Yearning. 
I wake up with it,
walk around all day with it,
live in it,
hate it,
feed on it,
and go to sleep with it
lingering
on my body and in my mind.

I imagine you slipping behind me
as I’m sitting on the floor studying. 
You sit down, legs astride mine.
Chest against my back. 
Chin on my shoulder. 
Nose nuzzling my ear.

“Are you ready for a break,”
you ask as your hands grip my waist. 
Then slide down my sides. 
Lift up my dress. 
Hook the edges of my panties,
and tug.

I wriggle out of my undergarment,
kick it aside. 

You have just enough time
to release yourself from your pants
as I sit back down,
now on you. 
I tilt my head back
and sigh
right before your fingers
sink
into my hair
and pull my lips towards yours. 
I moan into your mouth
as I slowly rock
up and down. 
Up, and down. 
Your hand reaches inside my dress,
grabs my breast and
squeezes, hard. 
Your fingers will leave bruises.

You break the kiss
to bite my neck,
then bring your knees up against my back. 

You tear off my dress in a hurried rush. 
Pull my breasts from the cups of my bra. 
Take them into your mouth
one, then the other. 
I arch my back,
curse and sigh;
it’s all too much and not enough. 
My arms encircle your head,
pulling, holding you to your meal. 

I can feel it growing, surging,
my pleasure a wave
building up to a height I haven’t felt
in months. 
My hips feel your grip again
as you push and grind me harder,
harder on your cock.

Your mouth on my titties,
your hands urging me,
as I’m grinding, riding, writhing on your cock
and I never want to leave this fantasy world.

My real world is void,
empty. 
My real world is a lonely bed
and yearning for
titty sucking
nasty fucking
love.

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