Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

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Whiskey Cellar

I had been an aficionado of the more creative side of intimacy as far back as I can remember. For which ever logical, or illogical reason, I don’t recall ever having been fulfilled, but through alternative means of physical pleasure. It took falling in love to subdue it. Really it took the fear of losing her, seeing her walk away if she were to experience me in such way. Through the years, I had come to understand that some were just with being conservative. I never really thought it was anything out of the ordinary that I enjoyed, rather, the creativeness that broke the monotony of the same act repeatedly through the years. That’s the fear I had of her. That because of her shyness, normality of her previous relationships, that my whims would rest outside of hers.

Smart Alarm ClockSome nights we’d stay awake until the smart phones interrupted us, notifying that it was time to raise from a night of sleep. We mostly spoke about my past experiences, what motivated me, and what would turn me away from a night of enjoyment. I was reluctant initially, but after living love, it became apparent that all of me was to be revealed. By reveal, thought, it was conversing about my past, rather than exercising it in the present. She’d listen for hours, giggling often, acting surprised more times than not, and speaking very little.

One night I arrived home later than usual. The train system had lost power leaving me stranded for hours. I had notified her of my whereabouts, and that I would be riding the local car service home, to leave cash to cover the fare. When I arrived home she wasn’t to be found. I called out her name to no response. I scurried around looking for the cash, instead, on the way back to the den, I found a letter atop an envelope. I could see dollar bills peeking out of the opened envelop. Cash in EnvelopeI first picked up the letter. It read “WELCOME”. Looking around I noticed a line of candles and flower petals in direction of the basement. I grabbed the cash, rushed out to the waiting driver, handed him the entire envelope neglecting to count the money, and ran back inside. The man shook my hand, left his personal phone number with me, and smiled his way out of the driveway.

I inhaled strongly and walked slowly back to the house. Thoughts of her tortured my reason. I had become in habit of allowing her to lead our encounters in fear I would send us down a less suitable place for her. I got to the basement door, and took the few stairs leading down to it. Our basement isn’t one of those underground dungeons. It is a very spacious open room. Twelve foot ceiling, the north side is two thirds above ground level, while the floor on the south side is at ground level. One light remained on; it was a spot light shinning on the entrance to the wine cellar. Of wine it wasn’t much of a cellar, I used it to keep whiskey; good ol’e American Whiskey. I did have a few wine bottles which she’d requested I buy, but that was it for the wine.

When I reached the entrance to the cellar, another letter was pinned to the door. The contents read “Have some Manhattan Rye, and come take what’s inside”. She had left my favorite three finger tumbler next to the 375 ML bottle of whiskey. I didn’t bother using the tumbler. I was too intrigued by the events, and coupled to the hesitation of what I was about to walk into, I just didn’t see it fit to drink from the tumbler. Instead, Hudson WhiskeyI grabbed the bottle, pulled the cork off with me left hand, brought up the mouth of the bottle to meet my mouth and took a gulp. I cleansed my lips with the same hand I was holding the bottle: the right. Then, repeated the same action twice. It somehow made me feel like man, a scared man. I placed the bottle on the floor next to the untouched tumbler, took a deep breath, looked up, then down; time halted still for me to think of what awaited, then I swung the door opened.

I saw her, I saw it, I saw everything. I had never anticipated to see this again. The small dim lights that ran behind the rows of whiskey had been left on, as was the one light that pointed towards the middle of the room from the doorway. The room took on the colour of amber, as were the contents of the whiskey bottles all around the cellar. It radiated an ambiance comparable to being underwater; that of light moving through ripples. The cellar was a ten foot long room, four feet wide of walking space between the racks of liquor, and twelve foot high ceiling just as the basement. And, at the center, oh at the center, there she stood. Not truly standing, but stood! She hung from the ceiling, sitting on an apparatus that brought back memories that had evaded me since falling in love. Hanging ChairA rope, attached to the wooden beam preventing the above floor from caving in, came down from it separating the one into four, each connecting to one corner of the apparatus. On each of her hands, straps that ran away from the center of the room towards me, connected to the frame of the cellar door.

She was fully unclothed, not saying a thing. An empty bottle of her cheap wine stood on the floor, half of the contents rested on her chest, the other half had dripped onto the floor. This woman is the sight that causes leaders to wage war on foes to honor their ladies. That’s what she looks like, and if you got to know her, inside is the wicked attraction that made me fall in love.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. She stood there as if an act at the opera. Spot light shinning on her and only her. The amber of the side-lighting pressing against her just like I wanted to do. I stood for a second; smell of cheap wine reached my nostrils; smell of whiskey expelled from my breath. I was about to speak when she hushed me. Told me to draw close, and have a taste of the running-down-her-torso wine; to follow it down to where men are trapped in discord. So I did, I cleaned her physique, her chest, stomach, navel, and my infatuation, from any trace of cheap wine.

