Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

Crouching Obsessions

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It’s the middle of the spring season. We are being blessed by one of the most beautiful afternoons of the past decade. I sit outside absorbing the sun while watching insects fly from flower to flower in the multitude of budding beauty.

The picturesque scenery accentuated by the aroma of newly blossomed flowers remind me of all the women I’ve met. The very same many woman I never intimately experienced. I’m sure with them, too, a garden could have been built. But, that wasn’t to be. I’ve been raised with a fist of morals that prevents me from breaking religious dogma. I’ve come sinfully close to breaking vows of chastity; I’ve never faltered. I haven’t faltered because of a lack of desire, but from the belief that a relationship should be consummated under the blessed sanctity of matrimony.

My girlfriend sits across from me. Her tight yoga pants and fitted shirt flatter her figure. I wonder if she personifies how Eve must have looked, not solely in beauty, but in purity. Surely Adam wasn’t phased with my uncountable difficulties of the 21st century. He and she alone, nude in the garden could have only led to world population, while me, well, who populates my own home from the many I’ve met?

I believe she is the one, sitting across from me, my wife to be. I know something will happen today. Just as innocently as it has all the previous times with many other candidates. Will this time be different? Will I go through with it, or fall back to my morals? I don’t know the outcome, yet. But, it will be answered soon.

The sporadic warmth of summer carried by the breeze alert of the imminent heat that will blanket the region. Just as it alludes to my longing for her. We normally walk hand-in-hand but, today I walk backwards ahead of her. Purposely so to look at her Lululemon’s yoga pants that reveal much more than possibly intended. They grasp her like I wish I had the decadence to do yet, I’m at peace with my decision to look, salivate, and dream.

Back at the car, I can’t contain not seeing her full potential. I sit on the back-seat behind the driver’s side. I direct her to sit on the driver’s seat, to lower the back rest, and raise the steering column as high as it can go. I’m fully aware that I will be controlled by my morals; nothing will happen. The next best thing is to do something I haven’t in quite sometime, I am to self gratify to her persona. See, there is quite the gratifying feeling accompanied to gender in Christian Credo. I’m the man, and she is somehow, well, mine to have, even if haven’t or never do. Even if I don’t understand the reason behind my supposed control.

She sits on the driver’s seat, lowers the back-rest to just where I want it, then I ask her to remove the yoga pants and underwear, to place her hands down by the pedals and her knees on the lowered back of the seat. She looks back at me, agrees, asks if today we’ll go through with it. I decline, telling her that if we are to be, the time will tell.

Woman on front seat of carThe pants come off, she struggles to position her body as per my request. I fail to help her because I’m stunned by the sight. I got my hand on my penis, my lip caught between my lips and I’m stroking for salvation. I feel nasty, but to repent won’t be an option. So I look down at myself, guess that I need moisturizer and I willingly spit right on the head. She’s still struggling to find a comfortable position, but not I. I found mine. I’m looking straight at her thinking that I’ve entered McDonald’s and ordered a double quarter pounder with cheese. I’m salivating at the thought that all of her, right there in front of me, is erupting between her legs and will be mine one day. I’m obsessed and lusting! I’m not sure if the obsession and lust are among the many sins we are warned against at church, but by God if she’s got sin between her legs I want to die in hell. I switch to my left hand, stroke, switch back to my right and beat it equally the same. I can’t stop looking as the anatomy of her vulva triggers wars of misconduct against reason. I don’t stare, I examine her vagina as it molds into the perineum leading to her anus. That’s what I pause and pant, looking at the orifice; unaware of any scripture indicating that I can not have her right there in the very spot where it’s impossible to bear children.

I beat, I choke myself all while asking for her to spread a little more for me to admire more of God’s work. I want to see more, more than just the outer body. I want to see what is closer to her insides. I want to see how it leads into her vagina so that one day I can grab myself, place it near the gates of heaven, and burst inside. I wish I were close enough to smack her right in that meaty section taunting me as if a vice for which the cure is more intoxicating than illness. Her skin has various tones as it goes in and out of places, as it forms parts of the body that should be for all to see.

She is part of the salvation God secured for the advance of mankind. It stands in display like a lone vibrant rose, waiting for me, away from everyone until it’s time to be had. I increase and decrease the speeds at which the strokes glide down the head, onto the shaft. I want to spank that bottom, bring it here, I tell her. “Slide it down the head, fully feel the shaft, all the way to the base”. But, I quickly rescind the order and say “no, no”. Now I’m beating down on myself with my left hand while shoving my pelvis forward trying to create as strong a collision as I would have against her bottom.

The car is jumping about as if something was really going on between the two of us. Still she struggles to remain comfortable, the blood rushing to her had turns it red, she asks if I’m through. I tell her to wait, to wait, and if she can be naughty enough to touch herself… Out comes her hand, she holding her torso with her left elbow, her hands run down her ass to her vulva, she spreads and tells me to sin.

I ejaculate expelling sings of life far and away. They collide against my chest, onto my belly… all over my hand many drip. I continue to stroke as if the end of life was near and salvation was brought on by semen. I didn’t want to stop, but had to. I laid there, with my hand on my manhood slowly stroking it… in a daze looking at her as if she’d just drugged me with a meaty feast. My eyes are closed. I see myself contorted behind her. My knee rests against the backrest of the driver’s seat; my right foot is stretched out on the floor; my body is twisted to the back and to right; my tilted forward looking down at my left hand as I grab and run myself down her anus, down to her vulva with enough friction to slide aside her lips leaving traces of me behind. I quickly open my eyes and wish it were true…

I know that God will reward me in the future. She’s my reward, for the love of God!

Author: jibarican

https://crimsoncrossing.wordpress.com

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