Amalia
the shield of safrin
She basks in the symphony of his mewls and hums, the guttural moans and the lustful gasps. It is the soundtrack to her eager ministrations, providing ambiance and encouragement, more scintillating and tantalizing than it has a right to be. Hearing him, feeling him, knowing it is she who makes him quake, brings the glacier flooding down back to the sea of her ardor- it is almost as invigorating as his hands upon her skin, the clenching of his legs around hers, the pressing of his hips.
She can feel him lingering at the edge of completion, can sense it in his tension and the warning of her name. A part of her aches to let him finish, to drive him to that great crescendo and taste him on her tongue in triumph; another wonders if it would not be better to prolong the sinful soliloquy, continue playing her notes upon him and letting him simmer beneath her embrace. To torture, to tease, the way he likes to do to her; to drive him wild with withheld ardor, to take him to the brink but stop before crashing, the rise and fall of tides before that final, glorious swell.
Were she different than what she is, Amalia might indeed have prolonged the inevitable: but she is not and has never been a patient or sinful girl. She is lustful and heady, wild and wanton, spurred on by the clear enjoyment of her lover and the dizzying knowledge that it is a pleasure she alone can provide. With renewed fervor the Shield lets her mouth trace paths along his length, right hand still following along the shaft as her left wraps eagerly over his hip. Unless he stops her she will continue until she has taken all he has, left him breathless and spent and sleepy, satisfied herself by triumph and love.
She can feel him lingering at the edge of completion, can sense it in his tension and the warning of her name. A part of her aches to let him finish, to drive him to that great crescendo and taste him on her tongue in triumph; another wonders if it would not be better to prolong the sinful soliloquy, continue playing her notes upon him and letting him simmer beneath her embrace. To torture, to tease, the way he likes to do to her; to drive him wild with withheld ardor, to take him to the brink but stop before crashing, the rise and fall of tides before that final, glorious swell.
Were she different than what she is, Amalia might indeed have prolonged the inevitable: but she is not and has never been a patient or sinful girl. She is lustful and heady, wild and wanton, spurred on by the clear enjoyment of her lover and the dizzying knowledge that it is a pleasure she alone can provide. With renewed fervor the Shield lets her mouth trace paths along his length, right hand still following along the shaft as her left wraps eagerly over his hip. Unless he stops her she will continue until she has taken all he has, left him breathless and spent and sleepy, satisfied herself by triumph and love.
you drew memories in my mind
i could never erase
you painted colors in my heart
i could never replace
