BB's Dirty Thoughts 6 Feb

A soft gasp, scented in this evening's choice of perfume,
the bra comes down.

Before me, treasure, bounty, the form and shape of woman
peaked in pink, saffron, cinammon,
a thousand flavours and shapes, no twins identical.
Architecture and landscape that belongs to a form goddess made;
and thus, worship is Mandatory.

A weighted stroke that it more of a push, fingers threading over nipples 

simply learning the skin

a revealing of fangs that sinks deeply in the underbreast,
that nervous spot that rends my prey writhing and gasping against me.

The delicacy of an areola is a captivating pleasure-
too much, and I will ruin the meal, too little, and I ruin the purpose.
I kiss around the shape of a globe first,
then,
slip silk/cream/flesh/sin into my mouth and devour,
neglecting not it's complement.

A firm grab elicits the sound I thirst for, a heavy grip that makes flesh pillow between fingers- enough to bring pleasure,
show Ferality, desire,
the slight bruising not left for it's own sake, but in showing my sheer salivating lust.

Madness is the shape of the cello,
those wandering curves that make up the sum total of divinity
Small, piquant morsels
Verdant, succulent handfuls
or lush, massive beauties
All, enough to drive the lust into creativity,

to a feral zeal,
a base need to caress, consume, lose myself there.

A wanted strike to the underside, and the world moves with the waves of their ripple,
a forceful, cruel pleasure in the reverberations as I make her earth quake.
Tender is the touch after, sliding dancer's fingers over the sensitive buds again and again
and again,
till between ministrations to her temple and heady, taboo poetry poured into her ear,
she is Ready for me.

I will feast and fuck,
Love and long,
take her over completely
fingers in her hair and where it hurts best,
satisfied only once she blushes for the volume of her juices spilled upon me.



To make Sappho sing.
Bordeaux Black