Wr1tt3n0ne

Bunches and bunches
2021-04-12 12:10:00 (UTC)

Passion Burns Most Brightly With Air

Inappropriate, I have ever been. I just could always see the gutter for the street. Mostly it lies under a Mona Lisa smile but sometimes it bubbles up into view as an articulated laugh. The window it gives into me suddenly rendered transparent and I stand nude before it before a crowd, suddenly known for the libidinous woman I am. In better times a working woman, now a sheepish housewife. A soccer mom run amok.

I feel the pressure always to be something more appropriate to not give away that I live my life willingly under what some see as a red light. Not that I can be bought for money. I would love to say I am too precious a commodity, that my upstanding morality prevents that form of degradation. Honestly, it occurred to me and I lacked the nerve for the kind that the woman runs and thankfully, have never been coerced into the other form of sexual slavery. Lack of opportunity, rather than some imagined moral high ground, prevents me. If I lived in a world where the society accepted it as a mere vocation, I have no doubt I would have tried for a bustling practice.

It is not about looks or ego for me, in sex it is about the sensations. If there's one I don't salivate to abandon myself to, I haven't yet found it. My body finds pleasure in the novel, in the borderline of pain, in the squish, in the slow and vigorous. My passion for sex itself is unslaked over all the years I've been active and I doubt I will die without wanting it in the marrow of my bones. The textures of sex intrigue me and alight my wanting. The light and the firm touch enflame me. I have morphed into an animal who sleekly feeds on the rich rush of fingernails, teeth and hot mouths. I want to come and conquer you and also be made to take you as you want to be taken.

At the midlife break, I find my libido more incessant in it's desires, more risk welcoming and more capable of finding satisfaction than ever before. I will not hesitate to elucidate my lover, I would just as soon rub myself along them as instruct them on angle and pressure. All of it, yes, now, please. I have stopped making apologies for the ravages of sex with me and now I have a partner who delights in them. As the lechery runs deep, I find the inverse, the lighter stroking of love more pronounced in my sex.

All of it begins to merge for me and what starts smoothly as one giving pleasure to another flows easily back to something more edgy and rough. My arched back, my nails in your back, your name on my lips. I display a feral sexuality sparked by my partner and bowing my back in abandon. Then I slide back into the sensual and my eyes find yours to watch you, study your breathing and rhythm, kissing and feasting on every inch of skin I can reach. A slow burn comes on and lingers tantalizingly. I don't need any one way of achieving my ultimate pinnacle and I am just as pleased to caress my way into bliss in your arms as I am yank it out of you breathless and groaning. All of it feeds me on a visceral level what I need to be satisfied. I rarely have a preference and will fluidly change to meet my lover wherever they happen to be.

So my earthy sexuality engulfs me more completely when my partner is equally adaptable. Mr. Curved Line's more detached airy qualities play well against my more substantial ones. I adore pulling him into our sex, our lovemaking, until he's just as lost to the moment as I am. My husband similarly has a detachment that belies the passion well within him. As for me, my passion burns most brightly with air.




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