Musings

We are studying the Psychology of Terrorism, sitting in a classroom in Dublin and my mind is drifting.

I am thinking of you, as I find myself doing so often.

I am thinking of your body, warm and soft and spread beneath me like a feast for my senses. I am thinking of my hands, running up the length of you, spreading your legs for me. I am thinking of your warm buttocks, rising from your legs as though they were made for my hands to spread apart and toy with while you squirm and moan. I am thinking of the slow curve of your back like flowing honey and the smallness of my hands against the length of it, stroking steadily upwards. I am thinking of the curved bow of your neck, of the swallow of your throat in my hand and the softening of your face as you slip under.

I am thinking about the solid line of your body beneath me, of the soft sounds that you make when I slip inside of you. I am thinking of your hands, grasping at the floor and at my hands as your back arches when I fill you. I am thinking of your open mouth, gasping and moaning as I fuck you.