Feeling very meh about my writing. Just trying to work out the mental kinks
I get a little wet when I run up on a man with dirt on his hands. Grease and grime marring his clothing and making my body come alive.
Under his nails, caking his palms, dusting the hair on his forearms. It says he’s been working hard all day and the evidence is all over him.
I’m thinking of those hands, dirty and layered with callouses, touching my body. Stripping my clothes one piece at a time, I’d point to each part of my body I want his hands to feel.
My nipples peak just thinking about it.
Light brown, gray, and black streaks decorating my breasts and the curve of my belly. A hand print on my ass and thighs. He’d paint me and call me a dirty whore because that’s what I am.
He’d make beg for those fingers in my cunt, fucking me hard until my come washed down his arm.
I’d give him his own stripes. My nails would dig deep into his back, scratching long lines until I drew his blood to the surface.
The tempo of my moans would match the snap of his hips, our sweat smearing the dirt between us.
Dirt, blood, and…
His come would decorate my breasts, dripping like pearls down to mingle and make a total mess of me.
For encouragmentBuy me a coffee