Unto

It was a study in contrasts.

It was the soft, well-worn nip of the rope that bound my wrists; the rough and eager bite of tree bark against my ass and shoulder blades. The cool slither of raindrops between my breasts met and consumed by the fire of her mouth as it made the journey from a place where the heat emanating forth dwarfed even that of lips, breath and tongue.

It was the weak, gelatinous consistency of my patellae and the consequent weight of my flesh, sinking against its bonds into the sturdy, infallible cradle of earth. It was the unrelenting angles of her body as she pressed them into the soft and yearningly pliant dunes of my curves.

It was her deep, guttural growls full of open throat and savagery blending through melded lips into the soft punctuation of the cries meandering their way from the depths of my chest.

And it especially, god, especially was the hurtling, crashing, feral waves of the hurricane of her climax sweeping me out into deep waters while she, coming down, floated with eyes closed in the sweeping, sighing current of my release.

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