taraghmeni

When You rob me of my sense of sight. And my sense of balance get impaired.

Thus intensifying the others.

And not just my sense of smell, though Your masculinity would tingle my nostrils. Your scent is so totally male. You are actually the first man to whom I cannot associate a certain perfume or scent other than just that; pure man.

And not just my ability to hear, as I would listen to every sound You make.
From Your asserting footsteps around the room, You pouring champagne, to where You take a sip, dip Your fingers in the precious bubbles and suddently evoke my sense of touch as the cool liquid drizzle down my cleavage, staining my silk slip.

And not limiting it to my sense of taste either, though a drop of Möet will hit my lips and my tongue, through pure reflexes, will reach out to taste it. Hoping that Your lips will follow. Which they rarely do.

And though my sense of balance is highly limited, I will feel the acceleration, before I feel the pain. Of Your palm slapping my face.

And in one fluid move, You will heighten my senses of smell, taste, temperature and touch, all at once, by pressing my face into the crotch of Your bespoke pants.

Me feeling Your hardness through the luxurious fabric. 

My sexual energy surging and thereby rendering all my other senses superfluous, leaving me with pure lust.

(Source: princessmars)