Lay me down
on a bed of roses
petals soft,
thorns waiting,
my body already open
for whatever you decide
to do with it.
I look up at you,
waiting for your hands,
your voice,
your permission.
Every inch of me
is yours
before you even touch me.
“Keep still.”
Your words hit me
harder than your hands ever could.
My thighs tremble,
my breath shakes,
but I obey,
spreading myself open
as the roses crumple beneath me.
You drag a thorny stem
down my stomach
slow,
threatening,
delicious
until I gasp
and lift my hips,
begging without speaking.
“Not yet.”
You make me wait.
Make me feel the ache.
Make me want it
until the want
turns into need,
and the need
turns into straight-up desperation.
Your fingers slide between my legs
barely a touch,
just enough to make me whine.
You smirk,
because you know
I’ll take whatever you give,
however you give it.
“Ask for it.”
Your voice is thick,
low,
dangerous.
And I do
I ask,
I plead,
I offer myself
shaking,
ready,
hungry
for you to claim me.
When your mouth finally hits me,
I nearly fall apart
but your hands lock down
on my thighs,
pinning me open,
forcing me to take
every slow, wet stroke
of your tongue.
I try to move.
You don’t let me.
You hold me still,
devouring me
like you’re punishing me
for wanting you too much,
for needing your mouth
like oxygen.
The roses beneath me
are soaked,
destroyed,
ruined like I’m about to be.
When you slide into me,
it’s deep
so deep I cry out
like I’m breaking.
You pull my hands up
over my head,
pinning them there
as you **** me
slow,
hard,
controlled.
You set the pace.
My body takes it.
My voice breaks for it.
Everything in me
surrenders to you.
Your breath hits my ear
as you say,
“Good. Don’t lose control
until I tell you to.”
So I hold on
barely
while you pound into me,
****** after ******
taking me apart
with every stroke.
The bed shakes.
The roses scatter.
Petals stick to my skin
as you **** me deeper,
faster,
pulling sounds from me
I’ve never made before.
You flip me onto my stomach,
pull my hips up,
and take me from behind
hard enough
to make my knees slide
against the crushed petals.
Your hand grips my throat,
lifting my head
just enough to growl,
“Take it.”
And I do.
Every inch.
Every push.
Every filthy ******
that feels like you’re
claiming the bottom of my soul.
My body shakes,
clenching around you,
begging for release
but you deny me,
hold me there,
teasing me right at the edge
until I’m whimpering
into the roses
for mercy.
Then finally
with your hand in my hair
and your body slamming into mine
with raw, ruthless hunger
you tell me,
“Let go.”
And I fall
hard,
shaking,
crying out
as you follow me
seconds later,
your body heavy
and trembling
against my own.
We collapse together
in a wreck of petals,
thorns,
sweat,
and everything filthy
you pulled from me.
And even with my body spent
and the roses destroyed beneath us
I whisper,
breathless,
devoted:
“Please…
do it again.”
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC
Lay me down
on a bed of roses
petals soft,
thorns waiting,
my body already open
for whatever you decide
to do with it.
I look up at you,
waiting for your hands,
your voice,
your permission.
Every inch of me
is yours
before you even touch me.
“Keep still.”
Your words hit me
harder than your hands ever could.
My thighs tremble,
my breath shakes,
but I obey,
spreading myself open
as the roses crumple beneath me.
You drag a thorny stem
down my stomach
slow,
threatening,
delicious
until I gasp
and lift my hips,
begging without speaking.
“Not yet.”
You make me wait.
Make me feel the ache.
Make me want it
until the want
turns into need,
and the need
turns into straight-up desperation.
Your fingers slide between my legs
barely a touch,
just enough to make me whine.
You smirk,
because you know
I’ll take whatever you give,
however you give it.
“Ask for it.”
Your voice is thick,
low,
dangerous.
And I do
I ask,
I plead,
I offer myself
shaking,
ready,
hungry
for you to claim me.
When your mouth finally hits me,
I nearly fall apart
but your hands lock down
on my thighs,
pinning me open,
forcing me to take
every slow, wet stroke
of your tongue.
I try to move.
You don’t let me.
You hold me still,
devouring me
like you’re punishing me
for wanting you too much,
for needing your mouth
like oxygen.
The roses beneath me
are soaked,
destroyed,
ruined like I’m about to be.
When you slide into me,
it’s deep
so deep I cry out
like I’m breaking.
You pull my hands up
over my head,
pinning them there
as you **** me
slow,
hard,
controlled.
You set the pace.
My body takes it.
My voice breaks for it.
Everything in me
surrenders to you.
Your breath hits my ear
as you say,
“Good. Don’t lose control
until I tell you to.”
So I hold on
barely
while you pound into me,
****** after ******
taking me apart
with every stroke.
The bed shakes.
The roses scatter.
Petals stick to my skin
as you **** me deeper,
faster,
pulling sounds from me
I’ve never made before.
You flip me onto my stomach,
pull my hips up,
and take me from behind
hard enough
to make my knees slide
against the crushed petals.
Your hand grips my throat,
lifting my head
just enough to growl,
“Take it.”
And I do.
Every inch.
Every push.
Every filthy ******
that feels like you’re
claiming the bottom of my soul.
My body shakes,
clenching around you,
begging for release
but you deny me,
hold me there,
teasing me right at the edge
until I’m whimpering
into the roses
for mercy.
Then finally
with your hand in my hair
and your body slamming into mine
with raw, ruthless hunger
you tell me,
“Let go.”
And I fall
hard,
shaking,
crying out
as you follow me
seconds later,
your body heavy
and trembling
against my own.
We collapse together
in a wreck of petals,
thorns,
sweat,
and everything filthy
you pulled from me.
And even with my body spent
and the roses destroyed beneath us
I whisper,
breathless,
devoted:
“Please…
do it again.”