Image from vintage postcard – Source Unknown
His lips brushed my shoulder and the world ceased to exist.
I was a new version of myself now. I was nothing more or less than what he decided I would be.
I repeat; His lips
Not my mouth. Not my cunt. My shoulder. I could have wept for how at home that one simple act made me feel.
I did not weep.
Instead, I fell to my knees and put my lips somewhere a little more intimate than his shoulder. It was then that I fell into him.
Not in love.
Not in lust.
I fell into his very being and bathed in his essence the notion struck me that forever being curled at his feet in worship would be a very fine existence indeed.
My heart pounded as my cunt contracted. He was filling me, stretching me, physically and spiritually. I could feel him branching into me, leaving pieces of himself behind, that would reside forever within my soul.
Then as he moaned, deep and raw, as the beast within him made its presence known. His lips brushed my shoulder once more and my body released every ounce of pleasure it could muster
… and this time …