My breast look amazing. Small. Soft. Perky. They sat there looking at his mouth. Waiting to be kissed. Offering themselves as a dessert. Wanting to fill his mouth. The fleshy pink gumdrops beginning to harden at thought of warm wetness. Crying out in silence. Aching for his hands to hold them. He cupped them. Kissed them. Made love to them the only way a hungry man can. Sang a lullaby with his tongue against my nipples and I…. Bloomed. Like a flower in early spring, legs began to open and scents of my femininity emerged. There began to rise a heat deep within. The warmth of my body seeping through and he felt the steam. He kissed and sang. Sang and kissed. And I began to melt. The tenderness between tongue and nipple. The language created as I so willfully allowed myself to fall. Rolling tongues and the wetness against my fully aroused peaks… Tonight I will feed you, baby.
I’m watching him sleep as I write this. This evening was everything delicious. From his lips to my breast, the strength and patience that were both meshed and exerted. This evening, we shared. The smoothness of his chest causes me to blush as I replay our movements. My hands remained there as his were placed on my back. He oiled my scalp tonight. Remnants of coconut scented hands against my skin play beneath my nose. I inhale, deeply. The intimacy shared.
He oiled my scalp this evening. Massaged and tended to every exposed piece of flesh with the tips of his fingers. Applying the perfect amount of pressure. I moaned in appreciation for this man. He felt so good. The warm oil sliding against my bare scalp, him catching each drip with a finger. The touching. The massaging.
My man oiled my scalp last night. And in return I fed him, in the only way a woman who appreciates her man can.
Written July 19,2016