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Finding Home

Posted by DeepDark on Fri 24 Feb 2012 to The_Porn_Blog

When he kissed her, he thought he tasted blood. It was a distinct possibility. He opened his eyes, to see hers still closed tightly, the tear-smeared mascara making her look like a dirty angel.

Her little hand gripped his thick fingers tightly. He stroked her hair, enjoying the sensation of peace; of appetites satisfied, of promises kept.

It had taken him years to find her, to find this place. He had left behind a wreckage of broken and unfulfilled relationships with beautiful women who could never have given him a hundredth of the sensation and fulfillment this little thing could. He had found her, and she had found him. She fit him like a lock to his key. The contours of their souls matched exactly. It was uncanny.

He loosened the belt from around her neck, prompting an audible but gentle sigh. She opened her eyes to meet his. Her gaze steady and full of acceptance. He felt emotion well up in him. He extended his hand gently, so different to only a few minutes before, and traced the line of her cheekbone tenderly.

She held her open wide eyed gaze, put her delicate fingers to his, and slowly curled his hand into a fist.

Reply by Emergence on Tue 28 Feb 2012

very beautiful imagery :-)

"the body now serves as an instrument or intermediary: if one intervenes upon it to imprison it, or to make it work, it is in order to deprive the individual of a liberty that is regarded both as a right and as property" (Foucault)