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rsadelleSome years I get it together to send Valentine's Day cards and/or presents, and some years I don't. This was a year I didn't, but I wish you all a very happy Valentine's Day anyway!
My morning walks are sometimes more productive and sometimes less. Today I was thinking about varying types of erotica, including run-on sentences, of which variety I think I've only seen two or three people write, and I'm not sure I can remember who they were. Anyway, the point is that I was writing my own run-on sentence erotica in my head. But it's Valentine's Day, and I didn't send anyone cards or presents, so why not share this with you?
***
His hands are on her wrists, pinning her to the bed, and he's pushing in in in, and she wants to arch up into it, but he won't let her move, is holding her down with his hands and body and cock, and she wants it, wants to come, a litany of "pleasepleaseplease" spilling from her lips, and then he pushes all the way in and grinds against her and her hearing goes blank and she screws her eyes shut and opens her mouth and comes and screams and doesn't want it to ever stop.
***
They're at a table with other people, some friends and this girl one of their friends picked up, in a restaurant in an airport, of all places, and she's wearing a skirt and no panties because she knows he likes it, and he slides his fingers, rough with calluses he says are from playing guitar and she teases are from playing Guitar Hero, up her thigh to her cunt, and he brushes across her clit once, twice, and then he rests his thumb there and pushes two fingers into her, and he settles in and squeezes, and he's making enough conversation for both of them, and he moves his thumb, and she's been wet since she got on the plane in LA, flying to him, and he presses and rubs and touches her, and she inhales and comes, and it takes every bit of her control not to moan or yell or collapse because they're still in a fucking airport restaurant, and if they were alone she'd be climbing into his lap and sliding down onto his cock, but they're not, so she reaches out a shaky hand for her water glass, and he brings his hand up to his lips and licks his fingers, and it's not weird because there are chips and salsa on the table, but she's the only one who knows what he's really tasting.
My morning walks are sometimes more productive and sometimes less. Today I was thinking about varying types of erotica, including run-on sentences, of which variety I think I've only seen two or three people write, and I'm not sure I can remember who they were. Anyway, the point is that I was writing my own run-on sentence erotica in my head. But it's Valentine's Day, and I didn't send anyone cards or presents, so why not share this with you?
***
His hands are on her wrists, pinning her to the bed, and he's pushing in in in, and she wants to arch up into it, but he won't let her move, is holding her down with his hands and body and cock, and she wants it, wants to come, a litany of "pleasepleaseplease" spilling from her lips, and then he pushes all the way in and grinds against her and her hearing goes blank and she screws her eyes shut and opens her mouth and comes and screams and doesn't want it to ever stop.
***
They're at a table with other people, some friends and this girl one of their friends picked up, in a restaurant in an airport, of all places, and she's wearing a skirt and no panties because she knows he likes it, and he slides his fingers, rough with calluses he says are from playing guitar and she teases are from playing Guitar Hero, up her thigh to her cunt, and he brushes across her clit once, twice, and then he rests his thumb there and pushes two fingers into her, and he settles in and squeezes, and he's making enough conversation for both of them, and he moves his thumb, and she's been wet since she got on the plane in LA, flying to him, and he presses and rubs and touches her, and she inhales and comes, and it takes every bit of her control not to moan or yell or collapse because they're still in a fucking airport restaurant, and if they were alone she'd be climbing into his lap and sliding down onto his cock, but they're not, so she reaches out a shaky hand for her water glass, and he brings his hand up to his lips and licks his fingers, and it's not weird because there are chips and salsa on the table, but she's the only one who knows what he's really tasting.