But, before I gave full trust of my tongue to her. She stopped me, and told me that this day wasn’t meant for her. That it was meant for me. She slid forward just so, enough to allow her legs to stretch up toward the ceiling. She then pulled them apart, and bent at the knees some 120 degrees, resting them on pads hanging from the ropes. I looked down in hopes to see her glisten, to see her already awaiting the imminent. She asked of me to bend down, run my tongue from as far back as I could reach, follow the most intimate path upwards, culminating at the navel. I was most obliged. I was slow at task, tasting, feeling the warmth, dreaming of being within the warmth. Upon reaching the navel she asked me to pull my pants down, as well as my undergarment. As I did.

I was strong willed by this point, as she could attest by looking at me while I pulled the bottom half of my clothing towards my ankles. I was then told not to move, she pulled herself forward with the ropes on her hands just enough where she could wrap her legs around me and force me inside of her. She put the ropes once held on her hands between her teeth, and leaned forward. With a swift move she grabbed both my hands, pulled them behind me, and cuffed me. I was told not to move from there, to attempt my might at holding the position, right where I stood.

She returned to her original position; legs up on the rest pads on the ropes, ropes on her hands, all while she held me tightly inside of her. I could have climaxed just from her ability to move about with me trapped in that position, but I didn’t. I kept it intact in anticipation of more to come. She looked at me and released tension of the rope just a bit to draw me almost completely out of her. I looked down, and looked down to see me receding from inside of her, but my body blocked the one strong light to yield details. I hated that I couldn’t see me, but loved every bit of being inside of her, coupled to my inability to rejoice in the sight. It all felt as it should have been. She would recede slowly, and pulled forcefully on the ropes.

At first I lost control and moved backwards, but her maneuverability saw it that she grabbed me with one hand to return me where I belonged. It took quite a few attempts for me to stand strong in place. I wasn’t sure if it was the lack of practice, or being weakened by what she was giving me. Regardless, I finally got it right. She pulled back, and trusted me in; the collision created a peculiar echo as it escaped towards the whiskey bottles looking for an open one in which to sooth their departure. Imaginary AudienceShe spoke to me of the many stories I had told her, the women with whom I had been, the ones I had used, the ones I had hurt, oh so good. Illicit images of them in the room with us ran through my head. She asked of me to mention their names, of each and everyone that made my intimacy worth living. She created filth of the English vocabulary, soiling it liken it wouldn’t recover ever again. I liked it, I loved it. Both the feel of her tightly covering and uncovering me, soaking my bliss almost drowning it without care of ever recovering, as I did hearing her speak such. I heard them all speaking to me, just as I heard her speak to me. As if a commentator in a sporting event, my love spoke of what she was doing to me almost like she was describing our actions to the imaginary audience.

I was weakened by each collision, I didn’t think I could hold on any longer, and then, that last collision of her opened legs against my pelvis. She brought her legs down, wrapped them around my waist and quickly tossed her hips about telling me to be man, and leave inside what she wants to feel. Curse I did, but I tell you that I did. She told me to stay there, to push in, to leave it all in, that she would dismount and clean with her lips whatever residue I thought of taking with me. But, she couldn’t have just pulled out, and let it be. Instead she reached with her left hand and turned on the main light to the cellar. She slowly pulled me out from her, very, very slowly. I watched as she receded, watched as more of me became visible, watched as traces of both me and her stuck to me became ever more visible. The tip finally came out, she squeezed tightly with her delightful muscles, and out I came: drip, drip, drip. Drop by drop mixing with the cheap wine on the floor ensuring that it too got a taste of what it was to be taken by her.Whiskey Cellar

Today, the only recognizable room in the entire home is that of the Whiskey Cellar. I no longer call it Wine Cellar. Can’t call it that any more, as my favorite room should be branded after my favorite drink, giving me my most delighted account of intimacy.

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The View

This must be how a plane in distress feels when inexplicably a runway appears. Elation that within a hopes distance life is present. The wide opening of the eyes, disturbed breathing gains confidence, incoherent speech grows eloquent just from the mere sight.

I could have passed on that day having felt that I had led life to fulfillment. Any events after that were a thing of fairytale. The water had already been running before I reached there. Towel on my left shoulder, the flip flop of my slippers alluded to my approach. To this day I attest that it was all premeditated, still she denies it; but such view isn’t stumbled upon by mere chance.

There she stood, alone, water running down her body. The steam visible both below and above the half length curtains. The curtains had been cut at the bottom. There wasn’t a viable reason to have done so. Why would someone want to bathe leaving exposed the most enticing parts of the human body. I didn’t question until after I had feasted, way after. In fact, very many weeks after.

I walked looking down. I had slipped too many times just following the same path to the outside bathroom. This time I was going to ensure that I wouldn’t fall pray to gravity. Once I was close enough I looked up. At first I saw her ankles, then quickly noticed that not just her ankles were visible, but up to just a few inches above her fertility. I couldn’t react at first. I simply absorbed.

Outside ShowerThe water trickled down coupled to bubbles of soap. It ran rapidly south bound in a hurry to massage her supple nature. She was barren of hair, but not truly all. Foretelling of her essence was a small column of trimmed hair. It stopped just shy of meeting the start of the lips. Water traced in and out of the trimmed hairs, following intertwined paths built on hair follicles that pointed down and diagonally from the outside in. The water rushing down her belly seemed to think of the hair path as some type of sand clock where speed was gained after passing through the aperture. The lack of hair covering her that far south revealed the smile lacked by the Mona Lisa.

