Maybe I'm Telling On Myself When I Say This But There Is No Collection Of Sounds More Beautiful Than

Maybe I'm telling on myself when I say this but there is no collection of sounds more beautiful than sitting on a dyke's face. Like. Idk how to even convey how enamored I am with these sounds I can't even put to paper, the slurping and licking and gasping between deep, shuddering breaths. Especially if she's touching herself at the same time like omg??? Who made this so good????

Thinking about the subtle harmony of pillows scrunching as I press her into them. How delicate her pretty face is as I drag myself across. I can barely contain myself thinking about those little moans between my thighs, nearly stifled by the headboard's rocking as I'm holding onto it for dear life, shaking like an earthquake on her mouth, drenching her face, trying my hardest not to scream over her because I could not bear to miss a single noise she makes. By all the goddesses who have ever walked this earth, you cannot find a symphony more captivating than those precious noises she makes when our thighs clench in synch, moans in matched tempo, orgasm erupting through both of us like our own personal cataclysm.

Getting myself a "Nevertheless, she persisted" pillow for my couch because I managed to survive being horny at work for another day.

I need someone to rip through me. I want to be torn into a pile of trembling ribbons, saturated by the well springing from what remains of my center. It has been too long since I felt like prey, not for entertainment or satisfaction, but purely for the need, the craving, the drive for nourishment. For hate.

By the goddesses, I want you to hate me.

And when you've caught me - as though it was enough of a struggle to say you "caught" anything - make me your meal. Shove that hate wherever it suits you, and I'll lay still and dead, just the way you like. Take what you want, and I won't make a sound. I promise.

Eat the dark meat and leave the rest to rot.

"God of the Gaps" by Ceres

I want my exhibitionism taken literally. I want my nude body to be an exhibition in some high concept women-only museum where I'm just another object to admire. Or maybe I'm a hands-on piece and passerby are encouraged to treat me however they please ~

Ugh I get so wet thinking of how many hands might be on me, smiling faces waiting in line, femmes and butches and everyone in between standing on their toes to look over the crowd and see what the commotion is about, and it's me, my face buried in someone's crotch, my legs clenched tight around someone's hand, dripping all over the floor, every part of me being used for someone's pleasure...

And then I think of you. Sitting patiently behind everyone, waiting calmly for the crowd to die down. Like an artist admiring her own work. I think about the hunger in your eyes and the fear in my own, knowing just how badly you're going to ruin me after seeing how much I liked all those strangers.

It's 4/20 and I just want to smoke with you and see how long we can resist each other. I wanna smoke a blunt and sit just a little too close together, thighs brushing against each other, hands absentmindedly wandering around each other's waists and hips... I want that rush that comes when your head is all fuzzy and suddenly everything melts together, lips tingling on each other in electric cascades, my arms wrapped around your neck as I sit in your lap and grind your thigh helplessly.

I want to feel the shiver that runs through you when I whisper in your ear, begging to taste you, begging for permission to make you come on my mouth. Anything, anything, just don't let the heat stop building. My face is already so red from being this high and I'm so drunk on you, blushing so hard it looks like I might pass out, and you're twitching beneath my touch, doing your best to keep your composure and keep up the act that you're any less lost in this than I am.

I want to make the world disappear in a puff of smoke and I want to replace it with you.