Cream turns me on.
Luscious, smooth, thick, thick cream. Dollops of it. Bowlfuls of it, oozing, running, flowing. A lusty indulgence, a sinful luxury in a non-fat, low-carb, asparatame-flavored world, a plethora of tasty sensuality poured out and consumed hungrily.
Even the word cream is lustrous. It lives quietly in the mouth, a breathy utterance that ends in a smile. It evokes the texture and taste and the gentle, velvety richness.
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You know how much I love cream, how I want to be creamed up, over and on. You indulge me in this. You love it too.
You seduced me with poetry on cream-textured paper, enticed me with your cream-coloured tie. At dinner you fed me chocolate pudding, but it was just an excuse to pour thick, yellowish, Jersey cream all over the dark, sticky sweetness. I licked the spoon and laughed.
Today you are making love to me in a cream-coloured room.
Your kisses are full, open and urgent. We both taste of dessert and desire. You undress me quickly yet carefully, my nipples jutting out with lust, my pussy throbbing with need.
You push me gently back on the bed, urging my legs open and running light fingertips across my creamy white thighs. I rest against cream-coloured cotton sheets, soft with use and welcoming against my skin. I imagine that the bed is a bowl of cream and I am floating in it, surrounded by soft, silky lushness…
Continue reading “Cream” here.
PS. I wrote this story, and I just love it. It makes me horny and hungry at the same time.