Tags
erotica, fiction, hair, maschalagnia, passion, relationships, sensuality, sex, short story, vanilla
She was raw want. That’s what she was.
Her hair grew soft and long and was a rich shade of mahogany.
It brushed her behind. It swayed to the rhythm of her dancing rump when clad in only a flowing skirt. It whipped her hotpant-clad butt when she was in a particularly perky mood. It formed a sheet for her back when she lay in my bed.
She drove me crazy. That’s what she did.
When she raised her arms, I slavered. I couldn’t help it. I just knew I wanted to see that neat thatch of hair under her arms. She never shaved. For that matter, she never even wore her blouses sans sleeves. Her thatch was just for the men who shared her bed. Men like me.
Our world would turn grainy, like a photograph from the 20s, when we were together. Underneath it all, she was that kind of woman. Heavily done lids and dark lipsticks shaded her plum-cheeked face. She wore cheap lace-edged stockings from the dollar mart and would look, for all the world, like a woman fit for some expensive wining and dining.
Wining and dining were far from my mind when I was with her. All I wanted to do, was unbutton all that satin and starch and bury my face in the crook of her arm. Like some horny adolescent just discovering a fetish.
And sniff in her scent. Like sweat and saffron and nuts. Odd, I know, but so evocative of the woman she kept hidden from the rest of the world. I just couldn’t resist tasting her.
A taste would turn into lazy nibbles and within seconds I would want more than just a bite. My tongue would sneak out to claim a nipple’s curve for a morsel. My nose so close to the skin under her arm. My fingers dipping into her damp heat. The flat of my palm cupping her. The side of my palm sliding urgently along her slit.
In her arousal, her flavours and scent would drive me to the brink.
She indulged my maschalagniac tendencies. She loved the attention her breasts received from me. Most men would pay the respects due to her breasts and move on, but not me. Her breasts filled my plate and her arms were my choice pickings.
You can feast on a woman’s body; but do you know the places where she would really like you to dally? With this particular woman, I’d like to think I do.
Ranee, loved the new look. But the reading is a little jarring, with grey letters against a grey background. Beautiful design, though. Just my opinion.
Also, why are you writing from the male perspective? I’ll be out of a job :(
Story excellent, as usual, with expected blood-flows happening.
Last, I once cybered with a girl like this. Didn’t know there was a specific name for it. All she bothered about were her armpits. I half-imagined she was sad her armpit didn’t have a vagina.