IRC-Galleria

Your hands are on my skin, on my hair, on me. You can see everything, into my very soul and through it all. It makes me shiver in excitement. It makes me cold every time I see you. It makes me hot every time I think of you. It makes me want you so much it starts to hurt, I yearn for your touch every second of my life.

You dug your nails on my hips, bruising them, maybe even draw blood. I donÂ’t know, I canÂ’t see, I canÂ’t think, concentrate on anything but that feeling. I donÂ’t mind if you draw blood, I like blood, I like the colour of it, the smell of it, the taste of it. IÂ’m intrigued by blood, my blood, your blood. Our blood.

You say something, but I canÂ’t make out of it what. It doesnÂ’t matter, I just need to hear your voice, somewhere there calling me. Moaning my name, even shouting it, as you fill your self with me. I love your voice, the one that treacherously traps me inside of it as it whispers sweet lies into my ear.

I can vaguely see your eyes in the line of my vanishing sight, looking at me, hungry for wanting more, glazed of the feeling of it all, brutally taking me in, and it is still not enough. It is never enough. We keep the eye contact through it all, even when our vision getÂ’s blurry, even as we feel we are dying, because thatÂ’s what this is, playing with death.

My throat protest when a moan stifles from somewhere deep, trying to make itÂ’s way up, out of my mouth and to be heard by him. But it doesnÂ’t come up, it stuck halfway on my throat and I can feel my voice is crackling up. The moans comes out as a hoarse breathe, names never making their way out wholly, screams are of those that have been tortured for years.

But everything, it all, is us. ThatÂ’s what we are, that is what defines us. The seemingly kind touches turns into rough ones, sweet voices turn into one of monsters, the eyes turns nightly into predatory, filled with never ending lust and despair.

I canÂ’t see anymore, only blurred lines and few colours. You are the only one I can see anymore, I can see you through our entwined bodies, the pain and pleasure mixed together, with that heavenly feeling that makes us feel whole.

I can hardly breathe, my throat feeling dry and over used. IÂ’m near, I can feel it, and I canÂ’t breathe. I know you are near, you pull that silk and make me almost see heaven. I can almost feel it, itÂ’s there, hanging somewhere on my vision. Suddenly it all comes, washing over my head like a giant wave that just slammed my mind on the rock, making it all explode into blinding whiteness and overwhelming pleasure.

That is all I can feel for an eternity, this little paradise that we have together reached. That eternity is broken when you take the thing binding me, us, to it of carefully, like expecting it to broke when you know it wouldnÂ’t. I can see clearly now, but IÂ’m so tired, so fully satisfied I donÂ’t care, all I can see is you, holding that white silk, the one binding us, into our paradise.

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It's final. I will never write again. Okay, I don't believe that even myself. But.. still!