Every Damn Day in June,  femmedom,  Poems

Feral

It’s one of those days, one of those moods, when my blood feels hot and syrupy in my veins. My body feels piqued for pleasure, pupils dilated, taste and smell in overdrive, the touch and feel of every surface pushing me into hyper stimulation. I’m not wanty and needy. I’m hungry. I’m hunting.

My appetite has been whetted for a hot, sweating chest, and a heavy, thick cock jutting up into me, the rich squelch of my joyous cunt flooding around a man with devotion in his eyes. No craving for sweet nothings, no wine or roses, just my name on his pretty mouth, howling up into the night sky like smoke.

I’m all tooth and claw, nipping, clipping and lapping at the tiny scarlet lines my teeth and fingers leave. He swears he’s never done it quite like this, didn’t know it could be this way so I laugh and catch his throat in my jaw and I shake him like a rag doll until the burning, thirsty lust in me is slaked.

 

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