red rain - tres

Shifting twisting the fog around us was coiling boiling....
Enveloping enclosing in it's tendrils tight.....
Pushed to the ground the shadow's arms around me did surround....
Caressed my skin hot like balm in it's cool embrace I luxuriated randy and calm....
~Desolation Angel

The low frequency sound of thunder grumbled overhead making the ground shudder in unison. The leaves of the large oak tree trembled and huddled together as she continues to run her tongue up and down my rigid cock. She hums in unison with the thunder sending spikes of pleasure plunging deep into my balls. A groan escapes my lips. My knees start to buckle and she moans again.

"Can you taste me? Can you taste my pre-cum leaking into your mouth my little bitch?"

She moans in response as she works her talent. She is massaging my balls with her fingertips. Her lips glide up and down my shaft as smooth as a well oiled machine. Tongue, lips, teeth spit, rain. A hedonistic cacophony of pleasure and gratification. My little cocksucker has a talent no other man will ever experience. I jam my cock harder into her mouth.

"Suck it my little cocksucker. Suck it harder. Flick your tongue across the head...aghh! just like that...yes, yes..."

Sheet lightning pulsates behind storm clouds, throwing monotone colours across a million miles of angry sky. The garden lights up briefly, shadows from the tree, the shrubs, the fence dance rapidly across the lawn almost in desperation before the world grows dark again. In that translucent instant, I pull away from her using her long hair for leverage. My cock slips out of her warm mouth with a soft plop and she squeals in shock and impertinent protest.

What is it about blow jobs that fascinates man? what is it about the act of a woman taking a cock into her mouth that causes men to grow harder? is it the sight of your hard cock plunging back and forth between her lips? We are taught at an early age that a penis is dirty. It has but one primary function. We are raised on a constant barrage of warnings and castigations: "wash your penis", "clean your penis", "do not play with your winky Albert, not in front of the nice lady".
Or could it be that for the most part this act requires her to be on her knees? an ultimate act of subjugation and submission. This is the same mouth that tastes so sweet when she kisses you on your lips, the same mouth from which the words "I love you" flows so breathlessly and easily. The same lips that when curved into a smile, lights up her eyes and brightens your day. And yet here she is, muddied and wet, cold and shivering, matted hair wrapped around her neck like a noose, kneeling before you as you overpower her with your manhood, tasting you, sucking you, licking you.

She has this trick where she slurps me into her mouth, clamps her lips tightly at the base and draws back, tugging gently as if to draw my sticky thick cum into her eager mouth. The combined sensation of the tip of my cock tickling the back of her throat together with her pulling action, almost always sends me into paroxysms of pleasure. It is the most incredible feeling and she gets better at it the more often she does it. I like to think that I have power over her. That I can resist her administrations, that I will cum only when I want to.

Lightning flashed again, electric sheets snapping across the sky. Thunder clapped in approval at the display and the trees bent and swayed to the concert. The power of nature acted out in it's all glory, her stage this vast universe. But below on this sodden earth, two figures gyrate and twist in a lecherous dance for power. My knees tighten and buckle at the same time. She grins up at me in the falling rain. She knows that I almost climaxed. Almost spurted my cum into her waiting mouth, the creamy fluid sloshing against her cheeks, coating her tongue. She knows I cannot resist her if she wanted her own way. She is aware that even kneeling before me, I am at her mercy when her soft tongue flickers across the sensitive head of my cock, teeth that tug at the loose foreskin, lips that tighten around the base.
She rocks back on her haunches, a grin curling her lips. I bring my hand down across her cheek. And even as her head snaps sideways, her long hair whipping like a tail, I hear her laugh in the darkness. It has only just begun...

red rain - duae

We are drenched within seconds of stepping outside into the torrential rain. She drops my hand to run into the middle of the lawn, arms outspread like wings. Steam rises from the scorched earth like marionettes performing a macabre dance, twisting and writhing in the dark bringing life back into the moisture starved green. She spins around, her face enshrouded by her long matted hair. Her clothes are completely soaked by now and they hug the curves of her body wrapped like a second skin around her. Her skirt wrinkled and soaked cling to her legs like leeches sucking tenderly at her skin.

