The Rose

Shhh, I say and close your eyes as with a single rose, soft as spider silk, I spin my web about your body and your passion leaving you no room for escape. Your struggles serve only to bring you further toward a captivating joy. I brush the soft petals lightly across your forehead and then on to your eyelids now shut for now is not the time for seeing. Now is the time for feeling as I gently place each hypnotic strand. A teasing dance along your nose ends with a descent to the lush and loving fields of your lips now slightly parted. The flower lingers there wafted but a little in the currents of growing desire. Along your chin and down your neck the softness traces lazy paths to and fro across your chest to the dark summits of your nipples high and hard and begging for attention. A thorn. A mild torment serving only to fan the flames of ardor growing. Rising with this delicious ache they are kissed once by the flighty petals and then bereft. Deliciously aching. Down and ever downward the petals glide across a soft and lightly trembling land until they pause at the knee and move upward along the inner thigh. The path to joys unbound. There, nestled between those smooth walls, a deep moist valley fair shouts its invitation, but the wayward rose pauses only above, riding the building swells of need which wrack this shore. Then upon the other leg of its journey it travels seeking for sights yet unseen. Lo its road brings it back. Glistening it slides along the warm, wet walls of the valley until with a sudden swell and moan it takes flight upon the soft cries of need that it inspires.

The valley is not long in the waiting as a hot wind full of promise comes swiftly after. Upward it comes. As unstoppable as a thunderhead. It blows rhythmic and strong. Behind it comes the heat of my body. A heat you can feel like the summer sun on your skin. I hover close but not touching just above you. You can feel my hot breath, first on your nipples, left begging once more, then on your mouth, parted and waiting as a drought ravaged land for a coming rain. The scent of my raw desire and your own combining consumes all thought. Instinctively your legs open to me, every nerve sings with your need of fierce consummation. I place just the swollen tip of my member against the lips of your wet and hungry cleft. I hold it there for an infinite moment. Poor butterfly she struggles desperately now seeking only to make the web complete. Her wings, soft and pink as the petals of the rose lie spread and vulnerable. The spider thrusts and you are mine.