The Mona Lisa is acclaimed to be the most sung about work of art, yet I’m here to tell you that Leonardo would have drawn differently had he been witness to the view that stood before me. Water gravitated down towards the slightly open smile. Some droplets would weaken, unable to hold on, they’d fall splattering down on the ground. The stronger ones would curve in, caressing, moistening the smile coming out to visibility again down her inner thighs. More than a few times her hands came down, pushing the lips aside, sliding her hand around in a cleansing manner. For me it wasn’t cleansing what I saw, but a peek into a world of fiction. A world that saw me kneeling before her. My tongue trapping the water escaping from her smile, ready to penetrate, to kiss as if this was the last time I was to see her.

Outside ShowerThe times where mounds of bubbles came rushing down, suffocating her, I imagined it was remains of our encounter left behind rejecting the idea that they had to depart as well. Staying as long as they could, drenching themselves on her aroma. Thoughts of my continuous flow that drenched her soothed my desires. I saw her covered in me, and instead of a rapid flow of water from her smile, a slow, almost halted drip. All of it too enticed by the smile to want to depart. Touching, caressing, soaking, absorbing, adoring her.

She wasn’t the type of smile that doesn’t fully open. Nor was it the type of smile where there is dearth of lips attributed to a lack of development, rather full lips creating the glory of the twenty third letter of the English Alphabet. Giving us the reason why only three letters follow it in the alphabet: it’s the dwindling down necessary to cool off after such a height. My stance would find me kneeling, squatting, standing, recycling them again and again attempting to appreciate the view to a totality.

My body had reacted long ago, but when she turned around displaying a rear view of that smile. Now, I had to rush in…

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The Ocean in Us

Beach RocksTo the east, the hook-shaped wall of rocks creating this tranquil inlet protects us from the ocean. Kept at bay as it trashes about impatiently seeking to witness your presence upon the white sand. It refuses to wait. We all know that soon enough she’ll submerge in you to chase away grains of sand and the heat of the sun. Yet it still beats on the rocks, somehow tied in a battle as to who will be the first to sooth her.

There isn’t thought of retreat by either foe. The ocean is relentless, but the hook-shaped wall stands tall as if mocking the sea that it will fight until times-on-end… the rocks can sense that in little time her feet will be contouring against it, Beach Rockseventually sitting on it. In the same place, in the very same position looking out at the sea. She’ll be embraced in parts of her body that only I should embrace. As if I wasn’t aware that all it really wants is to feel what I have been desiring for so long. However, she’s yet not there.

You rest beside me, but we are not alone. The sun beams down on your body reflecting rays of joy against your skin. It accentuates the trajectory of water droplets on your torso scurrying from the heat. It presses firmly against you as if an insatiable lover. Every so often the passing clouds shade the sun, giving your body a welcome rest from the attack of nature. Yet, at no small price. The shadows cover your body ever so slowly. Little by little consuming you to an entirety. Noticeably stopping their journey where my desires savor to be; teasing me that while I lay besides you, you can be taken at anytime. The enjoyment of the cooling protrudes from your bust. It alludes to the woman you are, the nature that hides within you.
Her body on the sand

The momentary escape from the sun served well, but soon enough the wind pushes aside the shade. Fooling few, if any at all, that it too seeks to flow against your physique. Starting at your feet, surging upwards to mold to your curvature, fixated in the friction it creates against your bare skin. Thinking that it too can take what lays next to me. It’s delightful to see the sun embrace your figure, to see it touch you in places only my dreams have reached. I can only wish I could pass my hands on you as it does, to sooth you as it does, to see your physique move and never once protecting from the rays that strike your body. I want to be it, I want to act like it, I want you to lust for me as it you lust for it.

I could have never imagined such a rival, such a defeat I feel in a battle that’s never started. I hate, but can’t fight. It gives my sight as much nutrition as it gives your figure. I see it travel down your face, I see the way in which you bit your lips when it reaches your mouth, how it takes its time on your mouth before it moves down your neck. Slow in progress as if mocking me. It engulfs your chest with one quick move, heating it like I know I could. Nonetheless, it travels, it continues to sooth you accompanied by all my jealousy. Stroking your stomach… melting away water droplets – the same ones I would have dried with my lips. It’s approaching, and I can’t deny I want it to be me. It’s shorter the distance to your most womanly element, the more I beg for me to become the sun, the more it mocks me. It’s there! It soothes you! Your reaction attests to its delight. The slight spread of your legs as if asking for it to go in deeper tells me your seduction has just begun. It ceased movement there. I wonder what it could be doing. Resting upon you? Radiating a body that needs no help to be heated?

Our friendship has too long prohibited me from doing onto you what each sunray has given you. My desire to have you overcomes my reason to continue a friendship. Here, I will turn my back to the sun, shunning him; ignored from you as he’s ignored my jealousy for you. A smile tells me you are aware that the shade on your body isn’t that of clouds, turning your body, lotion is placed upon my hands, face down I find you. A sight to behold, I fear my hands will fail and not sooth you as you’ve been accustomed by our radiating friend and foe.

