Blog, Erotica, Kink

I Want You To Wreck Me

I want you to wreck me.

Eyes closed, taste the succor of words, unexpected but perhaps all the more potent because of it. Flash images of tears that never come, brimming just over the edge of a line I never cross. I can’t transcribe what I see in my mind, but god, I ache for it nonetheless.

Wreck me.

The kind that makes it hard to walk. Wreck like sore, a different kind of ache. I don’t know the taste of done, only the scent of enough, and I want the heavy throb of too much pulsing through my thighs.

I want you to wreck me.

Not words well-suited to bedroom whispers, but scrawled lustfully on scraps of paper. Smoldering eyes and mischievous grins. You wanna? Ambiguous and yet. Lives hang in the balance of yet, the grey areas between the images flashing through my mind and the way you take them and twist them along the edges of my skin.

These aren’t the words we speak with vibrating chords rumbling, but this is the language of our bodies, stretched out through space. They are the hints of desires, something violent and yet, the tapestry of cruelty still woven with love, bloodred and stark against the darkness of your eyes. Drive too fast along the curves of this body, plunge deeper into the darkness until the forest of my flesh calls out and clenches around you.

I want you to wreck me, by which I mean, I want it to hurt and I want it to go far beyond the point where I am done and I want to shatter, over and over until I am shards of a body languid and unconstrained and spilling out and over, drenched and raw and whispering pleas the sky whose desire drowns out these feeble sounds and starts pounding again until I scream for mercy.

And then, more.

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