She moves in new orbits suddenly, on some dating binge it seems, dating all and any who appeal to her recently unveiled acceptance that she's a "slut." That's her word, not mine.
She didn't just break out of her shell, that would be putting it way too mildly. No, she fucking bursts right out of the end of some damn circus cannon. That's her flying over there, flying all over town, all over the seat of your car, all over the dance floor, your apartment, your God damn bed! Catch her if you can.
Before I lead you to believe I'm just sitting here generally gnashing my teeth by crying in my beer mate, there's something else you should know about this chapter of her love life. She still directs attention to me, her cast off lover.
Perhaps it's out of some sort of guilt, or that described sense of mutual liberation she really aches to embrace. She can't stop talking about that lately. Oh, but I should also make clear that the attention I mention comes from those she herself chooses for me.
She claims to be pleasured by my own sense of adventure and insatiable appetite. She said it to my face directly. She wants it to be an open shared part of our relationship and she wants ALL the details. We always have enjoyed sharing orally, our explicit desires with each other.
"Perhaps you'll share in some cunningly constructed verse, dripping with sexual innuendo. Pleasure my ears with your newly charged sensually drenched libido, and please me thoroughly,” she suggested.
I’m not sure if she was hinting my verse was getting stale suddenly, but knowing her as I do it’s possible that she was just hungry for new creative outlets for her unquenchable appetite and imagination.
She made plain what she truly desired. She longed to hear such play-by-plays parsed from my lips to her daintily sculpted ears. She would sit near me all-a-tremble, her up-tempo breathing generating that flush and fume and shake and wet. She never could escape or hide from me, such reactions. Of course such reactions were contagious.
Alas, I am left to ponder the cock lover she has blossomed into in such a short time. She seemingly can't wait long between other lovers now, either.
"More candy, new candy, fucking good candy," seems to be her current preoccupation, her only mantra these days.
Mercy what a heart she has! Oh, I didn't tell you about her heart? It is big, generous, and giving. I mean, there I was with these preassigned pre-screened "dates". Who am I kidding, she knew me better than I knew myself by now. Not just any dates, by the way, not by a long shot. Let’s just say she definitely paid attention to my tastes! That's my girl.
Sublime would be the perfect word to describe these lovelies. She sent them to me in multiples. To be clear, not multiples on the same night, but multiple dates each month. It might be a stretch to imagine her pushing the boundaries to send two my way at once. I'm ever hopeful that she herself might join me and one of her surrogates eventually. These dates were as much for her as for me, for the telling of the tales she relished hearing. She confessed often, to loving such tales. We fucked often upon the completion.
She scouted, interviewed, and sent them merrily on their way to me. They came ready, willing, primed and apparently quizzed in my tastes, my desires, my naughtiest peccadilloes. They came playful, nasty, just the way I loved them. Many came for a ride on my "sled", for the thrill and high, ahead of getting laid.
*******************
Early on in the relationship it was just the two of us. She was a client on a professional level only, and I the compliant eager to please, personable and pleasant contractor. According to her often proffered compliments, I appeared to her to be polished, chiseled, and fit to serve. Predictably enough, that professional level part didn't last. We quickly fell into a familiar, but longed for and well groomed pattern.
That boundary vanished not long beyond the first touch to my arm. That electric touch, coupled with a rather wild primal look in her eye, sent my synapses firing near to short circuit, the spark was instantaneous and mutually generated. I 'm sure I had the same eager animal look in my eyes too, because from the first that I met her, I was already thinking how exotic and inviting she was.
So you see, from early in our budding knowledge of each other, this mutual conductivity seemed to emanate from deep within our cores. This was something clearly acknowledged by the two of us on a very erotic level. I knew when I felt her warm delicate fingers on my skin, and saw that gleam in her eye, I was both prey and pursuer at once.
What made this especially intriguing, at least in my mind, was our ever present delicious teasing of each other, the exquisite parlance of seduction we salaciously employed. The tone was quickly set when we first reunited after weeks apart. We wasted precious little time with mundane distractions from our real intent for each other.
Let me describe for you a typical reuniting. First there would be the restudy of each others features with long languid appraisals of approval. This was immediately followed by broad smiles, gleaming eyes, and heady sighs. Close on the heels of these eye baths, we reacquainted our melding bodies as we soaked in each others long warm embrace. Intimate quiet affections would be infused seductively into each others ears, often with a quaking tremble of limbs ensuing. An abundance of soft moaning petted our senses. Oh, how amply and swiftly her moans unhinged my armor.
We were equals in all matters concerning the art of seducing. We were generous as to the measure of pleasure offered, where more was unquestionably considered superior for our mutual interests. We were unified in a belief that parsimonious greed would never turn up in matters of seductive pageantry. We both gave each other our all.
Our finely crafted ability to convey our most urgent desires, through poetry, became an epic competition between the two of us. The quiet mews and moans, the occasional soft groan from the listener, added intensity and heat to each session. Lost in the others renditions of longing, restless hands unconsciously self manipulated. This became normal but highly intoxicating behavior. Anticipation always ran on overdrive, hormones ran rampant.
