Colors of Lust - Steve K‘Colors of Lust’ by Steve K

Lust was a cloak that she had not worn in a while. None-the-less she drew it around her and sought to connect with what it would bring her. It was surprising how quickly it began to have an effect. She felt in control. She felt ready. She felt so alive with the confidence it gave her.

It was an odd thing really. It started out as something heavy, something on the outside, something which had been placed over her temporarily and she was acutely aware of. It was a change. It was different, not something new but something forgotten, something pushed aside.

The longer she wore it, the more it became part of her. It grew into something much lighter than when she had first put it on. It seemed to shift from a heavy velvet to a more floating chiffon or silk. It moved with her body, caressing her with it’s touch and trailing across her skin as a reminder now and then.

Soon enough it was part of her and she was part of it. It could no longer be discerned as something separate, no longer something that she chose, but more, now, what she was and what she thought. It was simply there, to be accepted, to be heard.

And with it she burned. She burned with a fire hotter than any she had felt before. She had a need which could not be met but which raged within her both day and night. Her skin prickled with its touch and her thoughts were flooded with snapshots of what it could bring.

Over and over the pictures rolled, from one to another, tweaking at her very inner fibre. She drifted where she shouldn’t be and lost track of what was. She felt dangerous but powerful as she turned from white to red and opened herself to be devoured by it.

As it burnt holes on her skin and twisted and twirled with her insides, she felt like she was soaring, untouchable, up high and out of reach. Through the sky she seemed to fly at speeds which left her without speech, unable to explain or put words to what was happening.

It both pained her and exalted her at the same time and it became big, so big, as she gave it space to grow. So absorbed was she by it that she indulged it at her very core. She cultivated it as a tiny seed, feeding it with herself. It became her child, her lover, her soul and it was the only thing that took her where she wanted to go.

And in the end she was untouchable. Un-tamable. Unreachable. She collapsed at last and lay, exhausted, still on fire. She burnt on quietly for a time until the heat finally began to subside. She felt glorious. She had lived through such extremes and such highs, and as the parts of her fell slowly back into place, she cried for what had been.

Prompt #321: Lust

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked