the taste of me is thickly smeared all over your goatee and moustache so that when your lips smash against mine, demanding, pushing, forcing response, the heady scent of female musk and juices slide silkily all over my full lips, across my face and neck where your kisses and bites leave a shiny trail your tongue snakes across, reticent to leave a single morsel behind, before quickly coming back, breathing deeply and kissing me until the world spins upon the axis which is your impossibly hard and demanding cock.
how is it i’ve accepted the mediocrity of touch and lack of passion which other men possess, with their seeming inability to feast on the bounty i possess and offer to them. that their intimidation un-mans them so their bodies and mind fail to live up to expectations and promises. how is it in their lives, they’ve never been touched and consumed by a sexual woman who understands the cadence of a mans desire and feeds his soul by giving him that which he needs, more than his ability to speak of them?
perhaps they sense the succubus in my ancient female soul and it calls to them so they smash against the heaving shores of my womans body, hands wide, desperately clutching at the soft swells of my ample breasts and the gilded curve of rounded buttocks or soft mound of a fertile belly. cast away by fortunes demise, choices made which led them into perilous terrain, i am that which can make them whole or can ruin them so all that remains is the lingering scent from between my thighs, inside of their mind, long after i’ve discarded them and turned towards a distant horizon and sights towards another who may last longer and live up to expectations.