The sting of the wings imprinted on my shoulders by your belt glow with our mutual with-held desire, our long, long wait.  Each stroke creates a sting, creates a gasp, creates an involuntary twist away, followed by a voluntary twist back.

Each stroke is accompanied by a wish that this will be the last stroke, followed swiftly by a desire for it not to be.

Your sulky cock, aroused by our sinuous tango, pushes in and pulls out, each thrust accompanied by sting, gasp, twist, twist. Your hand in my hair arching my back, we ride out and across the sky, sting, gasp, twist, twist

Collared anew, pony hair and suede, I trot and gasp for you, for us. We pull the year across, tracking autumn into winter, winter into spring, sting, gasp, twist, twist, sting, gasp, twist.

With belted sting and you deep in me we are one winged thing.  One charged with remaking the year, remaking time, me deep in you, you deep in me, me flying for us.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


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