Nocturnal Desires
Some nights, sleep doesn’t come. Only want. Only ruin. Only the echo of hands that haven’t touched me… yet.
By Embers of Ellie
May 10, 2025
Author's note:
A little offering from the edge of sleep - where the body remembers what the mind dares to crave.
For those who know how to haunt without ever laying a hand…
My body sinks into the chair
warm, restless, anticipation curling low in my stomach.
I shift, but it doesn’t help.
My skin is already too sensitive, too aware of what’s missing.
I feel His hands, not here, but still here.
Hovering just above my skin,
so close I can almost convince myself it’s real.
The slow drag of fingertips over my chin,
Grazing the line of my throat,
His lips pressed just beneath my collarbone,
teeth scraping the delicate skin.
My body arches into Him.
Nipples hard as steel.
Begging for His touch - for His pain.
To be pinched, pulled, bitten,
deliciously tortured.
But He doesn’t give me what I want.
Not yet.
His hands skim over my ribs, down my stomach,
slowly gliding lower, so close it’s maddening.
I strain against the rope.
Trying to press my thighs together,
already aching, already needing relief.
Soaked in my own arousal.
My hips lift slightly, a silent plea.
But He only smiles - cruel, knowing -
hovering just outside the gravity of need.
A whisper of breath at the seam of my thigh,
and I swear I will shatter,
fractured by the ache He’s turned into art.
The sharp sting of teeth,
then a cruel slap to my swollen clit.
His fingers forcefully plunge into tight, slick heat.
Drawing a moan from somewhere deep,
where shame no longer dares to live.
The pain and burn turn to pleasure
as He holds me in that exquisite torment,
teasing, commanding until want sharpens into a blade.
“Please!” I beg, my eyes opening wide…
Only darkness greets me.
No restraints holding me down,
no cruel mouth at my throat,
no fingers ruthlessly stretching me open.
Just my ragged pulse of breath,
the thrum of my heart pounding through silence,
the air heavy with the scent of my desire,
and my panties —
wet, ruined,
clinging to swollen lips and damp curls.
I reach for him
but grasp only air,
palms sweeping the empty space
where his ghost still lingers.
My body is a map of aftershock,
throbbing where he’s never truly been,
drenched in the ache
of a dream too vivid to forget.
Alone, yet marked.
Branded by the memory
of a touch that is yet to come.
Hands roam over sweat-streaked skin,
Hips still trembling with need,
and somewhere between sleep and waking,
I whisper his name into the hollow dark -
half prayer,
half promise,
and in the end…
full surrender.
A little offering from the edge of sleep - where the body remembers what the mind dares to crave.
For those who know how to haunt without ever laying a hand…
My body sinks into the chair
warm, restless, anticipation curling low in my stomach.
I shift, but it doesn’t help.
My skin is already too sensitive, too aware of what’s missing.
I feel His hands, not here, but still here.
Hovering just above my skin,
so close I can almost convince myself it’s real.
The slow drag of fingertips over my chin,
Grazing the line of my throat,
His lips pressed just beneath my collarbone,
teeth scraping the delicate skin.
My body arches into Him.
Nipples hard as steel.
Begging for His touch - for His pain.
To be pinched, pulled, bitten,
deliciously tortured.
But He doesn’t give me what I want.
Not yet.
His hands skim over my ribs, down my stomach,
slowly gliding lower, so close it’s maddening.
I strain against the rope.
Trying to press my thighs together,
already aching, already needing relief.
Soaked in my own arousal.
My hips lift slightly, a silent plea.
But He only smiles - cruel, knowing -
hovering just outside the gravity of need.
A whisper of breath at the seam of my thigh,
and I swear I will shatter,
fractured by the ache He’s turned into art.
The sharp sting of teeth,
then a cruel slap to my swollen clit.
His fingers forcefully plunge into tight, slick heat.
Drawing a moan from somewhere deep,
where shame no longer dares to live.
The pain and burn turn to pleasure
as He holds me in that exquisite torment,
teasing, commanding until want sharpens into a blade.
“Please!” I beg, my eyes opening wide…
Only darkness greets me.
No restraints holding me down,
no cruel mouth at my throat,
no fingers ruthlessly stretching me open.
Just my ragged pulse of breath,
the thrum of my heart pounding through silence,
the air heavy with the scent of my desire,
and my panties —
wet, ruined,
clinging to swollen lips and damp curls.
I reach for him
but grasp only air,
palms sweeping the empty space
where his ghost still lingers.
My body is a map of aftershock,
throbbing where he’s never truly been,
drenched in the ache
of a dream too vivid to forget.
Alone, yet marked.
Branded by the memory
of a touch that is yet to come.
Hands roam over sweat-streaked skin,
Hips still trembling with need,
and somewhere between sleep and waking,
I whisper his name into the hollow dark -
half prayer,
half promise,
and in the end…
full surrender.