Obstructing full view of your back is a small lace knotted in the middle, cleared it will have to be. My left hand meticulously massages the knot until one lace becomes two, each dragging upon your back as they fall uncovering all that I crave to hold. The strength of my hands reaches your shoulders, releasing all unwanted tension, hands cuffing to your shoulders, contouring to your every muscle. Your delight reaches my ears from the deep breaths that abound. Thumbs pressed lightly against your muscles, follow the line of your spin down to the small of your back. My hands are covered in lotion, easily sliding up and down your back, pushing away all traces left of the sun, your body is to be mine.

My hands are lower on your body than they’ve ever been. Touching you in ways I’ve never touched. Sheltered from my sight, the sin any God would pardon, you. Visible are small tight shorts that cover little. The lines holding you together fail to hide the bottom part of your curvature. The shorts cling tightly to you. Shaping every gasping sight of mine to your figure, there my hands must protect from the sun. My hands press hard against you, dragging my thumbs from the center out to sides, going as low to your inner thighs as reach allows. Your feminine figure molds to my hands, grasped by my need to sooth you. I stay, I work, I desire, circular around your roundness my hands continue to massage. The bliss of my hands upon you is met by a rocking reaction of your backside, you move up and down, side to side willingly allowing my fingers to pull the tight shorts apart from your flesh with every up and down movement. They slide close in to your inner emotions, commencing a slight soak of the beach shorts in hidden parts. I linger in the very same spot once lingered by the sun; caressing my needs onto you.

As I depart from this, the demise of my reason, your need to be consoled causes you to stand up, leaving behind the top piece of your bathing suit. I watch you stand up, exposed to the world, showing the ocean the woman I today desire. The swing of your body as you walk away lures all inhibitions away from me. Gone they are. One by one leaving as if dry grass burnt by flames. I pursue your trajectory into the sea. There you stand, inner-thigh-high in water, hair wet, water trickling down from your hair onto the perky chest that stares at me as if prey. The sun beaming on your body tries to no avail to keep me away from you. The calm of the water has no ability to stop me, intoxicated it’s been by your entrance upon it. I can see it too, its need to rid the intoxication. It often lifts up hitting your crotch, further wetting the same area which the sun, I, and water have desired. It recedes, leaving signs of its retreat trapped in the tight shorts, it acts as if rejected by you. The ocean water falling from the area cry out in agony. To that I rejoice! There only I can claim glory.

Your enticing dark eyes articulate as if spoken words. They speak of a world that surrenders to me. A world I will be allowed to conquer, one that will calm all my furies. I approach you, my humanity engorges, my heart beats, my soul needs you. Breadth-to-breadth we find one another, staring into one another’s eyes, a word not said, only visions of what is to become. Your breasts press against my chest, your lips lock onto mine acting as if two lovers like thunder under the covers. The warmth of my tongue pierce through your lips, seducing you until you surrender and your lips pull apart to recover from the gasps I’ve made you feel.

Undeterred, my lips seek your neck, there too drawing your neck to the lips, to my tongue. Having no option but to bless its defeat, the sun beams down on us, warming our bodies upon contact. My hands have slid down your torso, I felt all of you, and now my hands are stopped at the back of your shorts. With a swift flex of my arms I pull you up to my height, you wrap your legs around me, together we walk in deeper into the crystalline and alkaline water surrounding us. I stop and proceed to lower you back to your own accord. Limited to being lowered back into the water isn’t just your body, next to you floats the shorts that once deterred me from viewing all of you.

Ocean Splattering Over the RocksI manage to turn you around, your back is pressed against my pelvis, I savor your back, shoulders and ears. The ocean on the other side of the rocks has picked up intensity; it can be heard punishing the rocks, splashes of water fly over the rocks almost reaching us. I continue upon my embarked journey. My hand runs up your neck to your hair, holding it above your head as I place my nose up to the back of your neck, breathing on it, stroking it with my nose.

It’s time to resume when your knees buckle; wrapping my right arm around your torso I pull you in closer. My arm tightly wrapped around your breasts, aware of what is about to happen… all of me pressed against your buttocks, standing right between them as if their separation was made just for his comfort. You sway from side to side as if further comforting the niche he’s found. I must lower a bit to find your nurturing. There it’s felt, for the first time after desiring you for so long, he beings to push aside the muscles covering the entrance. I can feel your weak body give way, feel your calmness trying to feel every characteristic which makes him mine. Deeper it searches for your desire, deeper it seems to not want to stop. There finally. Your heavy gasps for air speak of the righteousness of my path. Your backside is fully pressed against the front of my pelvis, hidden is he from sun, from the water, from the rocks. Swaying again and again your hips seek to comfort him, squeezing as if trying to trap him, trying to jail him for eternity.

The sound of our bodies hitting against one another is magnified by sea. Splash, splash is heard throughout. The bopping of your head is witness to your pleasure. Not to prolong my agony to see your blissful face, we turn into one another, glued again eye to eye. It is easy to take you, the water allows you to easily return me into a place only one can enter. I stare into your eyes, while he caresses every muscle within you. Our lips cannot stay apart; they rejoin as if lovers on a last goodbye. The deeper I reach, the harder you press against me, the more intention our lips engage.

I sense you are ready, you sense I wait for you. Our lips pull apart, our eyes meet. I can see deep within you, you can see deep within me. There is no other world within us but this which we’ve built. The longer we stare the closer the imminent, I feel you jerk. You refuse to close your eyes not to miss my intentions speak. My knees buckle, I fight to hold on. My eyes grow smaller, but close them I won’t. I can see your every thought. I feel your every feeling, your body jerks harder, you try to speak but can’t. Only your opened mouth is left from a wordless speech. You feel more of me, the warmth caused by my desires left within you give a greater reason to lose your breath. Gasping you slowly come to a stop, still feeling that which remains, which unties my body with yours. There we stand, into our eyes we look, our emotions touch. The beach is now ours, as our bodies have been to one another. The sun rests, the ocean no longer feels a need to beat on the rocks, the calm of the water in the inlet attest to our longing embrace. I only ask of you to remain in my arms.

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Her SuitorsNights came as uneventful as they departed, all dismissing suitor after suitor; even those who presumed a result, left in disappointment. She had been raised to be discreet and careful in action, causing her to habitually adhere to the proper decision. She never resented this part of her persona, though commonly wondered how it would feel to unleash, perhaps just once, a decadent thought into action.

She had no precursor for that night, because what took place could have only happened in time of utter inexpectations. We had spoken in numerous occasions, though more often than not simple hellos and goodbyes composed our interactions. This time, was no different. She came into the venue, flirted with numerous suitors, from time to time waving at me from afar. See, I worked the bar, and had gotten to know her through her actions on the dance floor, and slow seductive walks towards the bar to purchase emotional suppressants: liquor.

I would watch her, at times in jealousy, because work kept me from such sight, from doing what other suitors tried but failed, even if I too, failed. There wasn’t any merit for failing to try, at least less than there was for trying and failing. That night she stayed behind with a new suitor, the last couple remaining. She laughed, he touched her hands, her knee, from time to time asking me to come bring another round of cocktails.

He had gotten beyond the point all others had failed. I was terribly shocked, almost in disbelief that someone was to do what I had dreamed of doing to her. That she would finally allow someone to come that close. He was handsome, and seemingly sneaky as his cocktails were left untouched side by side her finished glasses. He was playing a game, perhaps his looks had him playing the upper hand. The last round of drinks wasn’t called by him, rather her, she got up, smiled at me and from afar calmly said, “bring me what I want”. I did as requested, placing the drinks closer to her, as I refused to acknowledge my newly created foe.

It began there, instead of the initial approach being made by him, it was she who sat on his lap, pushed his shoulders against the chair, and began kissing him. By this time I was cleaning the counter top, flickering the lights hoping to stop their progress. My attempts where futile. I might as well have been part of the décor. I even dropped a bar stool from atop the counter, yet nothing.

The jealousy impeded me from looking at them. All I was able to hear was heavy breathing accompanied by his nagging voice asking her to remove her panties. I had had enough, there wasn’t a reason for them to remain behind while I prepared for closing. Falling GlassAfter a few minutes of more light flickering, and dropping objects on the floor, they got the idea that I wasn’t at all pleased. As they were about to get up, I stared back at them and caught a look of her. He had managed to remove her underwear, which he was sliding into his right pocked.

I saw her, all of her, whether I intended to or not, I had seen her at her most vulnerable. Now more than at any other moment in time, I wished I had not seen a thing. I immediately recognized that I would be haunted until I lost my ability to recollect the past. She was sitting on his lap when suddenly her right leg came up, across, over his legs, and back down to the floor. The light made her glisten, revealing that her joys went beyond my hopes. It was difficult to prevent my reaction; I, in fact, welcomed it. For a few moments I ignored where I was, with whom she was, and that she wasn’t mine to enjoy.

Fully groomed as if there was some sort of gala which awarded prices to the most delightful. She contained hidden away from the pubic a sight of sheer delirium. The colour, the shape, the manner in which it split, then met together again, giving view to buttocks that force sin out of angels… I saw it all. Even the time she spent adjusting her dress to properly cover her lower body, I spent hoping that her scent would reach me to apeace me. I didn’t beg, I sold my soul to the devil to turn him into me.

Through the many visions in my mind, there was time to reason that I had not witnessed someone else’s enjoyment, he remained fully clothed; his solider tucked away as it should have been. This was no war for him to fight. Though his shirt was unbuttoned, in disarray, and lipstick traces through his face, neck and shirt, I somehow felt relieved that she hadn’t fully committed in my presence. She had become risqué, somehow managed to lose all morality… I stood there admiring what wasn’t meant to be mine, quietly grieving for an affection given to someone else.

As I walked to open the door, I was glad to expel him from my sight, but conversely sad to have her leave with him. To have seen her at her most alluring, yet not get to feel the woman she is. From behind me the sound of her high heels clicked and clacked. Her laughter sickened me; it all meant that she was once and for all going to resume what she’d found so difficult many times before.

