NightSpell

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Slender thread of restless sleep
snapped by a whisper in the dark;
word, movement, hiss of breath?

You know not, yet a humid tingle
along your spine bears certain
knowledge...You are not alone.

Deathly still you lie, hesitant
to even open your eyes, and yet
your heart pounds to the wild

rhythm of your brain, wondering
is this the angel of whom you've
dreamt and prayed so long, or

demon conjured from the echoes
of your darker desires, the ones
you push away but cannot elude?

Which is it constricts your breath,
causes a faint sheen of sweat to
glimmer in slivered moonlight?

Which is it draws your breasts
tight, entices betraying moistness
from between your trembling thighs?

The answer comes inexorably closer
as you wonder if what next you hear
will be your own screams or sighs.


Slowly, the sheet slithers away;
silken caress replaced by yet
a different one, equally inhuman.

The breeze upon your body chills,
yet you feel as if you've a fever,
for you sense, within the darkness,

he watches, silent and unmoving.
You cannot know if that regard
is cool or hot, amused or aroused.

Confusion deepens as you realize
you do not understand why you burn;
from humiliation or desire or both?

Has the wind grown stronger; is that
what brushes your hair aside, drifts
along your spine as if the faintest

brush of a fingernail? Is that sound
chuckle or moan; does it come from
above or within you? And, if it is but

the air, then rain must be coming, you
tell yourself, for gently moist is its
touch upon the nape of your neck, a

suckling kiss drinking the slow beads
of perspiration trickling down to pool
at the hollow of your back...Yes, must be

the wind you murmur, for that light
lapping pauses but a moment in its
glide toward your clenching haunches

It is no wind roaming the trembling
swell of your posterior; no breeze
worming its way between thighs which

rise as if bespelled, offering dark
fruit to serpentine tongue whose every
lick is like unto a flicker of flame,

kindled hotter by fingers sinuously
kneading beneath you the bud of your
wanting. Ever hotter the fever as

soft and moist crawling lips weave
ever closer, teasing, taunting your
inhibitions; faces of a thousand

disapproving frowns gathered around
your mind burn away as the undulating
blade of hungry mouth glides deeper--

ever deeper--a gradual climb into your
inner night of a bonfire of pleasure,
surge of delight

Your whimpers go unheeded; you know
not whether you seek to end or beg
for more of this taboo possession.

Body shuddering with rising lust,
even as you shiver at the thought
of what within you savors forbidden

flavors; faint protestations are
belied by the blossoming of your
passion's flower whose dewy desire

flows along nimble fingers draining
thought while dancing tongue fills
you with sensations you once believed

alien and unnatural, yet for which
you now yearn as the tree in drought
reaches beseechingly towards the storm.

Teetering as if on the precipice of
an abyss into which you fear to look
yet cannot turn away from, you feel,

as if at a distance, cabled flesh grasping,
drawing your hips into the air; and at the
touch of hot, satiny firmness upon your

swollen labia, you surrender remnants of
doubt, discard caution, and arch back to
greedily accept the throbbing thrust, yet

no, the velvety coal slides away, presses
against that very place where but lately
tongue explored, tender anus giving way;

you try to tighten your defenses against
such an invasion, it will not be denied;
tyrannic grip opens you as he probes like

a blind dragon seeking entrance to where
prey cowers in narrow grotto; imagining
hard blaze of length behind creeping into

you, a moan of equal measure terror and
desire echoes in the darkness for such
possession of your tender hinter passage.

Teeth clenched, panting breath
whistling through them, you try
to relax your slender channel

and pray the violation's pain
will provide some measure of
pleasure; waves of yearning

revulsion spark through you with
each caress of rod along rim, then
a seemingly infinite pause; you know

the moment has arrived when you'll
discover what lurks beyond vague
fantasies and diaphanous fears as

you feel his unblinking eyes upon
you, sense this phantom lover as
a cobra weaving slowly in the shadows.

