Oh, the things I'd do to you. I'd throw you down, ripping your clothes off in the process. I'd let you remove the tatters as I danced for you, slowly and seductively removing my own clothing. The things I'd do to you are animal, the things I'd do are raw, but I'd do them all the same, and you'd enjoy it, that I can guarantee. The things I'd do to you, my sweet someone, is a list unknown, a list unending, one that proceeds to the end of time and into the beginning of the next. I'd straddle you, right then and there, so cliché, but so necessary. I'd rub my folds over you, refusing you movement, teasing you, and I'd kiss you, and I'd kiss you hard. A kiss to end all wars, a kiss to start new ones. And in that kiss, in that distracting, passionate moment, I'd take you inside of me, impaling myself with ease. You wouldn't be expecting it, of course, making it all the better. I'd ride you until my body could no longer move, until someone manually removed me. And as soon as I could, I'd ride you again, with just as much vigor, just as much need.
Our bodies would mingle, our bodies would, themselves, be together, as close as they could possibly get, yet much closer. There is nothing I wouldn't do to you, my dear. The list of what I would do may be long, but the list of what I wouldn't is nonexistent, a mere theory floating in the minds of the non-believers.
I'd take you between my pouty lips, giving you all my mouth had to offer. I'd pleasure you like no other, please you until your mind melted and all you could do is babble. Talk would be unnecessary. I'd sense your needs, your wants, your fears and your doubts. I'd give you all someone could possibly give, and so much more. I'd be all you'd even need and all you could ever want.
Without me, you'd go sick, withdrawal symptoms. But there would be no time you'd have to spend without me. I'd cater to your every need, every whim, take everything on myself and let nothing be a burden to you. I'd truly love you with all my heart, in ways people can only dream of, in ways you never knew possibly, with an intensity that never dwindled, never died.
The things I'd do to you are a fantasy, for these things can never happen, never will. But were that day to come, that fateful day on which our lives entwined, the things I'd do would be unforgettable, told as legends and rarely believed. They'd be myths that only you and I knew were true, that only I could fulfill. Nothing would ever be the same.
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