tadaa, one of my new poetryporn stories from my new book After Rain… sexy poetry, and a sad, sweet story, with a serious, bittersweet message, as always 😉
Booty Call Addiction
She is waiting all day and sometimes all through the night, lost in her world and this longing that is driving her wild.
She waits for that certain sound, that bell on her phone, the treat that is feeding her restless mind. She’s dreaming and drifting until she gets that text. The sweet message that would wake her up, even though she rests. Ah my god, he got her hooked up so very deep. And yet, she is patient, because she knows what he needs. A text, at 2 a.m. It reads ‘hey, are you home, ‘cause I’m coming over now’. Her reply ‘of course baby, anytime’. She’s in bed, but her love never sleeps. She remains, her body nice and warm as she stretches out like a kitten on her cosy pink sheets. She is so happy, yes, that sexy state of mind. An all consuming desire and yet nobody she could tell just how desperate she feels inside. How addicted she is to his affection and oh my god, that sweet injection. It’s all she needs to feel good and nothing else matters. He’s her morphine, and she craves those numbing drops of white.
There’s a knock on the door, he has arrived. The handsome, tall blonde, he’s eager to rush inside. He’s just come from work and he needs her now to get things off his mind. Yes, he’s a slave to the system and so damn bored with the mask of his life. Now he really needs to release that deep frustration, before he heads home to the unloving wife.
Nervously he is looking around, and when she opens, he quickly gets in, because, embarrassment is high. She stands there in the hall of this love nest she calls home, in her little pink nighty, and she’s still warm from sleep. That tall, slender beauty with the big, green eyes, as she gently puts her long arms around him as he pushes her backwards all the way to that queen-size bed of hers. With the soft, pink sheets that smell of her, and also still of him, she never washes them afterwards, oh, her dirty, little sin.
The only words he whispered that night; ‘hey you know, I don’t have much time.’ As he strips off her short nighty with feral force, and then he tears off his belt like an animal would, that is trying to free himself from his cage. Desperate and angry, he is giving in to his instinct as he throws her back down onto the bed and pushes his hands into her shaking thighs. He doesn’t even fully undress as he presses his lean torso against that smooth, tender skin of hers. And she, oh, finally, she lies there, waiting for that sweet pain to tear her up and enter her deep inside. And she holds on so tightly around this hips so naked, so hungry for relief. This mutual addiction, it’s too hard to resist. In a way he hates her because he needs her to exist. To feel alive and to feel the primitive soul within. With green-eyed babe, he can be his manly self, ah, that feels so good. He uses her, but she doesn’t care. Because, with each dedicated sigh that she hears there by her ear, she utters a helpless cry that would travel far into his brain, an echo that would bury deep within his heart and leave a mark on his memory so fast. And this was her ultimate ecstasy indeed, that shameful little secret they shared, it would be with him forever, her pretty face would be haunting his head.
And with each quickening push, he put a piece of his soul inside her bloodstream. The hidden parts of his mind that were unknown to him, they would enter her orgasmic body. That green-eyed tease, oh how insatiable. That gentle beauty, oh how she wants him so. And in her blind, loving state of mind, she loves to be used by her vain, sexy hunk, a wee hour per night. But oh, the shame that he feels that now resides in him, society’s rules, oh how they torment him. She really hopes that this would change over time, that she would be his true love and they’ll be a couple for all to see. Yeah, risky girls, they sure can dream.
Truth is she loves him, doing anything to please, whatever attention he gives, she takes it like a dog and he just loves this devotion.
He hates her because he loves her so. How could he not. She’s beautiful, she’s vulnerable, alone without him, what more could he need? Hungry wolves are always outside her door, wanting a piece of her, so that they can soar, into the sky, just for a while. She’s a reckless hussy cat, the sultry kind that adores freedom, but sweet liberation has a price in this world. They’ll never understand her kind. Enemy of jealous wives, oh yeah, for good reason. She’ll never leave his aching soul and he’ll cry out her name with his breath at the end of his season.
(c) missAmey – After Rain… A Straycat’s Dream – A collection of ravin’ thoughts and sexy melancholy
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I just want to be, to be free. To be, is the ultimate state of existence. To simply be, is free of false identity. False identity is often the misjudgements placed upon you by others who cannot understand you. And it obviously can be very limiting. Your identity comes with rules and morals. Even if you love what you do, and even if it inflates your ego, people soon attach their sheepish social rules and misjudgements on you. You are confined to living in a box of social expectations. Wouldn’t it be nice to be free of that?