july 8 2024

I’m on top. Baby blue g-string and white Nike socks on. I straddle him and he has one hand on my ass and the other is pulling my shirt up over my head.

I like being on top. I like leaning over and feeling the heat of his skin, my nipples tracing his eyes, his nose, his lips. I like feeling his thick bulge underneath me and I like sitting my full weight on it.

When I’m on top, I feel like a giant woman, looking down at my beloved, pussy radiating, ready to swallow the world. And I want to swallow the world. I want to turn out the lights, enter the cave, return to the primordial state - dark. wet. nothing. pleasure. pure. one.

I grind against his boxers and he pulls my panties to the side. I move his other hand and put it around my neck. We lock eyes. He doesn’t squeeze but just holds me there. Raising his head from the pillow, he takes my nipple into his mouth. In seconds, I’m writhing, succumbing. Everything is about power - even love, especially sex.

Here, we have power over each other. It’s a balance, a playful game, a harmonic composition. I knew he was my one when I asked for brutality and he gave me tenderness.

He moves his hands to my waist and flips us around. He’s on top now. The afternoon sun tilts and sprawls against his chest, his hair, his eyes. He always takes on a golden colour this time of year. I finger the chain around his neck and ask him to make love to me. He brings my foot to his lips and plants a kiss on my toes. He obliges me. Again and again.