Jump to content

Devour me slowly


Recommended Posts

Slowness isn’t hesitation.
It’s authority.

A hand hovering over my thigh—
close enough to feel the heat,
but not close enough to relieve it.
The breath against my cheek
as I’m told not to move.
The silence between orders—
the ones that don’t need to be spoken
because my body’s already listening.

It’s letting the ache build
until consent isn’t a conversation—
it’s a reaction.

The ones who rush can fuck.
But the ones who wait?
They train.
They take.
They stretch the moment until my thighs tremble
and my mouth confesses what my pride won’t.

They don’t just touch—
they read.
The arch in my spine,
the shift in my breath,
the subtle give in my hips
when they say good girl
and I melt without meaning to.

They don’t tear.
They unwrap.
One command at a time.

They press their hand between my thighs—
not to tease,
but to own.
And when they find how wet I already am,
they smile like they knew.

They circle.
They wait.
They pull my hair back with one hand
and slide the other into my mouth—
not because they need to,
but because they can.

And I don’t want to be touched
by someone asking for permission.
I want to be broken open slowly,
held down sweetly,
and used completely
by someone who doesn’t flinch
when I beg for more.

I want the kind of slowness
that builds until I’m dripping,
writhing,
desperate to be filled—
and still made to wait.

The kind of slowness
that splits me open
with reverence and ruin.
That makes me ache
for the next bruise,
the next order,
the next inch.

So go slow.
Grip tighter.
Wreck me like you’ve earned the right.
Because I don’t want to be fucked.
I want to be devoured.
xLittle_Lady_of_Lotx
This is hot 🔥!! I crave this x
And devoured, you would be in every senses...
Yes please. Until my tongue gets raw, jaw locks up and face is dripping wet
That was a work of art. To those of us who crave that feeling and reliving that all euphoric moment of complete surrender is beyond amazing. To feel it in your words was amazing. Because I am a sensual pa!n slut I miss the smell of leather as it flies through the air and meets sk!n. 9, 12 or 18 leather tines whispering pleasures at it pelts against my ready skin. Ah, to have those thoughts and memories. Thank you
×
×
  • Create New...