In my late thirties, as a wife, a mother, an administrative manager…
As a woman in emotional flux, I spread my fingers across a keyboard one day to defeat the boredom inside my mind.
I found that truth was actually quite interesting. I found that the imaginary was even more interesting. I found that I could write.
And, Mel Douleur was born.
High on life
On you
On me
Buzzing
Licking our lips
Nose to nose
There is
No air
To come up for
There is
No space
Needed between us
Your fingers
Tuck away a bit
Of autumn sunrise
While one of mine
Dips into
That valley hidden
Beneath the scruff
Below
Those lips
I adore
Which cannot
Kiss me enough
Which cannot
Speak too much
Which cannot
Utter a single hurt
Sipping
At mine
Like a bee
Seeking
That life giving
Nectar
Yes
Take more
Buzzing
There’s always more
Together
Like this
We could
Buzz forever
We WILL
Daddy
Perched in your lap
Hands on your cheeks
Sipping away at your
Sugar, sweet kisses
Until my jaw aches
And my lips burn
Squirm
A growl in your throat
Fingers tighten in aggravation
Across my creamy, soft thighs
Pressing the urgency within
Straight through my flesh
To my hungry core
Squirm
Long, puffed exhales
With soft, liquid smiles
My hands find a path
Beneath your shirt
And dance through
That soft, dark fur beneath
Squirm
Baring your teeth and
Narrowing your eyes
Wake up, Beast!
Come out and play with me
A giggle bubbles from
Somewhere next to my heart
Squirm
Determination sets your brow
Your hands cover mine
Pulling them, and me
Around you, against you
Crushing me with the
Strength of a Daddy Bear
Squirm
Our bodies are not bodies
But fire, light and electricity
Control is lost to these
Primal needs and desires
Unfolding and invading
Like hungry vines in the wild
Squirm
No more breath, no more sound
Just you, thrusting inside
With furiousity, unmeasured
Deeper, more, harder, faster
Until you still me in one glance
With that carnal look of intimacy
Squirm
Take me, tease me, torment me
Chase me, Hunt me, Catch me
Over and over, until you cannot
And I surrender, wicked Beast
Because you make me
mirror, mirror by aimeelikestotakepics via DeviantArt.com
As I stand and watch myself in the filmy dressing room mirror, I try to gauge your reaction. You often study me, and always appreciate me, but in this moment of contemplation, I feel like a work of art.
It isn’t the clothes you are choosing, it is the way they accentuate the curve of my hip and the line of my leg.
It isn’t the fabric you are concerned with, but the way it falls over my breasts and where it skims across my thigh.
It isn’t the color you are judging, but the way it compliments my soft creamy skin and the unusual hue of my green eyes.
When your fingers skim and shift, causing my heart to flutter and my core awakens, your eyes tell me that, yes, you are objectifying me. But because I long for it. Because I crave to be your possession. Because I’m just a little girl seeking approval.
So, when I ask you, shall I wear my hair curly or straight? Do you prefer the hoop earrings over the simple gems? Or, which stockings and shoes you like best?
It isn’t because I can’t decide.
I can, and I would.
But you’re here, Daddy, and you want me. So tell me how to make myself just as you desire.
Choose for me.
Decide for you.
Dress me.
The reward is absolutely worth your attention.
For the pleasure of seeing me shine under the spotlight of your love is surely artistry of it’s own.
MelDouleur.com 