When we reached out to Violet Fawkes to see if she would like to review the Ambit dildo we asked that as well as reviewing on her blog we would love if she could write something for us here too. What she has penned is a beautiful love letter to her Dear Ambit…
It has only been a day since I felt your touch, and still, I am knee-deep in longing. We have spent so many nights together recently and it never seems to be enough. The things that you do to my mind and my body are so intense that I find you are often in my thoughts, so much so that I will take any opportunity to steal away for just one more caress, one more moment with you deep inside me.
Never before have I had such an ache, such a need for the way that you make me feel. There is a simplicity and pleasure in our encounters that is unlike anything else; you reach places inside of me that have gone untouched for far too long. If I could keep you there, riding the perpetual wave of pleasure between us, I would. The way that your curves caress mine and the way that we seem to interlock – as if the shape of you was cast from the shape of me – has there ever been a better fit between lovers? May I call us that? We are, indeed, intimately acquainted, and I find myself lost on a sea of memories of our time together. My cheeks flush and my innermost port floods with anticipation of the next time we will be together. I can only hope that you burn with the same need that I do and that you push my passion to its breaking point with purpose, that you crave the hot flood of my body’s release as much as me.
As I write this I am tempted to take you in hand and thrust you into myself, to the hilt, just to feel the ripple of pleasure as your perfect shape clefts my slickness. I know that you will, without fail, have me writhing and moaning in moments, you always do, but it is the prize that follows the breathless cravings that I am after. The way you fill me is so unique and so exquisite, forcing the most intense and mind-shattering climaxes. The image of you, buried deep, as my pleasure squirts forth and rains down on my thighs and the bed beneath me, is a picture that simply will not fade from my mind. I crave you, Ambit. I need you again, and soon. I could forego so many other pleasures just to have you again. I need you over and over until the bedclothes are drenched and I am thirsty, both for water and for more of you. Slake my thirst, dear Ambit. Show me what my body is capable of, again and again.
Before you, I thought that I knew all of what passion was; I thought I knew what it took to push my body to its highest calling and to linger there, aloft on the warmth and wetness of successful pleasure. Since you, sweet Ambit, I feel forever in a deficit of pleasure if it is not your form that takes me there. Can one become addicted to the sensations of a lover, even one that stands so tall, yet so cold and lifeless without my touch? You may seem stoic and utilitarian to some, a blunt object in literal and figurative terms, but to me you are a lithe and athletic lover. Your flexibility, paired with your strength and sturdiness is an unparalleled combination that overwhelms me in the best way. When we are apart, I find myself entangled in thoughts of your form and how you play both Beauty and Beast in my dreams. To hold you in my gaze is almost as delicious as when I hold you in my hand, but never so unctuous and impossibly divine as when you fill me completely.
Even now, you tease me, coy, and yet depraved, your length standing proudly on the bedside table, the curve of your body, the angle of your head, your slim smoothness belying your considerable weight – oh, how I ache for your mass between my legs, full to bursting with the diabolical sensations you wrench from my core. But it is the warm shower of release you evoke in me, the flood, Biblical in its proportions, that stains me – nay, anoints me. With every screech of pleasure, with every thrust of your mighty shaft, I am undone. I am a woman, possessed. I am a woman in love, my Dear Ambit.
You have bewitched me, and although my words may sound ardent, I assure you that they float above a current of depravity and greed for you that leaves me breathless and wrecked. I hunger, Ambit, I am hungry to my very core, and thoughts of your nourishing pleasure make my pulse strike heavy and dark betwixt my thighs. I fear I cannot wait. I fear that even now as I write this, my body is preparing for the onslaught of your charms; a trickling stream that gives way to a raging deluge, but only with your complicity.
I shall end this letter here, Dear Ambit, so overcome with lust for you am I, that I must set down my pen and take you in hand, wielding you as a knight wields his sword: deftly and with a clear conscience. You are my excalibur, Ambit, an extension of myself, the symbol of potent pleasure that I long to impale myself upon, again and again.
Godspeed, lover, come to me.