WICKED heavy waves crash in the dark, she can feel the thunder like a conduit through the stilettos of her glittering ruby-red shoes the waves build far offshore under the portal-less dark in this impenetrable starless Night she chooses this manipulative fare; The black garters, the silk French bustier, hamstrung to a brass bed in the deathly quiet she will allow chance to choose the rest; the restless Ocean will tug at the cords of her carnal desire as she awaits its rhythm to plumb into darker fathoms than she’d ever dared to scrutinize before she feels the Ocean’s masculine weight nudge into the room, feels its husky wind prickle on her flesh, she tastes its salt at her lips and tongue and wonders; Is it drowning to acquiesce?
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 20:51:57 +0000
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