in fucking elliptical praise

“Don’t come yet,” Donny says as he puts his hand over my mouth. His lips are shiny with the gloss of my pussy. Two fingers on his left hand are strung together with pearly strands, like a spider’s web spun of my lust.

Donny pushes me back on the bed, marches on his knees up the conquered territory of my body and puts his cock, slagging at pudding consistency half-mast, in my mouth. It, like his fingers, like his lips, tastes like me. I’m lemony-sweet today. Like a lemon meringue pie, like a lemon drop, like a sweet tart. Donny groans as I struggle to take the whole of his cock in my mouth, down my throat and into my gullet, if I could, which I can’t.

These cinematic pieces, were they pieced together in a linear narrative, rather than beginning in medias res, rather than enjoying a post-modernist reluctance to lockstep with chronology, rather than being more Pulp Fiction than Maltese Falcon, would still tell a delightfully elliptical story. It would be a chronicle that began in an unexpected place and refused conventional sexual narrative convention. It would begin with fucking—my being bent face-first into the white duvet of my bed, Donny behind me, my dress wadded wantonly up around my ribcage, Donny’s cock introduced rather rudely into my not entirely prepared pussy—rather than exactly end with it.

This story would begin with my pussy being not unlike like a girl with the towel still around her head when her swain arrived for the big date. It would begin with surprise. It would start with unreadiness.

This narrative would move swiftly along, propelled by the trajectory of my boyfriend’s lust but informed with his intellect. The narrative would not flash-culminate with his fucking my pert up-turned pussy, my ass jiggling seismically with his every thrust, his gutter-whispering in my ear, “How does my cock feel?” and my answering back honestly and gratifyingly, Big.

This story wouldn’t pyrotechnic-quick finish with his spraying jism like wet streamers on my vanilla ass, as if we were welcoming a diminutive parade of wee astronauts of some tiny extra-terrestrial world. It would not end that quickly or that expectedly. No, it would not: it would continue with a more sensory than auditory pop! as Donny pulled his cock out of me like a cork from a bottle and flipped me over to lick my recalcitrant pussy.

It wouldn’t be linear, this sexy story, because I asked for it not to be. Grown weary of my boyfriend’s rather phallic and predictable linearity, I told my boyfriend that while I appreciated his desire to make me come with/in/by/around his mouth, as well as his love bordering on fetish of fucking my just-orgasmed pussy, it wasn’t working so well for me. It was too straight a line, I told him. After it, I said, I felt like Peggy Lee. Is that all there is? I wanted to ask, while he lay panting and moaning and shaking his head as if to clear it from semen’s cobwebs.

It wasn’t easy to critique my lover’s loving. I found myself screwing up my courage in order to tell him how to screw me better. Donny, being the man he is, and that would be the man who loves me—a lot—took the critique as well as he might. He listened patiently. He asked questions. He looked pensive. He acted slightly churlish, letting drop a couple of self-deprecatory jokes that slammed himself and his Patented Donny Technique. And then in bed, where it counted, he showed he’d taken my words to heart.

He fucked me elliptically. He teased me. He made sinuous love to me. He fucked me in circles. I loved  it. I loved him more.

This fucking session, the one with which I began this elliptical narrative, stands as groaning testament to the power of elliptical fucking. Having been fucked, licked and fingered, I suck my boyfriend’s cock in slurpy lemony gratitude. Having been surprised, unnerved, made uncomfortable and shocked into lust, I lie on my back in abject supine praise of him.

“Ride me,” he says from above. We switch positions, and I start to draw my dress over my head. He tells me to keep on my dress, and I climb on him, slowly sinking his cock into me with delicious squelchy friction, which we can hear but not see, hidden as this theatre is behind the curtains of my dress. I ride him, I do. I slide and sway and curve and circle. I move my hips in ancient rhythms that come, I find, from somewhere rather other than memory. I ride him, and I become more urgent, I lose myself, my thinking, my mind, if I’m thinking I do so in short, blunt phonemes. My mind all but points and grunts.

I ride him. Fuck me back, I tell Donny,  and he does, and as he does, I find that sweet hot pink swell buoying me from below and crashing on me from above, like I’m a surfer held thick wet prisoner in this fucking pink pipeline, and riding him, I ride that wave as it goes crash crash crash in shocking infinite elliptical sweetness.

Comments

[max]

oh, oh, oh...yesssss. that was/is great. the non-linearity(?) of it, learning about him/you and that ultimate big O. hurrah!

[Invisible Spinster]

I want some of that :)

[Dave]

Gawd dang' your writing is literary mastery......it leaves my speechless. It's art.

[Alana]

Ummm, awesome!

A

[Alan]

Fantastic prose, absolutely. Can't stand up and walk away from the desk right now without embarassment so I thought I would leave a comment :o)

[The Fury]

"Two fingers on his left hand are strung together with pearly strands, like a spider’s web spun of my lust."

Damn that was a great line and a great fucking post!

[O]

as if we were welcoming a diminutive parade of wee astronauts of some tiny extra-terrestrial world.

Just brilliant, as ever, and also funny. Also this:

I become more urgent, I lose myself, my thinking, my mind, if I’m thinking I do so in short, blunt phonemes

You are so gifted as a writer in many ways. I know it's not merely a matter of gift; it's also craft, but you have both.

The thing that always slays me is your ability to convey both the purely carnal in new metaphors all your own, and yet you have the ability to explain the purely physical in a meta-way at the same time. I'm not explaining this well. One of the things I value in your writing is your ability to capture physical experience. That's incredibly hard to do. Forget writers--even doctors can't do it. There is a scale for the treatment of pain, for example. "On a scale of 1-10, how bad is this pain?" That's the usual question, and even doctors who research pain (and therefore are researching the limits of bodily experience) start from that question. The reason for it is that there's an understanding that words usually don't capture experience and that most people lack words to convey it.

Part of what makes this all uniquely you is the way in which you manage to convey both the sheer physicality of experience and also the mind observing it. You do this without separating body and mind. I think that's very unusual and very difficult to do. I've never read any other writer who does it so well.
I'm not sure that I've ever read anyone who could do both at the same time. Usually, conveying one is done at the expense of the other.

I'm sort-of being elliptical too, because I'm only commenting on this as writing, and not commenting on the meaning. Here I'll just say that this post made me happy for you.

Love,
O

[S.P.]

...and having not only the desire to make things even better between you two, but also the self-assurance to bring up the subject of "technique" makes talking about it and the subsequent demonstrated improvement even more valuable to the relationship...

To be able to talk, laugh, groan, scream, fart, burp, whisper and shout without fear (OK, maybe with a bit of blushing and joking) while naked together is a wonderful thing -- USE it, and enjoy it...

Best wishes for your week together! Don't let the occasional long silences (that will undoubtedly occur) begin to feel uncomfortable -- it's just you/him relaxing into that groove of enjoying each other's presence! Enjoy the sensation of a hand lightly resting on thigh, a fingertip tracing an earlobe, a kiss to the inside of a wrist as you drive somewhere...

Damn, now I've got ME going!

[Amy]

Gah. That was incredibly hot. Elliptical loving - what's not to love?

Just discovered your blog and I love your writing! Thank you.