From the Thrift Shop Down the Road
08-09-2013, 06:40 AM
isardis
It would be foolish to suggest the crimson damsel were any less than a simmering marvel, the burning ember that she so radiated from the depths of her plentiful jacket could capture even the blind; an aura of magnificent accompanying her visual splendour as she would meander with such intention, such desire. She seemed as hungry for him as he were for her, a mutual interest enclutching the air that would effortlessly surround them, shift so royally in their wake. Though The King were hardly one of dedication, and although he would grant the banshee with the pride infusing fuels to gain her lust, he would never truly reserve himself. She would reach, striving to disconnect from isolation, to bridge the space that narrowed between them, and her jaws would come to suspend barely a few centimetres from coral hark; an amused smirk twitching pallid lips with rising folly, eager intention. Her language would be of suggestion, her pores prickling pleasurably as she spoke, though the male would remain void, barely scathed by her gestures. "So eager to please, little red," a chuckle of dry humour would bubble from cracking hinges, "Would I be foolish to decline?" Tauntingly weapons would be exposed, lips peeling athwart as maw was thrust towards her lobe, incisors attempting to tighten around loose cartilage. Intentions were not ill, not sinister, the king had no desire to harm his pretty plaything- no, that would be foolish. Instead he would entice her, all the while suggesting a feeble supremacy. |
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