S M O K E
Abstract Erotica by Ink
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The author is not responsible for
those who choose to read the material below, which contains sexual material.
None of the actions within the Erotica by Ink is condoned – keep fantasy as
fantasy, people.
That covers the disclaimers. If
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Enjoy!
!Ink
The
flame, you, circled there beside me. You were a danger so very near me.
Brushing wet skin on mine, holding me with claws by the waist. I was your wick,
the ever-burning thing of your passion -- with a beginning, with an end – and
you had no intention to stop until then.
I wanted
those big hands; I want to feel you take of me what is left because no one else
seems to want what I could give. And there, in the cold and somber silence,
where all empathy is lost to your indifference I kept giving to you. I adored
it, it is strange to me but I do so love to give it all, even when nothing is
returned - especially when there is no return slip. I was begging in the
clapping thunder, rearing to your every need and meeting with submission to
your booming voice and aching call.
… like the candle obeys the flame.
And in your ecstasy I rummaged futile words pass my lips. I let your physical
rape of me continue. There is nothing in the darkness with this self-silence
I’d created. Silence does not return the call, or even acknowledge one existed.
I was glad that emptiness was there to cradle me – the thoughtless mold for
your use.
You’ve been flaring and melting away my foundation from the start. I couldn’t
feel it until now, with your hands on my hips, invading the little privacy my
body once gave me. I was taken up in thick arms and rode upon, forced like a
piece of meat to be delivered upon the very edge of your arousal.
It was
as physical as it was mental, dear lover. I laughed because I never told you
that until now and, the truth is, I bent because I could do nothing against you
or for myself.
My
world, my wax, slipped off me and I was finally uncovered by your heat when you
crawled across my frame.
When I
am used and finally broken, the candle and wick no more, when I'm used amongst
it all I still will be here. The memory of the circles, the night you settled
me in your course hands. Perhaps some things are like footprints on sand, but
not to memory – that is not such a light place to tread.
I walked over my own remains to return to myself – I had to remember all this,
enjoy it to understand myself. But wait till you see what bravado I bring
tomorrow. When your eyes lay upon what I have become and what you’ve lost
The whispers and the result of all that burning, I
promise to linger there- a sweet smell, a bitter smell of smoke from the
friction you wrought. I am a simple reminder for all days as to what you took
and what is remembered. For the submissive has her ways like all things in
nature. I shall remind you of the twists and turns and shallow dips and make
you ride them again until you remember you cannot have what you left behind.
The hours late and you need to feel angry hands running over my corners and in
my depth. But what happens when the memory returns? When you see that
expression, hear all I pleaded but you cared never to acknowledge?
So the candle, the wick, the wax, and the flame, all become nothing. All of our
pleasures burn out from the gut of our flight of fancy.
I am still curious though, through all the drama you have brought me - just a
simple candle: Are you, my flame, still hot for me now?