voraginous

Donny lies on my bed naked, delicious and cream-filled as an éclair. His pale long body, dalmation-spotted with birthmarks, has been stripped of clothes by me. The clothes sit in a rumpling heap, man-panties and shorts all hurdy-gurdy, t-shirt inside out, entirely unlike the neat and undoubtedly folded pile Donny himself would leave them in.

But he isn’t in charge at this 4:06 p.m. Saturday moment, and I am.

Naked on my bed, Donny struggles to push my head up, he battles his desire and my bodyweight to free his cock from my mouth, to remove my hand from the base of his shaft, to tug my summer dress off my body. We meet in mid-struggle, he curved around himself like a comma, I on my knees, and kiss.

No, I tell him, just enjoy. You can fuck me later, I say, and push him, now compliant, back to supineness and take the head of his cock in my mouth.

From between his thighs, on each upswing of my head, as I inhale, I look up the narrow expanse of my boyfriend’s body. His arms are twin upside-down “vee”s, his head resting between. His mouth is slack and open; he looks utterly abandoned to the pleasure I am giving him.

His cock deep in my throat, I swallow around the tip, and with one forefinger, I nudge the shaft just a bit further, guiding his cock just a tiny bit more into my voraginous maw. Donny moans, and he puts a hand on my head. It’s uncomfortable and irritating, but I let his palm rest there, on top of my head, patting me as if I’m a good doggy. As if he is pleased with my doggy pleasure at a particularly juicy bone.

From between his thighs, looking up at him on each upswing, I remember other cocks I’ve sucked, one in particular, one belonging to a man who’d never been deepthroated, one belonging to man whose last name was Applesomething. Applebottom. Applesmith. Applecock. A man who professed his love for head with lots of eye contact and lots of spit.

I don’t tell Donny this Applestory, though I know that were I to stop and interrupt my head-giving to do so, it would increase his desire, as much as it might diminish the sweet simplicity of this experience. I keep it to myself, as I change the rhythm, now slurping the head of his cock with a noisy abandon, while fluttering one hand on the length of his shaft.

I have made his whole cock slipperyslick with my pornstarry spit, and I take advantage of it. From slurping and fluttering, I change again, for I have sensed that my boyfriend’s cockish turgidity has now spread to his body, signifying a hotsweet intensifying leap in his pleasure. His body under me grown taut and quivering is telegraphing his needsome desire through its shuddering wires.

Now my hand and my mouth work in concert, dancing together, a well-practiced pas-de-deux; my hand and my mouth slide together from stem to tip, my throat opening to swallow at the depths, my tongue poised to twirl, like a minute and pinkslippery ballerina, at the tip.

Up and down and up and down, my hand and moth work together, my body heaving on the bed; the bed’s old and worn springs plaintive creaking is the weight of my hunger made audible. Creak-creak-creak is punctuated with Donny’s moaning and my oft-stifled breaths and indecent slurping.

There are no table manners in bed.

Donny tells me he’s going to come, a message made pleonastic by his quivering, taut white-wiry body. He tells me again, he’s going to come, and I bow down to receive his message, my lips brushing the manscaped mat at the base of his cock, and swallow.

And find that fed this amuse bouche, my hunger whets.

Comments

[efg]

tasty to say the least ;)

[Hot Lips]

magnificent!

[Tarte]

Perfectly pleonastically pinkslippery-punctuated and orthographed telegraphy!

(If your thesis turns out anything like this, I want to read it.)

[biblio]

I find myself, after appreciating how wonderful your writing is, hoping that your focus ultimately expands beyond the corporeal. I’m likely not representative of the lion’s share of your readership in finding that your tribute to the love you had for your dog—for instance--is vastly more…(forgive me) penetrating…than you and Donny’s doubtless thrilling relationship, but I can’t help wanting more from a mind as impressive as yours. Of course, sexuality—in every dimension and permutation—deserves celebration and wonder, but at the end of the day, we still stare our loved ones in the face and come to terms with something else.

[Rex Loves Roxy]

I typically prefer more accessible and less eloquent accounts (sex for dummies, perhaps?), but I must say, this one rivited me. Nicely done.

OK. Now I'm hard as a diamond.

[Viviane]

'amuse bouche'
heh.

perfetto!

[The Fury]

Thanks for the masturbation material! Your technique is astounding and I've only READ it!!

[Dale]

What can be said? Thankyou.

After reading this my name is Ben Dover!(LOL)

Love your writing, like a goddess valkry of love
that never decends to earth unless to light the primordial fire of one's spirit. So much fire, so much spirit, you must give it away or burst!

Skydancer are you, and I, a mere transient electronic visitor, less than a hair on a dogs back or a twig washed up over and over on a desolate beach waiting for a tongue of fire ,to finally burn briefly in some remote circle of rocks around which beauty like yours dances.

You touch people with your writing. After reading about the sex, which I love as you do,you also touch me deeply on other topics. You should attempt a novel, if you haven't yet....about stripping and love and all the things I have read over the last few hours in your archives. Magnificent! I am veritably mauled. By a dakini! I love you!

I write, but this is yours, since it might as well have been about you when I wrote it,for time has a way of getting before itself, not really flowing like a river but like exploding rain moving outwards from some primordial explosive source and then into a tornado vortex, in which hail and droplets randomly and synchronistically mix:

Chelsea Queen of Summer

What petal wakens stumbled heart ?
Can mist deceive heaving sea's shaped breeze ?
Ashore, Flowers try to find their knees
Supplicating beauty 's scent in blossom .
This Queen crowns her throne of summer,
When Season's lost ,a mystry's plunder.
Pale they are in compare - thunder ,
Sun and moon so soon
Not there, or there !
Shaken ,
Unrequited flowers be ,
Cast themselves upon the sea.

[chelsea girl]

Dale,

Gosh. Thanks. I guess you liked it?

kissykiss,
cg

[Dale]

Like it?

Candor demands that I say: I would pay and do ground loops to read your writing
in volume. Do a novel! You have it in you.

Will it be a mystery romance sci-fi novel laced with the images of the hot trysts of SOHO's latest generation, something involving time travel where the heroine stumbles across a homeless person who happens to be one of the great classic cavalier "lovers" and swordsman, wandering about confused and apparently destitute, unfamiliar with even the rudiments of Hitachi wands and cell phones, stumbling into a strip club, and paying for lap dances with gold doubloons?

Or perhaps a new powerful addition to the likes of Cleland, New York style?

Or both?

Regards and a Frenchified kissykiss to you as weel!

Dale