Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica


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The lengthy day is compounded by staying awake the entire evening. I feel exhausted, and you claim to be lifeless. Yet your inability to allow me rest speaks of desiring more of me. Laying on the rug in front of the fireplace, I seek to hide my face from you, trying to fool you into believing I am asleep. I claim victory until the sound of your footsteps reaches me. I hear your struggle for a few seconds when a small “pop” causes me to look up at you. In your hands I see a jar of honey, that sticky goo that I have only enjoyed in pancakes. You have a goofy smile across your face as if about to do something less bright than a star-less night. I don’t take long to recognize your intentions. It appears that you have heated the jar to pour the contents on me to carry out some hapless plan.

My back quickly becomes covered in honey, warm honey. What is going to be of this mess once it cools? I don’t really want to know what you were thinking, all I care to reason is that it will be cheer troublesome removing the goo off of my body. You proceed to lightly massage it throughout my back, soon after, sitting on my thighs to continue the massage with some creative thinking. Since I become a toddler when sleepy, I whine that I’m sleepy, not to bother me. You ignore my plea, responding by laughing, then rubbing the cooling honey over my face and hair. I laugh out of desperation really. I am tired, not allowed to sleep, and really can’t figure out how I will remove it all from my hair.

It’s troublesome turning me on my back. I don’t really help any, plus the honey on your hands doesn’t afford enough of a grip to maneuver me easily. Once able to turn me around, you attempt to remove the honey from my face with your lips; the wet of your tongue easily glides around removing very little of it. Your hands still covered in the gooey edible, reach my chest, abdominals, obliques, contouring on their outline in direction to my manhood, where your hands try to smoothly stroke, but struggle because of the sticky liquid now covering him as well.

You wait till I open my eyes, then lean down, grab my face and kiss my lips before you pull away and work your way down the same path your hands have just taken. Little by little, lick by lick, kiss by kiss carrying out your plan. You begin by kissing around the throbbing and engorged body. You grab it, kiss it, and stroke it convincingly. I am fully convinced of your ploy. I grab your face and cease your teasing of me any further, I lead you up and over it staring up at you, and the honey you are about do clean. You look up at my eyes, slowly raising and lowering you head… sucking the tip, shifting your head to each side to slide your mouth down each flank, your tongue almost wrapping around while your lips are locked holding the body.

You decide to become serious, while staring dead in my eyes I watch as the head, and entire shaft almost disappear into your mouth. You do your earnest to make it disappear but struggle to achieve the goal. With both your hands under your mouth, you stroke as well as suck with each up and down movement of your head. I no longer feel tired, nor sleepy, rather increasingly excited. The more engaged I am, the harder your push with your head, the craftier your hands are. The heavier my breathing, the tighter your lips hug me. The stronger you tongue embraces… I bite my lower lip, then place my hands on your head to feel the movement that’s making me forget about any sign of fatigue.

I reach a point of oblivion, I can see you’ve removed all honey from him, replacing it with slaver. I watch just to see moisture accumulate around your lips, on your fingers, on the base. My body has responded to your requests to join your saliva. I create figure eights with my pelvis, pushing deep in to meet the back of your throat, to touch as far hidden as possible. You refuse to stop; your lips loosen their grip, part of my reaction drips out from between your mouth and the shaft joining all the dribble from your mouth. I watch as you make more of a mess, rather than clean it. I watch, and watch, and sway my hips and sway.

Now that you have my attention, you do proceed with your full intentions. You stand up over me, legs to each of my sides, I staring up at you. I see that you are as excited as I have been, but there you will not stop. You lean down, kiss me, and inform me that I am not going to sleep. Atop of me, where your mouth once had control, I now find you, squatting down, rather than sitting, looking at us unite, appear and disappear…. sleep is nothing but a faint memory.

Author: jibarican

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