saturday

“Tell me who you really are.” Kruger gets onto his knees in front of her. He lifts the front of her dress and pulls her hips towards him. Pulls her panties down and off, slings her long legs over his shoulders. Buries his face in her pussy. “Oh, fuck,” she groans. “Oh, fuck.” She’s so turned on that she thinks she will come immediately and tries to slow herself down. It is so delicious and so all-encompassing… she wants it to last forever, but the pressure builds and builds and she’s shot into space. When the orgasm thunders inside her she hears herself shout. Her eyes are still closed; she is not quite back to earth when he turns her over with rough hands, turns her so that her back is towards him and he can grip her ass. He licks her cheek, bites it, gives it a smack. The aftershock of the orgasm is still rippling through when he penetrates her, wet and swollen and his hungry thrusts make her come again. She’s falling down a mountain she doesn’t remember climbing. He pounds into her spasms. He yells when he explodes and then melts away, but his grip on her is still firm. He hugs her towards him — she can feel his heart on her back — and inhales her neck as if she is the only thing in his world. Like they will never let go. Or like they will never touch again.
 ~Grey Magic: Chronicles of a Burnt Out Witch, JT Larence


farmers market, yoga for couple sweaty hours, homemade peach handpie for lunch, lying around naked all afternoon reading pulp for inspiration