Estrogensensual

He certainly isn’t the most romantic in the traditional sense anyway, but he does get my motor purring with all the little things he does every day. They are easy to take for granted, especially because he doesn’t do them because he thinks they are romantic, but if you’re paying attention, it is obvious. It is in the way that he wakes me every morning with bratty kisses that cause the hair to stand on my legs and the goosebumps that he is going for. He isn’t so much about the institutions as he is about being in the moment, and he believes that each moment should be lived like there is no guarantee of another and that therein lies the real romance. It’s the real appreciation of what you have right now instead of worrying about the hereafter. He’ll get me flowers but prefers plants. He has great taste in jewelry but doesn’t believe in extravagances, especially when the minerals used are more coveted than the love they’re supposed to symbolize. He cooks, cleans, and does laundry, and th...

He was already standing tall when she withdrew his throbbing limb from her succulent mouth as it glistened in only the moonlight shining in from their opened veranda, and before she lowered herself onto it and her breathy pants seemed to be in rhythm with the waves that rolled faintly onto the shore just outside of their suite. It already requires all his strength not to give in to the primal urge to fill her. He hid behind his long dark lashes to obscure his view as he thought of other things to keep from following through. But he is captivated by her rhythmic dance as that same moonlight accentuates the curves of her full hips and breasts and the evident stress of her duress as she chews her lips in her beautiful moonlight eclipse. He is stoned as if he is smoking her as he looks up at her, mulling his own lips too as if it were the only way to stay his passion and keep from erupting. His eyelids seem heavy while trying to hide from his weakness as she rides his writhing stalk, sipho...

I love watching her, admiring her grace, and how she captivates those around her. She makes everyone around her want to be a better version of themselves, and me, well, she makes me want to consume her literally. I crave her sensuous essence and the undivided mindlessness her ecstasy brings me. I’m a hostage to only her wants, and I am only too happy to be taken just so that I can relieve her of any choice and do with her what she covets. I see him, or more accurately feel his eyes on me, and they make me anxious. Let me rephrase: he makes me feel more than beautiful. He makes me feel as if I’m alone in his world, enraptured to be taken and just plain wet. My soul aches to be taken, and I haven’t even looked to see if he is looking at me; I just feel it. Knowing that he is, at my core, makes me glow, and like moths to the flame, they will come. They ask me what I did differently, what has changed, and compliment me on how radiant I am; I don’t know how to tell them that I’m warm in...