Monday, March 18, 2013


(Reposted from my wordpress blog)

Photo by Victoria Veins at Deviant Art

Writing erotica can be difficult without the proper mood. Sitting at the computer, my fingers hovering over the keys, I will myself to think sexy thoughts, think about desire. Instead, I lay my head on my desk in defeat. The area in my mind, the space that thinks about mundane everyday struggles is overwhelming and corrupting that creative well that I need to splash in to get my inspiration.

With my eyes still closed, I can feel the heat that radiates off his body. I never feel him sneak up on me. Neither of us moves. Afraid to break the spell, I don't make the first move, but then, I never do. Every move is his. I've given him that control, and he has chosen to take it; to take me, whenever and however, he wants. His rough, calloused hands brush the hollow of my neck, and his fingers encircle my throat in a light grip that allows him to feel the racing of my pulse.

The gasp that escapes me is shaky and verges on a sigh, but this is a silent exchange. Moans, whimpers, and screams are allowed, and screaming is definitely encouraged. Wordless noises of begging are required, too, but coherent speech isn't part of it. This is about wordless lust being satiated.

His hand encircling my neck tightens as pulls my head back against his strong chest. The short bursts of breath have nothing to do with his hand wrapped around my throat cutting off my air. His hand rests lightly against my skin. My racing heart and the anticipation of what he plans to do have me breathing erratically as if I'd tried to run away, and he had to catch me. He can't see the smile that crosses my face, but I mentally make a note to let him chase me one day. How fun would that be?

Even though he has never injured me, there is this aura of unleashed brutality in him. This sense of danger which is part of his appeal. His hand on my neck is just a reminder of what he is capable of if he so chooses. He nudges my head back with a tug on my throat. My head is angled, and my back is arched to give him better access to my breasts and stomach. He tugs the edge of my shirt up under my breasts. He caresses my stomach from the edge of my jeans over the expanse of my belly to the underside of my breasts. My stomach flutters at his touch.

He brushes his lips close, and I can feel the hot exhalation of his breath against my ear and my cheek. It causes my whole body to shiver as if the very air were chilled and a breeze had caressed my bare skin, though, it is the exact opposite, and his breath is like fire scorching across my flesh. He brushes my shirt up over my bra and pulls down the cup. My nipple is painfully tight and erect, and his touch is not gentle. He grabs the nipple between his forefinger and thumb pinching it hard and giving it a slight twist.

His fingers keep up their relentless pressure until he wrings a cry from my throat. As if he was waiting for that noise, that reaction, he breathes out a sigh across my skin and for a moment, his fingers tighten around my throat until I can't breath. Panic wants to well up inside me, but I resist it and keep my eyes closed. Finally, he releases my throat. My gasping breaths are not panicked, but the whimpering and eager noises I make reveal how much I want him. He loves this teasing. I have to admit I love it, too. It makes me arch under his hand begging and eager to be hurt by his demanding touch; to be left aching and bruised, but satisfied as he takes his desires and pleasures from my body. The body that belongs to him.

Both hands are removed, leaving me feeling empty and, my whimpering groan has him chuckling against my ear. He knows how impatient I get once his hands awaken my arousal. I call it lust and passion, but he calls it being greedy. I can't deny that is true, too. I am greedy for him.

His hand is suddenly at the back of my scalp, and he makes a tight fist trapping strands of my hair between his fingers. He yanks my head back again which causes me to cry out and arch my back. He pulls my head to him and brutally crushes my mouth in a deep kiss that has me crying out against his lips.

He yanks my hair, not pulling back from my lips, but rather removing me from the kiss. My noises would be embarrassing if I had any control. They are full of need, eagerness and a desire that I have no control over.

Just as suddenly as he showed up, he is gone, again. I lift my head from my desk, smile and with a slight shiver, start typing.

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