A glimpse of thigh

It seems impossible

Hours spent with her. Undressing her. Binding her.

Stretching her naked body to the four corners of the white-sheeted bed and securing her there.

Admiring, caressing, teasing, whipping, stroking, scratching, nibbling, slapping, oiling, kneading, licking, squeezing, pinching, kissing her.

Making her body dance beneath my fingers, my lips, my tongue, my hands, my thighs, melting wax, and my collection of carefully chosen toys. And my tumescent cock.

Enjoying each climax as she writhes and twists, arches and bucks, shudders and gasps.

Exploring every inch of her body. Every curve and line, every muscle, every sinew, every bone. Every pore of her gorgeous skin.

Until I am sated.

It seems impossible

That a little later, when she is dressed, and preparing to leave

Her skirt rides up high on her thigh

And my pulse quickens

And I am hard again.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Carrie Graber

I wrote this about two years ago. I have no excuse for re-posting – except that new readers might not have read it before.