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Can I Ever Cure This Horniness?
Can you feel my need within this heat?
The sun bakes the bare parts of my body. Just like you did when you embraced my cooling, sweaty skin. I wonder if I’ll harden like clay and burst into a thousand pieces. Cicadas sing their tilting tune inside of tree branches. I search for them sometimes. Their hiding spots above my head. They creep into little coves to sing within. The leaves of the trees coat the branches thickly. Like a beautiful, green wedding veil for summertime.
The air is dead. The breeze is non-existent as the heat threatens to suffocate me. The stickiness between my legs becomes more pronounced. It sloshes underneath my tiny, airy skirt. There’s a secretive grin on my lips. My nipples ache with the hidden pain I inflicted on them. The indentures of the clovers clamps fade from my skin. I still am sore from the tremendous amount of fucking I’ve had. It’s a reminder of his taste, touch, skin still coating my own.
I came before this walk. My breath escaped in desperate pants. I let out a pathetic whimper at the cascading style of my orgasm. I tried to scream louder like I do with you. I removed the vibrator after several moments of submitting to my orgasm.
The memory of curling up into your body comes back to me. How I roll over into your arms as I keep convulsing. You pull me…