They walk out at the same time. Him I ignored, but her, I had to speak to let her know my aches. I told her that I had seen what should be mine, but now another takes. She smiled, bit her lower lip, and walked out staring back as if struggling with her decision to leave. Soon after turning the sing that reads “open” to “close”, a knock reached my ears. Not my boss, not now. Just not what I need. I lifted my head to a welcome sight. There she stood, her high heels on her hands, her panties in the other. Looking straight at me, smiling, asking what it was that I had seen that was mine, but now another’s.

I unlocked the door, she pushed it open, simultaneously tossing the contents held in her hand to the sides. I hadn’t a second to respond to her aggression. Before I reacted my back was against the bar counter, she was unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning my slacks. There was little need for her to lure a reaction from me, my reaction was still as fresh as it was upon seeing what she held in secret. I could feel her dragging my slacks down, while digging her nails into my thighs. The intensity of the pain was opaqued by the sheer desire of being with her. She didn’t just scratch, she clawed down my ankles. Every bit of which increased my need to be with her.

As my pants reached my ankles, her eyes caught mine, and deep I went. She was slow but deliberate in the initial motion. Her lips were moist; she got me moist; I felt the tip lose sight of the outside as she pushed in deep, covering the body with a few slight twists of her head. I got lost in her, her lips almost touching the skin on the base. She reached behind me, and pulled me forward as if wanting to devour me. She pulled out quickly, and forcefully pushed it. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, not her eyes starting up at me, the sight of me being swallowed by her mouth, not her lips contouring around me, not the glistening of my manhood as it entered, and exited out of her mouth. I could see the veins in him wanted to explode in excitement. I could see her tongue as it took shape on the bottom of me, I could see her difficulty to breath when it was all in.
She was violent in desire, thrusting me into her without compassion or fear, fully expecting that I’d climax, a thing I so longed. The thrusts were intoxicating, not only did I feel her lips, teeth, and tongue, but the warmth of her throat accepting me as her whim; devouring me as a hungry meal after days of fasting. I couldn’t help it but to grab both fists full of hair to feel the motion of her head back and forth as she slobbered me with saliva. She pull it out from her mouth just to smile at me, quickly swallowing me to completeness.

Carrying a blissful conversation on her own… sounds that weakened me, that made my knees babble in response. I wondered if my intoxication of her actions, too had the same grand effect on her. It was irresistible, to see her tongue mold to my shape, to witness how it would trace the entire body, following the lines on the head as if roads to salvation. There was no fight I could have waged. I climaxed like a teenage boy in his first encounter. But she wasn’t about to let me control the result. When she felt her mouth soak with sings of my delirium, she slowed down, continued to swallow me slowly, pushing all the way in, pushing all the way out as if trying to clean me of all signs of her action. Suddenly, she pushed me in. I moaned, didn’t know how to react but to tell her that I wanted her to fulfill my nights of wanting her. I wanted to do more than feel her mouth, I wanted to feel her tightly wrapped around me, squeezing me, asking me if I had ever felt this much desire.

She continued to maneuver me, in and out, but this time something was different. She had purposely allowed me to spill onto her lower lip, her chin, and me. The moisture compounding with each slow thrust into her mouth… weakening. The sight of her eyes looking up at me, her lips, chin soaked in lust. She stood up slowly, dropped her dress onto the floor, stood there, eye to eye with me, bitting her lips, breathing heavy. She kissed me, I could taste me in her lips, in her tongue, the taste of us making me want her more…

She was a master at the task. Too good to be coming from such a wholesome person. But at last she had released that one thought of decadence into action. She become a woman in bliss, a woman in a night of debauchery.

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Our workouts typically end around the same time. During the fall and winter months it means a lengthy period before daybreak. She routinely glanced in my direction in various forms throughout the passing months. More times than not I understood her intentions. A mere break of a smile expressed that I enjoyed her behavior. The morning it materialized was different. From her gear to her mannerism, she became shrewdly provocative.

As customary, the first few members to arrive spent their time engaged in conversation in the locker-room prior to kicking off their muscular development. I had just finished the very first repetitions of my workout when I turned around to be shocked by it; her thoroughness overtook my intentions to sweat, to pound and beat my physique. Now I desired to exhaust my anatomy in diverse and unrelated manners than those done through steel-plates . I became unable to explain the sight, though I finally understood the reason for the creation of Eva in biblical stories. The mortal sin would have been not to create her, rather than consuming an apple.

Her slight perspiration indicated that she’d been the envy of female joggers minutes before; the apex to middle-age men’s cyclic monotony. She was tightly wrapped in grey, as if meticulously chiseled with godly instruments. The curves, indentations and innuendos uplifted my immoralities. My sight pierced through her clothing taking captive each encountered delight! There I carved sins upon each and every turn that confronted me. The details bestowed upon this woman persuaded holiness to derail… I was comforted in thinking.

As my cognitive process shuffled back into alignment, she appeared to walk in my direction. The closer the approach, to stronger my varicose system palpitated. Still obfuscated, I failed to decipher her words. Had not it been for the ability of my primordial, and animalistic sense to sustain life even in the face of emotional or rational meltdown, my vision wouldn’t have followed her. I become a witness to the motion created by vibration when foot placement antecedes another. I contemplated while she constructed fantasies of hidden pleasures upon visible terrain. It took a mere gaze over the shoulder to translate her intentions. I followed the lure preceding my departure. Up the stairs she goes, slowly, savoring each step as if a well prepared cuisine. I read her form until it became difficult to order. At the moment my right hand reached for her shoulder, she turned, nabbed it midway its journey, and pushed it towards her right flank, slowly pressing it hard and southward bound. She continued walking backwards until her body collided with a vehicle opaqued by the absence of light. Our bodies stroke against one another; she felt me, I hers. Breadths hit one another and lips waged into conflict.

