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No Touch

by Thomas Reynard

Recumbent, upon
silken sheets
Passion building 
where soft 
thighs rest
beneath my
watchful gaze, 
a fire blazing 
within you.

you are not to touch
hands on the bed.
hear only my voice
as I describe the deliciously 
twisted things
that I will do to you.

You body responds
to word alone
as I paint pictures
of my hands upon your flesh
striking and marking
bruising and grabbing, 

your skin remains untouched
but your mind is wracked 
with overwhelming thought
of teeth upon your throat
and fingers inside your cunt

the wetness pools, as 
inevitable consequence 
of my salacious sentiment,

My voice, purring my sadistic
intentions at you, drives your 
body to arch, and stretch 
with unfulfilled need.

You grab fistfuls
of bedsheet, moaning,
as you are lost in a sensual 
tornado of linguistic lust.

My tongue, as powerful against your mind
as it is against your throbbing clit, pushes 
your body towards a release you did not expect,
A welcome betrayal of your body, as it 
submits without touch
to my vocalised demands. 

You lay there, panting, 
basking in orgasmic glow,

You gasp, then scream 
as my fingers, 
invade your 
core, your head falling back 
in abject surrender.

We are only just beginning! 

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