The real hunger
The queen woke up from a slumber that bordered on 100 years in terms of hunger.
Her first sensation was a tugging in her belly. A need so raw and new- she had no verbiage for it.
Her hand fell first to her cheek. Back of the hand sweeping down and swirling until finger tips touched lips. The gesture soft first and then burning.
Her hand became his lips and trailed down her neck, the breast bone now heaving with breath. The soft rises of her breasts, contrasted to the stiffened nipple.
A gasp escaped her mouth like a sun ray in a rain storm.
Pliable was the feeder of nations and yet hungry to be fed upon.
Down her belly where the hunger originated she mapped out the electrical responses to touch and desire.
Her warm mound radiated the lightening bolts daring to be freed from deep inside. Pulsating and begging to be touched.
She found her pleasure button and between two fingers brought it a rousing.
Other fingers slipped inside — a welcome intruder to her womb.
Now her pelvis thrust in a ghost search of an equal.
The symphony came to the crescendo and the ache in the Queens belly was dulled, if only for a moment.
No sceptre and orbs to abdicate inside her throne.
No. Tis a shame.
I’m about to go for a stroll.
I’m done for. Stroll with purpose and find your creative center.
Thanks. I will. That’s exactly why I’m trying do.
You are on the precipice of your success.
You think? feels like I’m sprinting in a swimming pool.
The big one. The one that makes you say- that’s what I’ve been working for.
I am forming a thought. A hypostasis on genius and ego and love. This is one of those conversations I long to spend hours debating with you.
I love when I have the time to just ponder and play with ideas.
I guess for you it would be like having a pound of clay and no jobs due. Shape it as you will. Let your imagination soar.
Check it out and read through properly later.
I’m doing this through speech to text by the way.
Hahaha. Drive safe.
Or talk dirty to me and see what comes out via the text. Lol.
Sludgy with so much sperm there when I withdraw it spreads out like a water pistol.
I think I should probably concentrate on the road.
I do too! TTFN!
I’m at a bar/restaurant with clients. A song comes over the Muzac that is so viscerally attached to you, instantly I shutter. I can feel you, smell you, taste you. Mid sentence I’m transformed and can’t speak. My cheeks flush, my breath shallow.
The client takes over my thought and drones on. But I’m with you. Nipples hard and lap flooded. Eyes glazed over with passion reminders.
When the song finishes, I sigh. Focus my attention back to the task of robbing him of 6 months of funds. He asks “Where did you just go?” Aware I’m committing the carnal sin of sales. I tell him “To my writing desk.”