Passion

Battered, blushing, rushing, flush full of fluid that his strokes caused her to release. He made her feel a flame of satisfaction that was lit from within a place of mischievous desire.

He came, she came…they both ascended the incline of passion, and then they both swelled and swelled until they were bloated with sated feelings of lustful fun. His lips played a tune as they danced round the room and their bodies were overcome with merging their primal instincts.

He granted her access inside that stern shell and so she let him fill her well with the solid, masculine promise of arousal. He expressed concern with not hurting her and she breathlessly replied, “You should worry more about hurting me”.

So the night advanced and his dark guise of sexuality began to take form under and over and around her prone body. He let that animalistic behaviour emerge and so she purred like any stirred creature would do if so urged.

She popped the buttons on his shirt, he slid the zipper down her skirt, and frame by frame they played their game until they’d single-handedly obliterated any sexual uncertainties.

Their scents jointly merged into a convoluted melange of sweat, perfume, and bodily secretions that suffused the entire room. Thrusts and busts and cuts and restraints and moans and groans permeated the scene, as well as the pulse pounding exchanges of both internal and external, oral and verbal pleasure.

She said, “Don’t slow down; speed up” and he complied in kind with both his body and his mind. They rode together until dusk became dawn and with a monumental, pleasure-filled yawn, they displayed their respective emblems of the tangible trauma they had undergone.

With magnanimous kisses and tingling wishes, they clung to one another with fervor and asked to be permanently bestowed with the touch of Eros. Thus, after much toil, tumbling, and playful truculence, they began to languorously cover their bare limbs again.

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