneath Jermaine’s boss. She was quite fond of Jermaine, but Mack was much wealthier, more established, and more likely to settle down soon.

 

She had arrived home ravenous the next morning, never guessing that the power had been off all night. She only read about the fierce storm as she stirred milk into her morning coffee and drank her third cup.

 

Karma had never approached her subtly and she knew that it was going to be a vengeful bitch this time too, even though Jermaine had been far too preoccupied to notice that she had been much less than attentive lately. He had neglected her a little bit, but Vera knew she wouldn’t have needed much of an excuse anyways. She had always been drawn to money and power.

 

Gizelle had been her replacement on the shoot. Man stealing little jezebel from hell, she grumbled, clutching her stomach, much too ill to care about much else.

 

Jermaine knew he would lose the shoot entirely, along with his enviable career, if he couldn’t pull off an incredible feat of magic. He paced the room, mumbling to himself, “Some men make women disappear. How do I make the perfect woman appear in front of my lens?”

 

Vera had it all, he surmised dejectedly. No one is as excellent for Italy as she is. What am I going to do now? Picturing her, Jermaine voiced his anger, “You just had to poison yourself the day before a shoot that will make or break me, damn it all!”

 

He strode across the room raking his fingers through jet black locks. Leaning into the ornate sill, he peered out the window in a full blown panic, seeing the pink hued sunset, an expanse of white sand, and the translucent, turquoise Mediterranean Sea. In which to drown myself after I get the axe, he added dismally.

 

Then his gaze landed on her. Laying on a blanket, completely unguarded in sleep, was the naked beauty he had been praying for. He blinked and shook his head, certain that she was a mirage or that he would wake up to realize he had only dreamed her. Instinct and adrenaline took over. Jermaine raised the camera dangling from his neck, and snapped his first photograph of her.

 

Viewing her through the telephoto lens, he took stock with a critical photographer’s eye. She had skin like liquid velvet with a slight blush on her face, obviously unaccustomed to lying nude beneath the sun, and he smiled, pleased with that rumination.

 

He’d seen many beautiful women, had bedded more than half, and was always dismayed that so many had sun damaged skin. Look at that red hair; he grinned, longing to drive his fingers through the silky riot. That’s not a color you can get from a bottle, he beamed happily, lost in his voyeurism.

 

Suddenly she stirred, causing him to drop the camera. He ran from his luxurious surroundings as though the room were on fire. With his stomach in knots, he paused to catch his breath and run faster.

 

His lungs were near to bursting when he found the place he had seen her. Jermaine dropped to knees as his hopes fell away. He placed his hands on the still warm indentation of her exquisite body and closed his eyes in grief. A musical voice startled him back alertness.

 

“Por favor señor, encontraste mi anillo? “Please sir, did you find my ring?”

 

Jermaine opened his eyes to find his naked beauty wrapped in a blanket and speaking to him in a language he didn’t understand. Her thumb grazed her ring finger urgently and the message was conveyed.

 

“Ring! You’ve lost your ring,” he said, gesturing to indicate his understanding.

 

“Sí. Por favor, ayúdame a mirar. “Yes. Please, help me look.” Gizelle knelt down to run her hands lightly over the sand, pleading with her gaze.

 

Jermaine pretended to search, knowing that his knee had landed on it. Not wanting to risk losing her twice he kept it hidden, asking, “Do you speak English?”

 

“¿Inglés? Un poco. Lo intent. A little. I try,” she stumbled, still searching the immediate area frantically.

 

“Okay, that’s good,” he exclaimed. 

 

“¡No, no es bueno! ¿No lo entiendes. It’s not good! Do you not understand?” she asked, emphatically pointing to her ring finger.

 

Suddenly, her meaning registered in mind and he did fully understand now. She’s engaged to another man. She’s promised to another. He hoped his devastation didn’t show.

 

She glanced at him and realized he was crestfallen. He looked like a man in great physical pain. Though she didn’t understand most of his words, she understood the look of personal torment. It touched her heart and she forgot her own panic.

 

Gizelle tucked the blanket around her, sat down in the sand, and took his hand. Jermaine’s breath caught as they looked into each other’s eyes.

 

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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© April 22, 2018 at 8:13 AM

Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected

 

 

Tags:  love, lust, erotic, fiction, cheating, infidelity, karma, lovers, romance, voyeurism

Fantasy, Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation

Rescuing Love

Rescuing Love

 

E59EEA71-D75E-4EF6-8109-CBE03C0198ED

Anne Stokes

 

Zathom Contest Entry

 

3 word prompts (Fathoms) made into a 55 (or less) word story. Must be category Hero/Antihero.
My Fathoms: Dolphin, Dragon, Crumbs

 

The perils of love have always been dangerous, she surmised, taking refuge behind a tree to calculate an epic rescue.

 

She had not planned on crossing shark infested waters on a dolphin, but luring a dragon from its lair with breadcrumbs, was the most dangerous peril she would attempt to rescue her love trapped inside.

 

By Wild Uniqueorn

FC9248A3-2247-44E1-812C-7A05D2F48505

 

 

 

This link!

https://www.zathom.com/read/U3Rvcnk6MzMwMg==

 

 

#Contest #Entry on #Zathom #Microliterature #flashfiction #fiction #hero #heroine 

 

Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Short Stuff Sunday

Not Broken

Not Broken

 

Not Broken

  

He was a pirate in every sense of the word. He came into her world while she slept and stole her away from safety. He was a literal thief in the night, stealing her virtue and then her mind. He twisted her into whatever amused him most. She followed blindly, depending on him to lead. She had not asked for his world but that was what she got. In time, she learned to tolerate his abuses in quiet servitude.

  

She lived an unfamiliar terror, never knowing what anguish he would inflict next, only knowing that he would not fail to. They had battled for her life, and for her will to live. She suffered seven years of soul crushing degradation, beating her black and blue, forcing her to bend and then forcing her to her knees, ignoring tears and screams. He had beaten her unconscious and nearly into her grave.

  

Finally, she freed her hands as he stumbled towards her. In a flash of fatalistic joy, she bolted, running for the gangplank, and flung her body overboard. She slipped beneath midnight waves, holding her breath with lungs near to bursting. Hiding in the breakers, silent for hours, she watched the search party relent and the ship sail away.

  

She washed onto shore beaten, bloody and scarred.  As she laid her head on cool, damp sand and closed her eyes, she whispered, “Not broken,” and passed out, sure in the knowledge that she would die fighting before letting him break her.

  
  

By Wildfire8470

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© March 19, 2018 at 4:09 AM
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected

  
  
  
  
  
Tags: #microliterature #microfiction #flash #fiction #shortstory #pirate #tales #heroine #enduring #spirit #message to a #tormentor #shortstuffsunday #amwriting