A game of proportions

Fuck your other lover because you’re missing me.

Fuck her hard and raw; fuck her until the juice runs dries, until the static overruns the charge. Fuck her until she’s limp on the bed, dissolved under your hips, a victim of your yearning for my body instead of hers.


Fuck her like she’s never been fucked before; bombard her with the insistence for me.


Fuck her while your body screams out for me, clamors and perspires for me. Every thrush, for me. Every utterance, for me. Grab her flesh, her taunt, unyielding flesh, and listen to your palms whine for more, cry for the plum flesh of me. Plunge your knuckles in her curls, lose your digits in her dark, and sense your eyes craving golden refraction of lights, the halo that belongs to me. Drag her mouth to your ear and let her heaves underwhelm you, let them coax you into internally scripting my language in your head, fevering your semen with my feral memory over the immediacy of her docility.



Fuck her like she’s never been fucked before, with my silhouette haunting your periphery, with my impact menacing your brain, with my scent subtly lingering on the sheets.



Fuck her, mercilessly. Fuck her, unapologetically, with the urgency of how much you’re missing me. Fuck her. Fuck her to alleviate the need of me.




Fuck her because of me.