Time for chit chatter was neglected, time for romance ignored, she pushed the bottom of my gym attire against the floor, hers pursued… She felt engorged, heated, moistened, in need of taming. Her hair strands intertwined my fingers, and I pull her head back, shoving her up against the window of the vehicle. Her gluteus pressed against the window firming the ground I was about to break. I stole the moment and pushed through, nothing impeded my progress, and instead the moisture eased the entry into a splash of bodies. Her nails sunk into my back, the harder she squeezed the stronger the collision between our bodies responded.

Time failed to pass when I released her from my constant thrust. She placed her feet on the ground, I turned her around and pushed her legs together. Her bare torso now pressed against the vehicle. I cared little what, where, and how she might have desired to proceed. It was difficult at first but success was mine, her walls pressed against me sending me to unfathomable delights. My lap pressed against her roundness, she sigh to each driving force, refusing to release me each time I retracted. Individual collisions of our bodies lifted her off the floor, forcing moans from her lips. Sudor trickled from her upper body leaving salty residue on my body. The indulgence continued disregarding the failing of darkness. Neither she, nor I cared about the sight of exposed bodies that consummate the art of intimacy. The thrusts and vocal depictions climaxed before they dwindled. She valiantly pushed against the vehicle increasing the velocity in which I met her and she engulfed me.

As she came she departed, panting she walked away waving, carrying her gray attire, hair in revolt, voluptuousness coloured by the events colliding against her. She waved, spoke, and drove away…

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The small of you waist held between my fleshy grasp; thumbs pressed against your obloquies; fingers quenching the sensations of your backside.

The entrance to the balcony stands open. The breeze of the evening blows against your dress. I absorb the firmness of your body with each step you take, adoring the sway of your physique as we walk… seeing in it that which drains my longing. I can’t let go, I won’t let go. Your aroma brought to my attention by the wind causes turmoil in my heart. It brings me to places I’ve never been and wanted to explore. We reach the balcony, you hold on to the railing, I press against you, releasing from my grasp the small of your back. I hold your shoulders, stroke your hair, smell your neck.

I press tightly. My hands slide from your shoulders down to your waist, catching every curve eminent on your physique. I indulge in the sensation traveling through my palms, up my arms, into my chest. You stand, simply stand, feeling the escape of desire within me towards you.

There she stood before me. I knew what I wanted. She too made it apparent that she was after the same. Her hair being flown by the wind exposed her naked neck. The tinny hairs running down it stood erect as if excited for what was about to come.

A few sways of her hips, her long white skirt begins to drift from the waist. It’s become stuck, held in place away from gravity by the majestic figure that rivals the mountain chain at the distance. Her hand slides down and displaces the skirt. It falls prey to gravity, exposing her calves, hamstrings and this newly visible range of mountains now enhance to the scenery. Her golden heels accentuate all her figure, the calves crafted as if by Zeus himself, climbing up her slightly separated legs, smooth it all stood. There, I see the piece of cloth preventing my sight from nutrition.

My hands are meticulous in action. They slide their fingers through each side of the satin boy-shorts and press down on them. Kneeling before this awe, I resume the removal of that unwanted piece of cloth; the one preventing me from her. They slide down exposing her to my sight. We are face to face. I see her and want to speak to her.

I approach extremely close to run my tongue in her inner thigh, moving on up, I travel this newly exposed scenery. Breaking it apart, I taste it as if a flower swarmed by honey bees. I take a moment to absorb all of her, step back and look again. The opening between her legs speaks of a woman in lust. She’s well kept, a sight to worship. The mountains drop forming an open valley… through it runs my lust. I approach it in need to experience a new world. My warm tongue touches her, massages her, tastes her, as I pull back residues of her attach to my tongue as if attempting to prevent my backwards movement. Away from me, she refuses to be. I pull close again and bite. You feel the bite and pull one leg east, the other west, fully displaying obstacles from where I need to travel.
Standing with the care of time to my side, I explore the valleys and peaks placed before me. I follow the line created between the mountains and head north, stopping briefly at the small of you back. Caressing it, kissing it, touching it. My hands lead the exploration, pressing the thumbs against the muscles standing besides the spine until I’m fully standing. I press her against me, feel her, turn her. Her lips, the manner in which her bottom lip is caught between her upper lips. I need to touch them, my tongue contours her lips, tracing them is if a stencil upon a canvas.

A masterpiece has this artist savored from your lips, but I must resume. Enticed by your chin, your neck, I must depart. I shall be the artist that strikes the stencil in a multitude of directions just because this is the lure I lust. I follow the lines of your neck down to meet the trapezius. It is soft, gentle to the touch, magic in scent. It forces me up to the earlobe, where I meet the lobula with my teeth and engulf it within my lips.

