STATION 72 ; mental link

[shri]

KALI She Who is the Great Destroyer ; She Who wears a Garland of Skulls	LAKSHMI She Who Believes in Truth ; She Who is the Mother
DRAUPADI She who was Born of Fire Sacrafice;	DURGA She Who is perpetually endeavouring to protect the weak and the poor and remove their misery.

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[sistershoggoth]

[ Like touching herself, she slips her palm between Rani's legs, the heel of her hand flexed to create its own pressure on the sex that mirrors her own. Lust-drunk, that bead of flesh is the most important, most central, thing in this moment. Hot and full, desirous for contact and sharp, inevitable relief. A two-fold thing, two bodies amplifying into one another; weather fronts colliding into a cyclone of electrified nerve endings.

The wet slit of Lakshmi's body against her fingers is as good as her own, and her hands find their way there past those last layers of trousers.

It is all the same, they are one thing, swollen and red and slick, tasting of musk and want. Annie arcs her back with a hum, a moan, a panting breath, gripping the woman's shoulder as leverage. That's all they need now, just leverage to rub and rut, time to build and the patience to breaker. ]

[shri]

[ In a shudder and a rough mouthed gasp, those carefully lit ties of oil lamps, sent crashing to the floor, the rich material caught and set a light in a fever heat. She doesn't waste time returning the favour as she gets Annie's hips free so barely of her clothes. Not a lot, but more than enough.

( Even if there is a pause, ragged in her movements as she catches Annie's wrist where it slips against her - words that beget feeling beget action in a seamlessly without explanation - no, not some sweet slide, she wants it hard, she wants those fingers up and curling in, she wants the heat of her palm just so - she wants her relief, and she doesn't want it mercifully given, she wants to feel and be felt and curl hard around something solid so deeply inside of herself she can't undone - she is tired and full of teeth and hanging onto her kingdom-body-woman slipping out from that hold and she hangs on in return like the ugliest of her truths - she never learned the art of letting go well, though she has a gift for self denial she would never admit too. )

A denial that she uses now even if she does nothing but shudder, her reaction sharp and quick, before she pulls up again.

Her fingers return quickly to her task, finding her slick and easy and she chuckles breathlessly - appreciatively. How easy this all is, against the bitter aftertaste on the swallow. But she can't care or have a want to know what that regret truly is. Which is appreciated, held up ugly to the light and then discarded like she always does.

She has better things to do when her fingers - one and then another - slide up in return to Annie, and she has a strict purpose here as she heaves herself up. Letting her get the angle she wants as her wrist begins to work her, quick and hard. Her own self disregarded to the want to watch her, bear down over her - gauge how she jumps and reacts, as her speed stays there, elbow planted by Annie's head. Letting her hold fast as she needs to, giving her the caged space to fall apart. A shield of hair falling free over her shoulder, pressing her up by shove of knees to push her easy apart. Because she will have every bit of her, exposed and open and wanting. ]