What are you waiting for, you want to
scream or plead and comes the answer
unexpected with a shock beyond dreams

as your devious paramour's python slicks
a trail of thick moistness along your
anal crack, then parts blood plumped

petals further on, to enter long and
slow an insistent pistil into the entry
of your womb; you sigh and within it

is a thread of far off disappointment
which fades as you fill with throbbing
stiffness until the pulsing prong is

fully engulfed, and you feel throughout
your entire being, echoing tremors
growing stronger as sight and sound and

feel and taste and smell swirl together,
a wave building from within your depths
rising to tsunami proportions as each

ebb and flow of the driving force seems
to swell thicker, longer until at last,
waves of sensation crash upon your

consciousness; tossing and twisting as
a ship without rudder or sail, you gasp,
cry out, as if drowning in this perfect

storm stirred within your ocean by unseen
serpent of the sea who rides your waves
until he spouts his own volcanic stream

As you lay encircled by your lover's
arms, the smile of contentment upon
your face is soon replaced by yet

another; is this not your dream, a
conjuring of your own? If so, the
geas is not his, but one by which you

may spell, and so you rise to begin
a chant upon the instrument of your
bounded shadow, intimate incantation.

Though only faintly stirs at first
the wand which you seek to enchant,
yours is that secret knowledge of

the ages, instincts arising out of
the mists of those before you, now
swirling into practice; the arts

at your command are irresistible,
enough to restore flagging vigor,
sufficient to raise even the dead

His flavor is earth and water and
fire mingled with your own; his
sighs the air which brings all

elements under your control as you
silently move your lips and tongue
to weave arcane sorcery over the

potion stirred within his cauldron;
you savor the seep of his boil and
bubble as it rises; within the sac

you grasp that which like two small
animals awaiting sacrifice frenetic
roll; and when you've brewed him to

combustion, you squeeze off the
flow and not gently 'til pounding
pulse subsides within your grasp.

Intense, his agony, as he pleads
for release, and reaches out to
break the spell with which you

have him bound; yet you thrust
away his hands, pin them beneath
your knees as you poise above his

swaying pinnacle, taunting with
but barest touches of soft curls
and pulpy, greedy flesh, a now

carnivorous flower waiting for the
time and method of your own desire
to taunt, to drink, to feed.

Barely do you take his swollen
plum between your nether lips,
sip as of mere testing the very

essence, to drain when you please to
its last drop; he struggles but
your strong thighs shackle completely

his passion weakened limbs; your
victim, your toy, your feast; and
with an evil grin, you lower just

a bit and squeeze tight around
his aching cockhead's rim while
softly into the night you miaou.

Without warning you pounce, your
drop driving him deep within;
he arches up to meet you, but the

sharp dig of claws into his chest
drives him back down; his short,
sharp cry of pain you savor even

as you draw trails along his skin,
rolling hips so sense of pleasure
mingles indistinguishable from pain.

You ride him like a nightwind steed,
hard and fast, with grip of honeyed
vise; yet when he is all but about to

launch across the canyon of release,
plunge into the river of mind drowning
you pause and with excruciating graduation,

lift yourself above his writhing body,
'til but the merest tip of him still
resides within your glistening fold.

With thumb unkind you yet again stem
his tide, waiting for his groans to
become whimpers; his trembling to subside

Gently do you come to rest,
your breasts upon his chest
and with tender kiss brush

his passion parched lips, soft
and moist you roam about his
face and throat, feeling the

pulse of life itself vibrate
along your tongue, then when
you find the juncture of neck

and shoulder, slowly do you
bring your teeth to bear, a
bite at first as loving as

the muscles you ripple along
the very pistil whose tip
leaks the nectar that you seek.

You feel his flesh give way
taste lightly of stronger
salt than sweat even as you

squeeze and writhe harder,
faster upon his shaft; your
pulse pounds with ecstatic

pleasure in this power and
excitement turns tremors into
quakes that clench then explode

from deep within, as you bite
harder, taste a red trickle
while draining every bit of

white essence he has to give
'til exhausted you both collapse,
he within, your master now your bed.

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