my boyfriend's absolute devotions

My boyfriend has fallen in love with my pussy. By stating this, my boyfriend’s in-loveness, I don’t mean to suggest that there was a time when he didn’t like my pussy, if not love it. I mean rather to suggest that what he feels now seems to have turned a more scarlet shade of passion, a richer hue of devotion, a more singular tone of monomania. My boyfriend is seriously in love with my pussy.

He kneels, he kowtows, he pays deep, wet, and oral obeisance to my cunt. He seems unable to help himself; he loses control; he stampedes toward my pussy. There is only the sweetest, too brief interlude at my mouth, the quicksilver flash of his tongue rolling in my mouth like a piece of sashimi, the gum-rubber slickness of his lips. There is a cursory stay at my neck; he pulls my head back and he pauses like Rousseau’s lion at my gypsy throat. He bites, but all too fleetingly. He takes a detour—the swiftest pit-stop—at my breasts. He sucks one nipple, he bites it as if he were nipping a berry from a bush. He suckles, summarily. He then descends, rapidly, single-mindedly, thrillingly, to my hoary depths so that he may worship at the altar of my cunt.

His knees amid the dustbunnies, he kneels at my bed’s side. Eagerly, he prises apart my legs, and tenderly he rests my left foot on his thigh. I can nearly feel him vibrate in anticipation. I can absolutely hear him inhale. He draws me into him like a diver breaking the surface. He can wait no more. He sinks his mouth on me as if he hasn’t fed for weeks; his tongue is pointed and sharp as a shard of glass. I have to stop him often. Make your tongue soft, I tell him. It’s too hard. His tongue gets tumescent in his deep-dark obligations to my pussy.

My boyfriend licks and sucks. He’s found what works and he works it. He nibbles and he flicks, he toys and he titillates. He sucks a finger, flips his palm up toward the sky, supplicant-like, and he inserts first one finger and then a second. He curves his fingers beseechingly inside me. He makes come-hither signs, rasping his tips against the cat-tongue roughness of my g-spot. Silent but for the wet-slick slurp, he urges me closer with fingers and with his mouth.

“Come,” he says without saying. “Come,” he says to my pussy, this wet-open persimmon-slick, lemon-sweet part of me.

As he does, I am distant. In my head, I’m miles above and beyond him. In my head I’m otherwhere—a tawdry vision shimmers and gasps in the dusky depths of my fecund imagination. It’s too dirty to describe, this chiaroscuro of my mind; it conflicts with the shiny bright worship of my boyfriend’s tender absolutions at my beloved cunt (though I know not for what sins he needs absolving). I am miles away from him. I reach down, miles below my waist; I find his face and I trace the curve of his nose to anchor me, to pull me back to him, to us, to this pleasure he gives me because he loves it.

I have grown jealous of my pussy. It seems to be something that I am not. My body languishes in abject dismay and petulant envy. To my pussy alone my boyfriend serves his devotions in an ancient tongue. He worships and my goddess-pussy answers. I become its handmaiden, a conduit for its rapture. He beckons, beseeches, plies and offers. My pussy responds and I speak out in shuddering tongues, and I resent it. After the seismic shakes subside, he fucks my pussy. He drives his cock into it again and again, the gates have opened, he is welcome, his offering has been accepted, his will is done. And I resent it.

I feel lost in my boyfriend’s devout relationship with my pagan cunt. I am beside the point. I am there, a vessel, a mute being who holds the godhead, a signifier without a signified, a placeholder. I am nothing, until my boyfriend comes and returns to me, and sees me whole and complete, a woman reborn in his eyes, and not a mere trail of pleasure parts, some more purely transcendent than others.

Comments

[Angell]

WOW - honey, I've been visitng for about two weeks now, and WOW is probably the best word I can use.

I've gotta stop reading this stuff at work....really....

Great entry - and lucky you.

[ajooja]

I gotta print this out for my wife. Then she'll know I'm not the only one. :)

[badinfluencegirl]

i'm not sure she feels so lucky miss angel, i think the rest of her feels neglected.

currently my pussy is languishing in loverless siberia and is desperate and pleading for a little worship but. but when all they want is that four square inches and a hole you start to wonder what the rest of you is for...

at least you're having lovley orgasms?

;>

[Mina]

What a wonderfully written piece that beautifully captures this moment.

[All Men]

Let me appologize for men everywhere. It is probably nature and nurture that force us to return at full speed. We have been brought up to crave and love the pussy.

A beautiful and well groomed pussy, warm and moist, slick but not too, is a joy for us and we long for it day and night. The taste, the feel against the tongue, the subtle arching of the back when kissed all drive us mad.

Let him start as you have described and then roll him over and take control. Force your stomach against his lips; revisit the breasts and neck. Lick your sweetness from his mouth and chin. If you don't like the pace, set the pace. He will love you all the more for it.

[S.P.]

A cautionary tale, to be sure... thanks for the reminder from the opposite POV! Approaching a year of wedding blitz, I've found myself recently contemplating the same issue as we ride the rails of 24/7 living...

[Alana]

Holy smoking pagan's breath! This is so good I'm still trying to slow my heart down. I worship not at the altar of your cunt, dear CG, but at the gates to your pearlescent prose.

[dirty filthy princess]

I keep hearing this little clues of sadness with your relationship. I have not said anything, because, really, it is not my place.

As good as pussy worship is, the rest of you should not be neglected. Every part of you should feel loved, even your toddler-like thumbs.

[Steve]

I do wonder if the smaller bits of time spent mouth to mouth MIGHT BE the most minute signal of declining intimacy. Probably not though. Those deep amazing kisses - really, if those last through years and years it's a rare thing. But in my limited experience with very long-term relationships, if the kisses were super-hot at the beginning, they are easily resurrected. It's like they get forgotten about, or, in some cases, they are subconciously avoided because mouths are used to talk, too, and the talking that people do after years of being together is rarely sexy. It's hard for readers of this blog to imagine anything mundane or pedestrian about conversations with CG, but the sexiest babe in the world talking about her father would make one want to dive beneath the covers and commune directly with her naughty bits, especially if one had a big stiffy.

[Curvaceous Dee]

As much as anything, it is the words you use in this post that made me catch my breath. ...his wet-open persimmon-slick, lemon-sweet part of me is one of the most beautiful descriptive passages I have ever read.

xx Dee

[Dave]

I'm...well speechless.... This is writing on a level of artistry that I have never seen or really experienced before. Another level of brilliance has been reached.

Dave