When you lick your lips and look like you're about to take my cock into your mouth, or raise your eyes at me through half closed lids and look abashed through your lashes. Or sway your hips in your "just fucked good" way. Or curl your foot under your calf and jut your hip, raise your torso to pronounce your curves.
These are nothing. Just your little ways.
You lean forward with your arms folded so your cleavage all but spills out everywhere and open your eyes wide into a little girl look of naivete. You finger bottlenecks and candles and slide your palm down to the base of a glass with your hand wrapped firmly around.
Just your everyday self.
These things are nothing for me. Every woman has them, tries them, does them. When you tell me your deepest secret desires and dreams, that's a beguilement I'm unable to avoid.
Will you decide, when you see me tonight, to attempt to make me want you so very much that I will suddenly grab your wrists, pull you to the couch and over the arm? To yank your shirt over your head and down your arms, twist it so the wrists are tied above your head and tie it with my own to the leg of the couch? Will you try to make me tie your legs to the sofa legs so that your ass is in the air over the arm and your tits hang down where your arms are stretched out and your neck arching when I touch you or make you want to squirm -- if only you could?
Will you run your finger along your lips, suggestive of the way you might suck my cock or even how you might finger your pussy lips open for me? Make me want to fuck your dripping, steaming opening, ram my hard pole in and out of you while you push and try to buck against me?
Will you turn your hips, just so while sitting on the cushions of the couch? Exhibit for me, the curve of your waist as it moves from the soft slopes of your thighs to the firmness of your stomach and the pillowy fullness of your chest? Will you jut your tits ever so slightly towards me? Even subconsciously, these things you know will tempt me. Make me think of something new to surprise and delight you.
Your skirt rides up and you flash your thighs even as I think of shoving the cloth up your back, yanking your panties down and exposing the smooth orbs. Your fingers even trace little circles on the top of your knee while you talk with me in a dance of rhythmic enticement.
I want to hold those fingers between my own as they splay with agony and abandon. As your back arcs in immoderate indecency, thrusting your ass at me as hard and as fully as you are capable of within your bounds. Thrashing and straining, your cunt grasping and clenching. An agony of struggle. And then you cum.
A violent bursting. As you scream and flail, my own eruption matches your intensity and vicious, base need.
"Oh my fucking god!" You say. There is a collapse, a deflating that happens after the maelstrom. It is deceptive.
You would sleep. I could untie you now and walk you upstairs and gently place you onto our bed. I could hold you sweetly as you drift along into delicate chaste dreams. For a few hours.
Then you would wriggle closer. Press the tenderness and the warmth that is your flesh into me and draw me inside. My arms sighing around you as your breasts succumb to my chest and my very skin sinks into yours, merges with your heart. More and further you would draw me as you first press, then insist yourself into my body and my sleep. I'll waken and take you. How could I not? It would be more true to say that I would be taken. You would have your way.