I walk up to her, squinting against the falling drops, grinning at her frivolous enthusiasm to catch her mid-spin. She laughs, child-like, infectious - a playful spirit dances in her eyes. She slumps against me. Her soft breasts push against my chest and she wraps her arms around my neck. Our lips touch, she opens hers ever so slightly - an invitation, and I flick my tongue into her mouth. Electric sparks ignite as our tongues seek each other with urgency, water flowing past the corners of our mouths. Surrounded by the the drone of the rain striking the roof and trees we allow our tongues to dance, our hands to wander. I run my hands down her back even as my tongue seeks further inside her mouth. I slide my hands down to cup her buttocks through the soaked cloth. My fingers probe the recess of her buttocks slipping with abandoned ease into the hot crevice of her cunt. Our lips mash together with the urgency of our kiss and I feel her fingers lock into my hair, pulling my face harder towards hers. Deeper yet my finger slips, working it's way into her already slippery sex. I grind my hips into her rubbing my stiffening cock against her crotch.

Finally we break apart, gasping for breath. My hands are on her breasts and I squeeze them roughly, desperately seeking for her nipples beneath the slippery blouse. She pushes away from me and drops to her knees, her knees splashing onto the saturated earth. Eager hands fumble with my belt, the buttons, finally pulling down the waistband to reach in and draw out my hard member. Her wet hands make me shiver and my cock trembles inside her fist, slippery as a fish. She looks up at me. She is a spectral shade, a supplicant about to receive the holy spirit. Her eyes are as bright as stars and as wicked as a pixie in a wild English garden. Brimming with passion and filled with a dark urgency, she blinks rapidly in the falling rain, her long eye lashes glistening in the muted light. She extends her tongue, so pink in the inky darkness, places my cock on it as if to accept the Host, closes her lips around the head and slides it into her warm mouth with a soft sucking sound...

passing fancy regular haunt permanent lair

"Interesting site, we will see if it is a passing fancy of myself or a regular haunt. Hats off, indeedly, very well done, thank you for killing some my time...Might even earn a hot spot, damn nice.....again..."
(June 12, 2006)

Two years of

exploring

discovering

learning

laughter

tears

pain

sorrow

happiness

joy

endearment

relocation

anxiety

tension

excitement

yearning

touch

kisses

gropes

warmth

sweat

taste

questions

answers

&

LOVE

Happy Anniversary baby. Here's to a lifetime of shared memories and a warm bed.

adore

spider

There's a spider web by the entrance to the garden shed. It forces me to duck my head and twist my shoulder each time I go in and and out, but inevitably I end up striking it. The fine gossamer threads tangles in my hair, tickling my cheek or sticking to my shirt. Hollowed out shells of various insects crackle and pop like an entomology lesson gone bad as I try to pull myself from the sticky tangles. Each time I break the threads, stubbornness and resolve drives her to weave it larger and larger, spinning relentlessly until it expands more and more.

The web has weathered rain and wind. She has worked to build it during cold nights and warm days, patiently labouring away to unravel her yarn. It glints in the daylight, shimmers seductively in the setting sun, drops of dew glisten like gems in the morning. Toiling for survival, it is her entire world stretched before her. The fine sensors on her feet tuned explicitly to every minute vibration of each fine strand of silk, she waits patiently for her prey to tangle itself before feeding.

She snared me much the same way. She laid out her designs and waited for that moment when I wandered in. It was futile to resist. Every night I fall asleep to the rhythm of her breathing and the fine hairs tickling my nose. Every morning I stir awake to her soft whispers off "I love you" and she will scream each time she sees a spider crawl along the wall or scuttle across the ceiling.

She hates spiders.

dreaming

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
~Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Is it really a dream? will I roll over and suddenly the sequences will change? gone will be her caress, her warmth, her giggles, her voice, her eyes. I shudder to even think off it. Icy tendrils coil around my heart, even as these words scribble across the page. I never thought I could live with another person again. I don't think I could live without her. Yes, I would be the first to recognize the cliché. As banal as it may sound, I cannot imagine a day without her touch. She called for me and I answered. This is what she claims. On this second swing around the sun since that fateful comment, how many orbits has she made around my heart I wonder. How long did our lives circle each other like distant galaxies, lonely amongst a billion souls before words such as this caused a perpetual motion of inescapable inevitability. Impact was not an option. When two hearts collide new life is born.

