Victoria Bale's Erotica - Adult Content

18 and Over ONLY, Please

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Down The Drain
Despite the time constraints I just stand there in the shower watching the water swirl down the drain, feeling the warm water on my skin. I lick my lips and the taste of your kiss is still there. The taste of your sex is still there. I toss my hair back and forth and breathe in your scent, which is is still in it. The smell of your sweat and your lust are still on my skin. I smell cum, mine and yours. Latex. Lube.

I splash water on my face and wipe my mouth off. There's that taste again. I rinse my hand. There is goes, down the drain. I turn around and tip my head back, soaking my hair in the wasm cascade. There you go, down the drain.

Shampoo. I smile because I remember that you love the way it smells. I silently curse it for stripping your scent from my locks, but I accept it. Lather, rinse, sigh. Conditioner. And then soap. I watch as the washcloth crosses my skin leaving dragon's blood-scented lather behind, criss-crossing my flesh the way your nails crossed my back.

Suddenly there's a flash from my memory, and I can feel your arms crossed over my back pulling me close against your chest as I squeezed and bounced lightly, coaxing you towards your climax. The flash is like a bad TV station: it's there, then it's gone. Another flicker, your eyes looking down into mine: you're above me this time, staring down. Your eyes are open even when you kiss, which I've learned to find endearing. "It's not polite to stare," I reminded you... But still you gaze into my soul each time I peek... Each time I peak.

Your eyes are hollow like they're ready to give nothing and recieve everything. I've heard it said that when you see a woman's O-face, you've seen her soul. You've seen both over and over again, and I've made no effort to hide either one from you. You'd love to hide from me, but you can't, and you know it. There's nothing your hollow eyes don't betray, nothing your kiss doesn't give away. You come to me raw, and I'm not scared.

I shake the images from my mind and heave a sigh. It's almost as heavy as the weight of your chest on mine when you lay there panting and shaking; empty and relieved. I close my eyes hoping to keep the memory of that feeling solid in my mind, but it flickers away. Bad TV.

I wash my face, rinse, and turn the knobs.



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