Sunday, April 27, 2008

salacious sunday

"You shall break them with a rod of iron.
You shall dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”
~Psalms II:9

Friday, April 25, 2008


I like to sit on her chest, my balls pressed into the crevice between her breasts.
She likes to watch as I masturbate, my hand jerking spasmodically;
stares as I spurt all over her milky white tits.
I like to watch as she smears my ejaculate into her skin.
Licking her fingers clean of the frothy cream.
I like the noises she makes, the whimpers, the moans
She likes that I hold her after,
breathing hard into her neck.

"You are Mine"
"Yes", she whispers, "body & soul"

Sunday, April 20, 2008

salaciuos sunday

Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
~Psalms I:5

Friday, April 18, 2008

if I should stumble...

Her breathing deepens as she slips into sleep. It doesn't take long these days. The soft nub of her nipple nudges gently into my palm. The rise and fall of her bare breast, like an undulating sea, lulls me and along the waves of my thoughts I drift away.
There is a price for everything. We pay a price for freedom, a toll for solitude, a there is always a price for happiness and companionship. I have paid for freedom, and I have paid for solitude with loneliness. And now it seems the price for my happiness can sometimes come at the cost of hers. She shifts beneath me with a whispered whimper in the dark and my cock snuggled between us like a rabbit in a burrow twitches.
Sometimes words just come out wrong. They tumble forth without direction or pattern. It is not intentional and it is never meant to hurt or wound. If only I could pause long enough to re-arrange the words along the length of my tongue before they are uttered. "Think before you speak" I hear my mother voice inside my head, along with my own voice in harmony, as I repeated them to my kids 30 years later. I should listen to myself more often. Words said in drink or anger are seldom untrue. But I was not drunk, neither was I angry. Perhaps the fragments of work related stress lingered on me while I drove home, but it was no excuse really for the poor choice of words that spewed forth, unchecked.

"Love means never having to say your sorry". She repeats this line over and over again. Maybe one day I will believe it. Right now sorry is the only word that I can repeat over and over again. I layer it like putty over a gaping hole, a hole which I created by my own thoughtlessness and heedless disregard. And with every stroke of my contrition I can only hope that I can fix it. Fix the gaping hole in her heart, fix her beautiful face bereft of a smile, fix the deep sadness that has dulled her bright green eyes.

I never meant to hurt you My Precious

I take a deep breath against the small hairs against the nape of her neck. They scratch at my upper lip and tickle my nose. Her scent is a bouquet of perfumes, bath soap and female musk. My cock quivers to life against the small of her back, pressing into the curled hairs along my abdomen. I stroke my thumb across the top of her soft breast and nuzzle closer. She moves in her sleep to accommodate me. She has a distinct scent. It is fragrant, heady, strong, intoxicating, beautiful, demure - exactly how I would describe her if I was asked. She has brought me more happiness in a few short months than a lifetime of memories has ever done. I have a constant need to be by her side. I am stretched taut like a rubber band each time she is out of reach. Her soft hand when nestled within mine comforts me as much as warm blanket on a cold winter morning. It is warm outside, but within I am cold. Icy tendrils have gripped my heart with it's scabrous tentacles. Looking within, I can no longer identify myself with this beast that has lurked so long inside. As much as I have tried to quell the ugliness that has borne me for a hundred years it seems, old habits die hard. All I want is for her warm hand and her even warmer smile to stroke this weathered soul.

She rolls over and I turn with her. She nuzzles her nose against my shoulder, her hair tickles my neck, spread out like a veil across her face and my chest. I know now why I love her as much as I do.

Perhaps it is not I but she is the only one that can fix things.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Red Rain - una

She sways to the music, an enchantress drawn to the rhythm, syncopated by the incessant tattoo of the rain against the windows and the roof. A hot sweltering day has turned into a humid sultry evening, the falling rain making the air heavy with moisture. Beads of sweat have slicked my forehead and more droplets are slowly trickling down my neck. My eyes are locked on her form, her body undulating in time to the driving beat emanating from the speakers.

Eyes closed, wisps of hair partially obscuring her face, she twirls across the living room on a cloud of black lace. Bursts of white from her smooth legs flash a contrast of colour as the soft cloth billows out from beneath her. My breath quickens, the air feels heavier.
As the music continues to pound, she glides across the floor like a wraith towards me, her hips gyrating seductively, eyes dancing to the tribal beat. In almost slow motion she's between my outstretched thighs, bending down towards me, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat rising from her in waves. I try to reach out for her, but she straightens out quickly and dragging her nails coated blood red down the insides of my jeans she flits away smoothly. My cock jumps in response and I suck in a breath from the spear of pain that she leaves behind. Quick as a sprite, she whirls away from my grasp, a smile forming on her lips and a quick dart of her tongue.
"No touching", a whispered admonishment to my apparent transgression.
Her full breasts, veiled behind the lightly patterned flimsy blouse swell and subside seductively as her breathing quickens, erect nipples just barely visible behind the black material. She continues to dance, eyes locked with mine, a dazzling display of hair, lace and hands. Feet and calves, sculpted by the spiked shoes, tap across the floor and she moves once again towards me. I sit up straight grasping the armrests in anticipation. Sweat is now running in rivulets down the sides of my chest to pool in the waistband of my jeans. My head is dizzy with yearning, my breath shallow and quick. Her movements, the music, the atmosphere closes envelopes me like soft muslin. The feral scent of sex hangs expectant in the air. My slowly stiffens and strains almost painfully against the denim.
She bends down again towards me and glides her tongue across my neck to lick at the sweat on my clammy skin before reaching for me. I offer up my hand, rising up from the chair to face her. Wordlessly, she turns to walk away, and I silently follow her, hand in hand towards the front door. The rain has not let up, the constant thrumming now blanketed by the loud drum of my heart - hard against the inside of my ears and chest, as we step outside into the steaming deluge...

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