An Odyssey of Flesh

I am thinking of soft skin and hard fingers.

A tight grip digging into flesh that gives way under protest. The gasp of pain as those points of pressure solidify.

A hand to throat now, almost gentle in its application of force, inexorable in its insistence, and the subsequent denial of breath. Lips on skin, the taste of excitement writ in hormone and pheromone, the scent of desire a heady aroma that wafts from soft places.

Body moves with body, a dance older than language, an urge for communion beyond an urge for creation, the incessant need making itself known in damp thighs and rigid erection. The force of muscle and bone applied to willing flesh, restrained violence in the use of a need dampened hole.

The penetration a welcome violation, plunging deep with a force that can be surprising, the exploration of a private depth, a place where fingers and tongue can only tease at, not claim in a form of ownership. The pulsing rhythm as hands continue their odyssey of flesh, a ritual of movement that seems fresh and new and exciting with the introduction of a different owner, a recognizable pattern that is both unknown and yet intimately familiar.

The tempo changes with each evolution of position, the thrust hitting something else, the sliding friction again renewed in both vigor and excitement with each new angle. The grasping fingers finding painful purchase as hip shift bruisingly into hip. Again and again the denial of breath as hand finds throat, or as palm presses into the back, forcing face into the ground. Purchase found to increase the rutting pace, the plunging force grinding thought into fire and lust. Breath is labored and deep, a gasp of want that mingles with the cries and moans of mingled suffering and ecstasy.

The mind begins to float free as the flesh takes over, the price paid in sweat and exhaustion, in agony and release. And then the rise, that sickly sweet reminder that humanity comes with a most wonderful distraction. Pinpricks of light dancing like faeries behind eyelids squeezed so very tight. Muscles contracting into knots as the rush of blood and want and lust and need boils explosively towards release.

Again and again the endless thrust, the piston pounding the want out in a staccato cadence of arousal and primal carnality. A peak, then. An explosive eruption deep within, that lewdly expressive splash of material desire, filling that hidden place, that depth now sodden with the mingled release, the mind afire with the force of union, the ecstasy of the exchange.

After, the body tingles with the fading glow, sated only for these precious few moments, limbs and hair tangled in a jumble of sweat soaked lassitude. The heart beat so rapid fire slowly returning to something normal, the mind floating back to nestle in its mortal coil.