There he was, as hung up on you as I am on you.
Hanging from one of his fine suspenders
on the door of my closet.
Drawing vertiginous folds
and gracious reflections on the silk.
The picardía flooded the room
with a torrid and sensual aroma.
So little clothing and so much perversion.
Just seeing him hanging made me shiver.
It was a regular provocation.
Subtle insinuation of a luxurious night, inflamable fetish game
I wanted to see how it fit your body,
white pearl, contrasting with the black fabric.
I desired to play with the softness of your skin and the fineness of the silk.
To slide my hands over and under the garment
and enjoy with my blind sense.
The picardía challenged me.
It was tempting me to take it off and bring it to the table
so that you could undress in front of me and dress up
with the garment you had chosen for the evening
and which you wanted to wear this night for me
I could contain my passion, my ecstasy.
Or better said, postpone it.
You know what I like to see you without clothes,
but even more with little.
With clothing that undoes and depraves me.
With the one you enjoy my unbridledness
and realize my deepest sexual desires
and fulfill my greatest fantasies
The game was about to begin.
I returned to the salon where we were dining.
I wanted to grab you from behind,
bite your neck in chunks,
and tear off your false garments.
But you knew I had come from my room
and that I had seen it.
Everything was unfolding according to plan.
You got up and before I could reach your side.
Your figure was already disappearing through the frame of my bedroom.
I heard you unbuttoning,
leaving your clothes on the floor.
There was a pause.
And I heard the soft friction of the silk against your skin.
Erotic melody.
You pulled one leg out the door.
It was signal. I could enter the room. But I resisted. It wasn't going to be like you wanted it to be. Sex was what was running through my veins. You peeked in to see what was happening, because I hadn't entered yet. That's when we crashed against the wall, melting into kisses and loving our bodies. We were rejoicing in the warmth of each other. I explored every naked corner of yours with my tongue, wanting you to take off your clothes, thinking that your plan was a mistake. Your pleasure increased with every piece of clothing I took off, and every time I gave up trying to take off yours. When my hands got lost in your interior and the silhouette of your excited breasts appeared. You were whispering in my ear from within, how much you desired me, and I returned it with caresses all over your body. The table was our improvised bed. Your body slid across the fabric, showing yourself as excellent, incredible, incredibly carnal. Your body stuck to the garment created new forms that possessed me and made me more inhiesta. Picardía, essence of our sex. Your legs entwined around my back, imprisoning me in your entrails. I plunged my member into your sex, transmitting pleasure to your arched back, flooded with sweat and fine fabric. I freed you from the suspenders that had served both to hang the garment and as a trap for me. I caressed your firm breasts lying on their backs and uncovered your hidden gasps. The glassy eyes had the same shine as your soaked picardía, which was trembling in an orgasm. I ended our game. I emptied everything from my being. I surrendered onto your body, fine, silky, dressed. And all I had strength for was to whisper into your ear: I adore your picardía
Hanging from one of his fine suspenders
on the door of my closet.
Drawing vertiginous folds
and gracious reflections on the silk.
The picardía flooded the room
with a torrid and sensual aroma.
So little clothing and so much perversion.
Just seeing him hanging made me shiver.
It was a regular provocation.
Subtle insinuation of a luxurious night, inflamable fetish game
I wanted to see how it fit your body,
white pearl, contrasting with the black fabric.
I desired to play with the softness of your skin and the fineness of the silk.
To slide my hands over and under the garment
and enjoy with my blind sense.
The picardía challenged me.
It was tempting me to take it off and bring it to the table
so that you could undress in front of me and dress up
with the garment you had chosen for the evening
and which you wanted to wear this night for me
I could contain my passion, my ecstasy.
Or better said, postpone it.
You know what I like to see you without clothes,
but even more with little.
With clothing that undoes and depraves me.
With the one you enjoy my unbridledness
and realize my deepest sexual desires
and fulfill my greatest fantasies
The game was about to begin.
I returned to the salon where we were dining.
I wanted to grab you from behind,
bite your neck in chunks,
and tear off your false garments.
But you knew I had come from my room
and that I had seen it.
Everything was unfolding according to plan.
You got up and before I could reach your side.
Your figure was already disappearing through the frame of my bedroom.
I heard you unbuttoning,
leaving your clothes on the floor.
There was a pause.
And I heard the soft friction of the silk against your skin.
Erotic melody.
You pulled one leg out the door.
It was signal. I could enter the room. But I resisted. It wasn't going to be like you wanted it to be. Sex was what was running through my veins. You peeked in to see what was happening, because I hadn't entered yet. That's when we crashed against the wall, melting into kisses and loving our bodies. We were rejoicing in the warmth of each other. I explored every naked corner of yours with my tongue, wanting you to take off your clothes, thinking that your plan was a mistake. Your pleasure increased with every piece of clothing I took off, and every time I gave up trying to take off yours. When my hands got lost in your interior and the silhouette of your excited breasts appeared. You were whispering in my ear from within, how much you desired me, and I returned it with caresses all over your body. The table was our improvised bed. Your body slid across the fabric, showing yourself as excellent, incredible, incredibly carnal. Your body stuck to the garment created new forms that possessed me and made me more inhiesta. Picardía, essence of our sex. Your legs entwined around my back, imprisoning me in your entrails. I plunged my member into your sex, transmitting pleasure to your arched back, flooded with sweat and fine fabric. I freed you from the suspenders that had served both to hang the garment and as a trap for me. I caressed your firm breasts lying on their backs and uncovered your hidden gasps. The glassy eyes had the same shine as your soaked picardía, which was trembling in an orgasm. I ended our game. I emptied everything from my being. I surrendered onto your body, fine, silky, dressed. And all I had strength for was to whisper into your ear: I adore your picardía
0 comentários - Adoro tu picardia