Wank Wednesday :: Cloud on My Tongue

The first thing I thought of when I saw the #WankWednesday prompt this week was Tori Amos' Cloud on My Tongue. Lyrics by Ms. Amos are included in italics.

Warning: This post is NOT SAFE FOR WORK. 18+ only.

The stereo is set to repeat, and it is the wistful sort of music that echoes how she feels. Alone inside a tiny bed, she thinks of touch. Of how it felt to be touched. Kissed.

She can almost taste it.

Don't stop now, what you're doing.

What you're doing, my ugly one.

She feels ugly.

But she was good at what she did.

Shivering, she remembers the way it felt to twist her hand around a cock, heavy and wanting and smelling of something dirty and good. Her fingers trail their way along her torso to memories of sweat and motion and the scent of whatever she'd smoked. Of anesthetic and orgasm.

Got a cloud sleeping on my tongue.

And that's exactly how it felt.

A cloud on her tongue, the fog pierced only by the way her body peaked around his.

Her lonely hand finds it way between her legs, and the memories lose their words. There are only images now, and the faint reverberations of heat beneath her skin. In the same sort of rhythm that he used, she strokes at wet flesh until she feels that heat again.

Building.

Aching.

Circles and circles and circles again...

She chokes on bile and on her own pleasure

Got to stop spinning.

But she can't. She won't.

If anything, the room spins faster as her hand does, and she lets it. Everything inside of her spirals up until it crashes, spasms echoing in dull throbs that leave her more alone than she was before.

And the cloud on her tongue is not numbness enough.

Thought I was over the bridge now...

She'd thought she was, too, she thinks, as she comes back down to earth. Hard.

But she's not.

God help her, she's still not.