Fields

October 6, 2008 § 3 Comments

 There she lay, her black as night hair falling against the halo of silk pillows surrounding her head. 

Her body lifeless.

Her pale skin still as pure as the whitest snow falling in winter. 

Her lips still as red as a blushing poppy in fields of lined gold.

Her eyes closed, shielding their darkness.

Her body heaving with every breath.

Her breasts pale.

Her corset of diamonds strung across her holding her tight.

Her diamond silk knickers framing the shape of her pussy to perfection.

The prince could not take his eyes away from her.

Laying in the fields of gold and supple reds.

His body lean and breathless against her beauty.

He had to get closer.

He had to touch her.

Taste her.

Smell her.

For she was any mans weakness.

He could feel his hands searching.

Running his fingertips over the curve of her breasts.

His lips following in their path.

His mouth running smooth lines of magic.

He could feel her body turning.

Twisting.

Rising.

Falling.

Her body full of tiny candles of heat.

Their lips pressed together.

Joint.

Hands grabbing.

Her mouth running the length of his smooth cock.

Tasting.

Punishing.

His tongue dancing between her thighs.

Moaning.

Poppy’s trampled.

In.

Out.

Thrusting.

Their passion released in a gasp.

They need each other.

Desperate.

In the fields of Poppy’s.

 

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

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