tagText With AudioOne Blue Pussy

One Blue Pussy

byMungoParkIII©

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Click Here to listen. (5.5 min/mp3)

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Andy it is true, there is such a lovely long line just slightly hidden in the faint wisps of hair. The graceful curve conceals such fragrant possibilities, the earthy hint of dampness, the slight swelling of a blossom ready to bloom into an ecstatic pink. Still, it waits life in an expanding grandeur, opening slightly to the hint of a touch, the want fueling a need.

A whisper touches it with a warm breeze and a sad loneliness fades, waiting slowly becomes wanting. Words now caress the flesh as a name is spoken followed with a faint utterance, “Please.” Fingers, a hand reaches, almost touches flesh, but instead slips into the dark curls of hair, toying with the delicate short strands.

Hips move in the urgent need for touch but the fingers remain woven into dark curls, a face resting on a thigh. Could it be anything more in the night’s silence, the flickering of the candle light guiding the hand, the colorful palette and the single brush. Faint pink reveals more of itself, the swelling opening the divide.

Asymmetrical curves appear, so delicate and inviting and yet still brooding in the yearning. In sadness it remains untouched and pure, its fragrance exuding invitation in its motionless advance. The fingers still play in the springy curls of dark hair, teasing in such a delightful way.

Ah, a breath and a pause, then a glance at the woman’s eyes, soft brown, so patiently intense. Black eyebrows, thin, plucked to a delicate point, a delight in themselves but just a detail lost in dark, shoulder length hair framing her elusive cheeks and tantalizing lips. Her neck so softly leads the eyes downward to full rounded breasts and further to the dark points of her nipples.

Waist, curving hips, and long legs all would finish the picture, but not here, not now, they are adornments beyond the frame, beyond the artist’s scope, beyond the sad vision of a singular blue pussy. Oh, I’ll enjoy them, rest my head on a thigh, run my hands on the hips and gaze upwards at the breasts if only to let me then refocus on his focus: the center of her current desire.

If my lack of touch touches her in some way, I see the response in the slightest tremble in her body. My fingers lightly brushing through her curly hair, my breath now moistening her delicate lips and my gaze continuing to excite her as she watches me watch her all are the unseen prompts for Andy.

“Do you think it’s still blue after all of this?”

“You see my brush, the color of the paint.”

“But I think perhaps it’s changing, it seems much warmer now, in its own special way perhaps it is smiling now.”

“Yes it smiles, it is a lovely smile, but the smile is still blue.”

“That sounds so sad.”

“It is so sad, badly sad.”

“Perhaps a touch might change it.”

“You mustn’t touch, not until I finish.”

“But if she knows a touch will come after you finish, perhaps it is no long blue.”

“Then we must be silent, until I finish.”

“Until you finish.”

He stood silently simply staring into the depths of the folds, the hint of the dark entrance all the way up to a vibrant, erect nub. His body swayed following the exact curve of the lips, down one side and then back up the other. Resting my head on her thigh I pictured my tongue on that same journey and considered the possible deviations from that curve her body might inspire. But my tongue is not a brush, my mouth not the palette so I must wait while Andy completes his journey.

Suddenly his brush moves from his palette to the canvas as his head accentuates each movement. His every stroke is now vibrant and real as she begins to respond, first with a gasp and then a moan. Detailed swoops of the brush reach the canvas as her hips begin to rise and fall and her breathing quickens. The brush curves down the lips and touches the dark opening as the canvas is marked in his colors.

Touching the palette he mixes her colors and then caresses the canvas again as she cries out, “Yes, yes again.” Again his brush kisses the canvas and she lifts her hips groaning loudly. The brush absorbs his final colors and touches the canvas as she suddenly tenses and then relaxes, moaning once again.

She falls back onto the bed, whimpering slightly, slowly catching her breath as Andy, signs his name and then titles her, “One Blue Pussy.” The woman now weeps, her pussy blue as Andy leaves her naked, alone with the canvas as he heads to the subway, as he heads home.

 

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