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Mind


Cover 200x300Chapter 11 –  Mind – Mine

Just a taste of my newly published book. Tell me what you think.


Our time together goes by far too quickly, days stolen out of schedules that don’t seem to sync frequently enough or that we don’t discuss. How did my body so quickly become attuned to yours, so quickly responsive to your desires and commands? Now, I have only to think of you and heat runs through my mind and sets my body on fire as if whispered commands are left by you before you’re gone from me. When you left the last time there wasn’t any part of my body that wasn’t aching from your attention, sore and stretched from use, yet I would have called you back, begged you to stay offered more. Every day I want to say to you, “Say yes, ask for more”. I don’t; I leave it in your hands without a word.

Staring out into the morning, it is still night. The shutters are letting me watch as the sky fades from dark to light. I know I should start the day; you aren’t here to hold me back from my normal routine, yet I am reluctant to rise. It has been weeks since we were last together; my mind searches for the memories and finds them, in dreams. Stretching my arms up above my head I feel the cold of the chains you have left. The handcuffs dangling from them remind me of our last night together, and I am flooded with want, every nerve ending in my body on fire and screaming for touch, any touch. I hear my own voice whimper with need as I roll to my back and my legs splay open as if with a mind of their own, pushed by the pulsing demand of my throbbing.

I hear your voice in my head whispering, Mine. It only drives me further in my need. My mind filling in for the lack of your presence this morning in my bed, my hands replacing your hands across my body. Mine. I hear your voice again. Is it an admonishment or a warning? It is too late; it is my mind playing tricks. My hands run down my body, teasing nipples sensitive and demanding, my fingers turning the areola, twisting them into hard knots. Hands running down my sides, following the paths your hands have traced across ribs and back to breasts even as I hear your voice again whispering, Mine. My hips begin moving of their own volition, the slow rocking dance of need and desire, even as my hands continue to trail across skin memories left by your hands. I linger at each place where your lips lingered, remembering the feel of your teeth, the trace of your tongue and Mine.

The scent of me fills the room, as my fingers spread the swollen lips of my pussy so I can reach my throbbing clit. Legs akimbo, my fingers work a tattoo against my clit pulling the cover back moving across the raw nerves beneath. Pulling hard across my own swollen pussy, wet with juices, I scratch out the rhythm you have taught me; it works best as my free hand runs across my ribs and up underneath breasts, pinching nipples already hard and aching for attention. My hips have found a rhythm of their own, pushing for more and harder. I hear my own voice, between a whimper and moan as my orgasm builds and my fingers stretch the lips of my pussy wider coated with juices and pulling my clit, rolling between thumb and finger as other fingers stroke the labia. My left arm reaches up to grab the chain dangling from the headboard, pulling it down, wrapping it around my wrist as my release grabs me, I hear your voice in my mind, Cum for me, and I do.


About Scarlett Baker

Writer, artist and thrill seeker. Scarlett is a mystery, even to herself at times. Her exploration of love stories with a touch of the dark began when she found herself single and dangling by a thread of hope mixed with a splash of the terrible. Faced with being alone for the first time in nearly twenty years, with not a clue what to do with a vast future she decided to explore the world of her fantasies, something she had done little of up until now.

One response »

  1. Mr. Militant Negro

    Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.

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