The Kiss.

It starts with a kiss, doesn’t everything though? The kiss of life. The kiss of death. La petite mort. The flow of the sexual energy from his mouth to hers causes her to bite her lip in remembrance. Her body responds at the very thought of the kiss with waves of rolling passion. She can feel the blood pump around her lips – the heaviness of wont – it pushes her to want more. Breathless.

This. This is new. It is the ache between her legs, the body arching closer to his cock. It is perfect. She has thought of nothing more than his cock pushing inside of her wet raging cunt. To hear his animal approach is quite the thing. This animal is called desire. It climbs inside her and pushes against her. Lose control is the silent cry whether it be directed at him or her – it doesn’t matter.

This version of this man with this perfect cock – has she simply created it? Did she decide to devour him or did he decide to devour her – either way there is a hunger that need be sated – a thirst that need be quenched. Her cunt is hot and wet and waiting waiting waiting. She hears him gasp at the state of her. She knows his cock twitches with the understanding that this is for him.