Ah, Tantalyzing Tuesday, one of my favorite days of the week. This Tuesday, I have tumbled into volcanic erotica. My piece today is about obsession and I hope that raising the question, "Who is obsessed?" will evoke a thoughtful process of self-examination. Many times I have been obsessed, others I have been the object of fascination and obsession then others....I have been both. You.......? You'll discover one way or the other when you watch the vid I selected below. I think you'll enjoy it...or something about it, anyway.
Now, you know my plea, my true obsession is you and, if you so desire, your comments. Please be a dear and visit my prurient partners to read their short 200 word teasers based upon a photo, or video, that they selected. Please leave comments in our respective blogs. Thank you, my sweet friends ~ Enjoy !!
Now, you know my plea, my true obsession is you and, if you so desire, your comments. Please be a dear and visit my prurient partners to read their short 200 word teasers based upon a photo, or video, that they selected. Please leave comments in our respective blogs. Thank you, my sweet friends ~ Enjoy !!
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| Obsession Confession |
The backroom pole dancers in platform heels at seedy bars epitomized
the “strippery” aspects of “The Pole” ranking slightly above lap dancing. The
women touted their strength, physical fitness and supremacy. And what began as a college thesis on the Empowerment
of Women soon became an obsession.
His visits started out innocently enough: notes, photographs
and interviews of the girls which earned him the moniker of “The Professor”. Soon, he fell under the spell of the taunt
flat stomachs, round firm breasts and strong inner thighs that undulated
against gravity with grace and poise, a pole between their legs. The Professor was enchanted as he slowly
slipped into the dark-side of his fascination.
The rhythmic seduction of the music as he watched her dance ignited
a desire that burned inside him like fire. She extended an open, beckoning hand
with an elegance the Professor was weak to resist and he followed her wet, glistening
body off stage.
His eyes implored her; his whimper beseeched her and he ached
to cup her small muscle-toned buttocks in his palms, spread her cheeks with his
thumbs and press into her essence. His knees weakened and buckled as she turned,
invitingly, against the wall.
She smiled to herself knowing he would pay. They all pay.
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