A new journey has begun. There are no maps, no rules, no guides. We have cast off on sails scarred from previous experiences, the fabric as bright as a mosaic, each shade, each matrix a remnant of our memories that has stitched together the canvas. Only a compass of love and devotion points the way from this moment onwards. I the Captain, she the mate. Let these seas be less tempestuous, the winds strong and sure. Sirens sing your songs, this mariner will never sway.

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...

© 2bucks inc, 2007

yesterday (today)

...was it only yesterday that I smelled myself on your lips? that acrid sweet scent of lust and sex filling my head. It was only moments before that I knelt over you, over your eager mouth as I stroked myself to a shuddering climax. Was it only yesterday that I felt the hard flesh of your nipples compress between my thumb and forefinger. I remember well the sound of your soft gasp and the way you kissed my neck as I pinched harder. The feel of your soft breasts pushing themselves into the hard of my back. Your fingers tickling the hairs on my chest.

The hushed whispers into my ear.

Or will it be today that I gather you in my arms once again. Gaze deep into your emerald green eyes that will glow once more. Kiss you, my tongue probing between your soft lips to seek out your tongue. Will it be today that I kneel between your legs and slide my cock into your fervid cunt, coating it with your longing and desire. Will it be today that your breasts will be marred once again by the prints of my fingers, my teeth.

For you are mine and I am yours and will forever be.

voyeuristic pean

you slide the hem of your skirt
upwards
the caress of fabric
against your fevered skin
fingers probing within
breath ragged
as the wind
that blows through the open door.
I scrape my nails
across your naked thighs
sighs
of fervent passion.
I watch. You like being watched.
We match.
Perfectly.

sunday morning solitude

patiently, she awaits

bath

"Hello?"
"Yes", her voice carried along the fragrant wisps of tea tree oil is soft and inviting. There is a pause in the sound of splashing.
Pushing open the door further, my eyes take a moment to adjust. The bathroom is lit only by the flickering tongues of candles placed strategically by the tub. In the darkness, her pale white body glows not unlike a chimera. She is seated upright, her bright eyes focused directly at me.
She invites me to sit on the edge.
"Have you come to wash my back?"
"I have other ideas, but yes I would wash your back as well"
She hands me the cloth. The strong smell of lavender rising from the bath water. I dip my fingers into the murky water. It's cool to the touch. She likes it tepid almost to the point of cold. I run the tips of my fingers up along the inside of her thigh all the way to the deep vee of her snatch. I brush the back of my fingers along the small hairs of her tightly trimmed bush. It's just the way I like it - I like the way it tickles my nose and scratches against the tip of my tongue. I remember how the ends glisten like twinkling stars when mixed with her juices and my spit. She jerks in reaction drawing in a hissing breath the bath water sloshing once again within the confines of the tub. I pick up the terry cloth...

a longing

Winters icy tendrils slip through the open window to curl around the bedroom floor. It won't be long now before this city is gripped within it's cold fingers. He stretches awake, swimming to the surface of awareness with agonizing slowness.

It is dark outside, darker yet within the confines of the room. Rolling over to his left, he reaches out to touch the empty space where once a body lay. Her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her hair like a crimson halo upon the pillow. She would stir with him, tuned to every movement even in her slumber. She would turn to face him, mumbling some secretive words even he does not understand breaking the corona, causing it to ripple along the bed covers like a celestial stream as she turned to face him. Their lips meet. The taste of last nights passion, strong and sweet still lingers. I love you, in unison. She giggles, eyes still closed, one arm resting across his shoulders, nuzzled against his neck.

I miss you My Precious.

to wait

...absence makes the heart grow fonder, it is told. Being apart is the heart's lesson in humility and fortitude.

----------------

Listening to: Robert Plant - Horizontal Departure

via FoxyTunes

bound

To be thrilled at the touch of leather,
around by the sound of harsh words,
or satisfied by the security of rigid bondage
is the mark of a lover.

To be thrilled at the opportunity
to provide useful service,
aroused by a pleased nod,
and satisfied by the proverbial job well done,
is the mark of a slave.

It may sound severe. Almost ant-erotic.
Until you see two people, owner and owned,
existing in a complimentary relationship
where each suits the other
like balances on a delicate scale

~Laura Antoniou, The Marketplace

supplicant

bo(u)nd