I nibble your lobe, grasp it with my teeth, and gently pull on it, as my teeth release it, my tongue massages it goodbye. My right hand travels from your cheek, down your neck onto your chest, arriving at new found mounds that perk as if reaching for a kiss. My hand engulfs them, speaks to them softly, withdraws dragging the fingers from the base onto the bastion of longing.

Pulling me back you stare me down, gazing at my clothed body from unbuttoned shirt to pants. There you stare, first the zipper zips down, the pants lose the battle and are pulled down by gravity, exposing the contour of my fully awaken body. Half covered, the rest exposed by waist-low boy shorts. The veins exposed towards you, the shinny headdress separating the body from the top. My index touches the top, traveling around the lines dividing body from summit. My thumb grabs onto the shorts and pulls down, displaying of him even more. It continues to move, more of him is visible. You Grasp him in your hands, feel the warmth.

He’s wet from wrapping your lips around it. Use your tongue, I want to feel it, I want to feel your mouth opened to consume him…

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Heat and Humidity

If I know anything about perseverance it was learned enduring numerous Bikram Yoga classes. This style of yoga is performed under drastically hot and humid conditions. I sort of detested the heat at one point in my life, and coupled to humidity, I am not sure it should have ever been legal. I purposely moved north trying to stay away from the heat. And lucky that I did, fortunate that a friend convinced me to attend Yoga classes in a recently opened Yoga center.

It took no more than one class for me to want to endure the heat and humidity; one class it took. In fact, it took her to be in the class for me to return time after time. Sometimes I stayed consecutive classes just to watch her. My friend gave up, not sure why, but I’ve become quite the Yoga expert. All thanks to her. Today, when I think of heat and humidity, I think of her. I see her. I thoroughly welcome the heat beating down on me enticing sweat to rush out of me.

At first I was hesitant. I didn’t think I would make a wonderful fit in that class. I am not limber, nor very athletic. Trying to master the majority of the poses would require divine intervention. However, looking at her walking in was just the inspiration needed. She wore a sports bra, and spandex shorts; very, very short shorts. She might as well have been wearing a bikini. Then, I happened to station right behind her mat. I was in luck. God had heard my cries and here came the answer. The first few classes I spent watching her mostly. Drastically ignoring the instructor. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from her. If she noticed, I never became aware. She went on as if alone in the room.

I can’t fathom how Indians came upon this sort of practice; perhaps way of the Kamasutra. Any who, some of the position are intensely arousing. So much so that I spent the majority of the first year with perpetual engorgement. All that time well spent in bliss I attributed it to her. It wasn’t just watching how well built she was, nor how her clothing tightly covered her physique, rather watching the sweat travel through her body soaking her little garments. I grew fond of each droplet. I knew the trajectory each one would take depending on the origin in her body. From her forehead, her neck, chest, belly, even her calves. I learned the shape of each of her muscles. The colour of her skin in each region of the body. During the summer I could draw lines to where her tan lines would mark in her body. In the winter it became a joy to watch her walk into the classroom. After seeing little skin for months of snow, those days seeing all of her skin made up for the blindness of winter.

Sometimes the scent of her perfume foretold her whereabouts. Whether I made them up or were a fact I didn’t care. I simply believed what I wanted to believe about her, about her life. Little care did I have of whether the things I made up about here were factual as long as it soothed my dreams of her. I did things to that woman during class that I’m sure no other man has done to her. All because the sweat traveling her body made want to be a droplet rushing from her navel down to the black shorts wetting them as if enticed by a man. I fantasized about running my hands through her neck, her upper chest, pushing away the perspiration just to feel the touch and drop from my hands. She needn’t a cloth to dry, I was here to do that. To use any means within my body to dry her.

At times all I saw was her sweaty body upon mine, gliding on me as if on ice. Feeling the sweat dripping off from her hair onto me. The perspiration on her face falling on my chest as she meticulously grinded her pelvis upon my crotch. The sight of sweat dripping from her neck down to her chest, all the way to the tips of her bust where it would fall pray to gravity exploding upon my chest. Ah, those were glorious memories I had. Her sweaty body pressed against mine informing me that her lust was mine to a-peace.

It took me very long to master two positions: Pada-Hastasana, and Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Paschimotthanasana. It wasn’t that I found them terribly difficult, because they weren’t. But because her back faced to me when she did them. And because of so I refused to look in any other direction but forward. I wanted to look at her holding them in cheer perspiration. I could see each and every corner of her world wet. I imagined the source of her reaction was me, not the heat, but me! The shorts forming bulges and indentations on her body didn’t leave room for imagination. There were no secrets to hide, they were all revealed. Revealed to me who stood in the best view of her facing me.

I still have dreams of sweat traveling from her body to mine. The feel of her sweaty lips upon mine. The feeling of a naked body pressing her crotch against me saturating our bodies. The feel of my tongue running throughout her chest following the trajectory of sweat drops. Kissing her chest, neck as it was suffocated by sweat. Her hair as it whipped around releasing moisture splattering all about. The feel of wet hair slashing me across the face making me feel alive. That’s what I saw in class, sweat traveling from the small of her back down between mountains culminating in a flooded valley. And that is why I like heat and humidity.