Bunches and bunches
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2023-05-26 13:22:51 (UTC)

"Different Strokes..."

Sensuality is one of those online lies we all want to think of ourselves. It's a classier way to get to completion, more artistic, less animalistic. And so when we date, we all put on the mantle of a sensual soul. I am a textures woman, I explore the varied textures of whoever I am with with every sense of mine. Tasting their skin, licking along their neck, biting their lip, trailing my tongue down from head top to ears, down the side of the neck, up the jugular, peppering in little nibbles, hot, certainly, but sensual? I consider it an oral fixation and with some of the people I am with, it is relatively unbridled. But sensualism, it's all the senses, especially touch and I fail to have the lighter touches, as the animal lust floods my consciousness, I dispense with the slow sensuality and opt for the clawing, scratching gripping coupled with the biting, and leave sensualism where I first encountered it, as the teasing sensation of almost sex, almost tactile. For me, particularly with Mr. Curved Line, I am often out of hand and as wild as the blushed chest suggests and certainly fully in heat.

Mr. Curved Line is a more complex sensualist. Oh eventually his passionate markings and mine match, but he dwells much longer in the lighter, more contained form of sensualism before graduating as the intensity of my need stretches through my flared fingers and then digs lightly into him with my nails. Then this otherwise cool man becomes a hot lusty hair pulling, nibbling proceeding to biting, rough enough to match my impassioned response without my wild eyed wonder at it all. The wind blows another way and he is more tender than any other soul has ever been to me, working my pleasure gently, re-enacting sexual fantasies of mine I only skirt around, with a smoldering intensity coupled to his insistent exploration of my rise toward climax. To be cocooned in his arms, supported in my climb, adored for the very irrefutable, immutable parts of my sexuality. I lose myself and find myself in his breath, that stunning gaze of his and shameless debauched love of me. We lie entangled, drying and consuming our love off of each other, content and exhausted.