There’s something about every room I wander into that excites me, makes me aroused, just as if the softest of paintbrushes was running over my flesh, brushing the tips of my nipples with its tender sable. I have to slip my hand beneath my top and touch them through my bra to check, the feeling is so convincing. There they are, erect and willing me into each room, this feeling of arousal spreading, brushing my belly into knots and transferring the feeling between my legs as I realise what it is that affects me so: it is the smell of you.
My aunt died very recently. I have very strong memories of her. She was often present in my childhood, and, apart from my mum, she(read more…)
Flash fiction isn’t something I write very often, but I hope you like this little piece of sexiness for #WickedWednesday’s Coffee prompt, inspired by a(read more…)
“Goddess worshipping.” A ghost of your whisper curls around my neck as I press my back against the front door. Even as my head tilts to(read more…)