There was no time for play now… Outer lips, Inner lips and
clitoris were on his mouth, and he took it all willingly. In an attempt to
taste all of her, his tongue searched deep inside her now, he managed a
single thought “Heavenly”… the thought was washed away as her body
trembled from somewhere at her core. She inhaled sharply and upon
exhale she flooded over him, and he gladly took his fill.
I absolutely yearn to kneel before you, My Siren, once more… drinking of you liberally… pulling every drop of passion from your lips. Unyielding. And when you feel as though you can take not one more moment, then will I slowly slide inside of you… that my every thrust be an expression of my love and an extension of my desire to be more yours… feel my body tensing tightly and please let our climax and release be the given gift that we both freely receive.
To My Beloved
There are days that I feel like some lost episode of The Waltons – Idyllic – A boy, a girl – Sharing a homemade lemonade… hand in hand on a rough hewn beam bridge… escapees from the county fair – both tired of fiddle picnics and dances of an earlier simpler time. Solace in each other’s eyes… Walking Arm in Arm… sneaking secret kisses while no one is looking. A Boy, A Girl, and a lot of Love. How beautiful – How Quaint
And then there are days that I feel like some Blackclad Savage Death Wraith, Guardian Head – Fiercely Falling for his Proud Steel Forged Revolutionary, Painted and Pierced … Sharing one witty tongue and a fire storm, lightning bound these two joined in crazed passion, and burned pure in their desire – A combined voice screaming into the darkness… A single terrible united front against any foe that might dare rise to oppose them…
Closely lay thy lips to mine,
And let our souls and bodies join:
Let me suck thy balmy breath,
And fainting, glory in my death.
Take me dying to thy arms,
Ah me! I die with pleasing pain,
O kindle me to life again…
~William Pattison, “The Enjoyment,” 1728
Concerning her Skin: Oh! Where to begin… the top, the bottom – at her neck, Oh what the heck… certainly not a sin… to run my tongue along her shin. Up one and down two on her thighs listening as she pouts her little sighs. Perhaps at her hips or her pretty pink lips… Mayhaps I shall come to rest upon her perfect beautiful breasts as she fondles my nipples and chest… I could start with an arm with all charm while sounding no single alarm – Might I pine for the length of her spine. with slow and savage grace I will take a gentle pace this is absolutely not a race. Concerning her skin… Oh Damn! Where to begin…
“On thy wither’d lips and dry, Which like barren furrows lie, Brooding kisses I will pour, Shall thy youthful heart restore. (Such kind showers in autumn fall, And a second spring recall); Nor from thee will ever part, Ancient Person of my Heart.”
John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester