Voices

September 28, 2008 § 2 Comments

The river felt so peaceful against her skin.

The movements of the pulling her this way and that.

The soft breeze cascading over her gentle curves, making her gasp harshly.

Her nakedness entirely hers.

Her precious little secret.

The river felt like it belonged to her and her lovers.

It’s voice calling out to her.

Sleeping.

Dreaming.

Begging her to return to its silky waters.

To move up and down her spine.

Fingertips.

Breasts.

Teasing and kissing.

Like a well known lover in the dark.

Her body creating shadows in the stars.

The river always kept her satisfied.

The river knew how to please her urges.

Her movements creating lines of tricked ripples.

The river knew how to make her cum.

Swirling.

Churning.

Writhing.

Creating a haunting feel in its path.

Ghostly.

Quiet.

Her body arching.

Her moans echoing in the late distance of the winter night.

Pushing.

Wrapping her up.

Holding her.

Hiding her deep.

 

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Dream

September 21, 2008 § 5 Comments

Watch her.

Touch her.

Make her scream.

Push her further.

Fuck her.

Let your hands be your leaders.

Use her like a canvas.

Paint her.

Let the night come.

Pull her clothes off.

Let her knickers drop to the floor.

Open her.

Make her cum.

Allow her to beg.

Tie her up.

Kiss her.

Whisper in her ear.

Let her feel.

Let her taste.

Punish her.

Stretch her.

Let her have you.

Allow her fantasies to be played.

Allow her to dream.

Let her breath.

Make her yours.

Let her obsess.

Let her use her mouth and hands.

Make her perform.

Let the rain fall.

Keep her still.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Hidden

September 16, 2008 § 3 Comments

She wants to smell honey and vanilla.

She wants to let her fingertips stretch wide.

She wants to see.

She wants to know what is beneath her.

She wants to know who is keeping her a secret.

She wants to know the face that keeps her in the dark.

She wants to feel the familiar breath against her neck.

Wondering and falling.

She wants to feel his talented hands.

She wants to feel his tongue dancing in her and on her.

She wants his imagination.

She wants his taste in her mouth.

She wants her strings to come loose.

She wants to hear her moans escaping from her lips.

She wants to hear her corset snap at the pressure.

She wants to see her perfectly red lips smudge.

She wants to hear him command her.

She wants to hear the sounds of his hands hit her wooden flesh.

She wants his passion.

She wants orgasms bursting along her spine.

She wants to hear him yell.

She wants to hear her feet tiptoe across the floor boards.

She wants to hear the flicker of the candles.

She wants to hear glass crashing to the floor.

She wants his words whispering.

She wants his all.

She wants to know who she is.

Amour

September 8, 2008 § 4 Comments

 The sounds of the piano chords and the clinking of martini glasses crashing together echoed all around her.

Soft erotic whispers and vintage heels scattered the marble dance floor, closing inside her ears tightly.

Soft looms of smoke whirled around.

Men and women in silks and satins.

Jewels and pearls.

Blacks and pinks illuminating the room.

Her body felt alive, as her soft black dress clung to her tiny frame and her high heels rolled her hips seductively.

Her hands running up and down her sides.

She could see the jazz band playing.

Their instruments strumming from side to side.

People shaking and grinding on the dance floor.

Petite toes on the floor.

The soft smells of exotic cocktails filling her nose.

She was up next to perform with the pianist.

Her nerves entering her mouth as she was announced.

Eyes and eyes on her.

Breath and breath on hers.

She knew her lines.

She knew her words would not get lost.

Creating a path between the crowds.

Climbing onto the piano.

The soft shiny feel of the black piano against her dress created tiny goose bumps against her thighs.

Lights down.

Spotlight.

1.

2.

3.

Her hips slinking along the huge instrument.

Straddling and curving.

Sculpturing her body to fit this overly large one.

She could feel the audiences eyes on her every move.

Her every decision.

She could feel how uncontrollably wet she was getting.

The stickiness running down her inner thighs.

Her moans and sighs in between verses.

Turning towards her player.

Opening her legs.

Black fishnet stockings.

Silk black knickers.

His eyes widening as he Carried on playing.

Her head arching back.

Her pussy in front of his mouth.

The climax of the song coming to an end.

His mouth engulfing her.

Gasps.

Reliefs.

Hands desperate in his hair.

His fingers playing the chords.

High.

Low.

She knew she was close.

Grinding harder against his open face.

Her heels falling from her feet to the marble floor.

This was her show.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Words

September 2, 2008 § 2 Comments

Tulips.

Corsets.

Shoes.

Floor.

Silk.

Water.

Curves.

His mouth on yours.

Bodies urgent.

Shimmering.

Flutters.

Heat.

Love.

Passion.

Arching backs.

Spread legs.

Black.

Night.

Day.

Bed.

Moans.

Cries.

Snow.

Rain.

Wetness.

Her hands on you.

Pulling.

Lifting.

Smashing.

Crystal.

Hide.

Cinnamon.

Vanilla.

Orgasms.

Champagne.

Bubbles.

Lips touching.

Hands caressing.

One.

Two.

Toes pointing.

Curtains.

Closed.

Open.

Candles.

Soft.

Obsession.

Sleep.

 

©Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

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