Wanton

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Some wanton words from your distant lover.
772 words
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There were none so wanton as us we together. The mere sound of your name would conjure such mental perversions that I would flush at the cheeks. And how I loved to please you-— to stoke the fury of your libido with touch and tongue. I live for the sighs that reward my attention; I long nightly for the sweet echo of your release in my ears. Perhaps even more than your sound is your taste that governs this mania. My taste buds are smitten, and I am powerless to resist whenever your legs are spread bare and wide before me. But it is far more than your delicious sex that entices my oral ministrations; from head to toe your body invites a feast and I seldom decline to indulge.

Now I am left with mere fantasies, but of the most scrupulous preparation. You're there, and I see you. No smiles or similar formalities will pervade our lucid understanding of purpose. We walk in silent testimony to our lust toward one another, and then, following a hasty pause, we embrace.

Not a kiss, mind you—merely a hug. We are desperate for proximity. Our bodies rejoice at the union, and even through the clothes your warmth sends my every synapse into frenzy. We press our cheeks together as if to merge our faces. Soon enough though, our heads begin to turn. This is unquestionably one of my favorite moments—when our lips slowly seek the other pair prior to our first kiss, but slowly, almost reluctant to admit our intention and forfeit the chase. Always though, we know exactly when to abandon such play in favor of the one that follows, and we passionately accept the other's tongue when the moist and hungry corners of our mouth meet at the crossroads of our zeal. My whole body trembles in the wake of a paralytic pleasure. Our tongues are the real lovers in this saga—forged of one purpose and starved to engage the role. Our lips dare not part as we kiss, but instead grow more forcefully attached as we rush to remove the clothes that separate us. I move to lick your neck. I suck at it as gently as my fervor will allow, but my hands are frantic in their unwrapping. With each removal follows a thorough exploration of her skin; I can scarcely feel enough, and I muse at the idea of having more hands with which to touch her. A peculiar shift in pace occurs once our clothes are shed—- slower. Our haste melts swiftly into patience and fortitude. No longer does mindless hurry navigate us through these warm, welcoming seas. Our path is one of leisure now, and we've only just now begun to really fuck.

I go down. Soft placticity yields to the pressure of my tongue as it works its way inside you. This is my most favorite spot. Oral sex is unspeakably intimate—perhaps, in some ways, even more so than intercourse. Few things thrill me more than the direct contact of our eyes as my tongue slides its way curiously into your sex. The feel of your bare thighs pressed against my face in a tumultuous grip, urging me to tickle new and exciting spots never before plucked with such enthusiasm. My mouth waters and mixes with your excitement as I continue to swirl my tongue in and out, slowly—up and down. Your clit stands erect in silent pleadings for my attention. Between full, wet lips, I roll the engorged gland, tickling it with my tongue and teeth before yet again plunging deep inside of you to feast. Your fingers claw and carve through my hair, disheveling any semblance of control. Suddenly, I must have better access. I pull you down, into me, my face never leaving the delicious valley between your legs. They assume a familiar elevation, spread wide and outstretched, as my delicate hands slip under to cup the firm globes of your ass. I lift you to my mouth and seal my lips to your hole, plunging again and again my subservient tongue into your most sensitive depths until your eyes can barely hold open their lids. As such I continue to feast, absorbed in the pleasure of yours. My hands, no longer content to experience merely your underside, roam with mounting excitement over the mounds of your breasts, the taut landscape of your stomach and torso, and wildly over the smooth curves of your arched spine. Faster, but ever steady, I maintain a devilish rhythm between your pussy and your clit as your breathing becomes increasingly irregular…

…to be always and forever, continued…

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2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 10 years ago
OVERDONE

Hard to see anything erotic in that story.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 19 years ago
erotically poetic ...

your writing is erotically poetic and full of fabulous turn of phrase. good writing, please continue with this one.

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