Heady lust was palpable at the onset of each session, where the sexual tension surrounding us bordered on delirium. We were two titan paramour story tellers, trading feature stories, as we liked to call them. The surroundings added to the allure and ambiance, as we met in a very Eden-like and secluded woodland setting.
The cabin was lush and warm in it's decor and comfort, and always in some minor state of remodel, as tastes and creature comforts were carefully reappraised for an ever improving experience of atmospheric ecstasy.
She was a good listener and the consummate hostess. We were co-conspirator friends who thrived on the most sumptuous titillation, made all the more potent as a result of the occasioned-only opportunities that presented us with these arousing rendezvous. When another project called for my visit and attention, I cleared an entire day from my busy schedule, to accommodate her every possible need and desire.
Two or three week separations seemed to expose the limits or the breaking point in our weakness for each other, not that time apart wasn't well spent. We each plotted and wrote new stories or poems to share on the next visit. After all, such endeavors and creative processes take time to construct to an expected satisfaction, eh?
I assure you neither of us wanted to disappoint. After such mutual ache of wait, thoughtful and thorough planning for each reunion was always sweeter for the absence. Once together again, we read to each other, we would masturbate as we watched each other, or we would masturbate each other, listening to each other moan, groan, and always in the end, reach for each other! Let's just say we were well marinated by the time we did lay lips and tongues on our desired portions of each other.
As to portions, she was a goddess in my eyes, and apparently I managed to pass her Adonis test, as she called it. Upon arrival to each others view, and well worth repeating, we both lavished our instinctual praise and affectionate sighs. We took long moments to drink-in, and appreciate the vision we had missed the past couple of weeks apart. It became almost ceremonial.
Our clenches were more like fusing energy transfers, that immediately boiled our blood and primed our heart beats to a uniform elevated oneness. This rush of energy between us led to the first stirrings hidden beneath carefully chosen attire. Early musky scents arrived to alert our Eros natures, and encourage us to get on with the celebrations at hand.
I was in heaven just watching her move about the place, let alone the heated nonverbal visual eye contact we exchanged. She was always free with the occasional touch, as she'd pass me, or she would alight beside me for a moment, in-between preparing various furnishings or treats. She was very attentive and always in the moment. Time stopped for us both during these ritual collisions. My cock was nearly in a perpetual state of readiness once I stepped through her door, or held her in the nearby woods along the creek. I was in the moment as well.
Her breasts were as perfect as the creator could possibly mold, and her hips were divine to behold. Her close cropped hair, blonde with dark streaked highlights, gave her a sort of pixie look. Long natural lashes and large greenish blue eyes struck me immediately each time I renewed my view of her. A classical beauty dominated the cuteness. She sparked generously with lust, femininity, energy and confidence.
As to myself, well I worked out on a regular basis, was proud of my fitness level, felt confident in my various aptitudes, and in my ability to give in proper measure. She seemed to revel in my nature and my free ways. She said I reeked of attitude and assuredness, and it turned her on nearly as much as fast rides through the curves, on my Harley. Being content, relaxed, and spellbound was easy around her.
Once settled in to the surroundings, either inside the cottage or out amongst the fauna and flora, a reading would ensue within a short time. I to her, or vice versa, depending on who was more eager to share, arouse, and please.
Sometimes in order to effect an unexpected boldness, I'd be unbuckling, unsnapping and unzipping my jeans under the paper that I'd be reading from. I'd have to stifle a laugh or grin, as I'd watch her in my peripheral, to see her twitch, fidget, and wrestle for control of herself, trying so hard to be still, to listen, but offering her restless moans and sighs, as little defense.
Hands soon wandered off pages, trembles coursed in ripples through limbs. Breathing was energetic, and eyes were lit with excited engagement and expectation. An arm around a shoulder quickly turned to a hand descending towards a partially exposed upper breasts. No bra usually combined with low cut sweaters or thin blouses, which always allowed for maximum eye candy. We circled each other, a slow erotic dance, ever closer to the pounce. Thighs pressing up against thighs, feet bumping barefoot feet, hands beginning to dance on the other in earnest, it was all magical pageantry in the miracle of each moment.
Often her thigh would tangle over and around my own, opening her, exposing her dampening arousal to the reach of a hand, either her own, or mine. If it were her own, I would piggyback hers with mine, fastening detailed memories to my mind like so many sticky notes. I was eager to acquiesce in her preferences of touch, as my hands eventually flew solo over her voluptuous exposed terrain.
A warm inviting fire always crackled in the hearth, just as heated excitement crackled between our two hungering souls. The delivery of searingly erotic words, being read from one heart to the other, from one rising pulsing cock to one ever wetter tingling pussy, became our intimate language of lust. An occasional twitch would give away the pressing ache of need and desire, which would usually usher in a quick advancement on her part or mine, pursuer to prey.
Such telltale body language was taken as a sign of the urgency that it was, that which needed attending to immediately. Her coos, her sighs and my own deep animalistic moans were other indicators, as my hand would encircle, enclose, and pinch at her full breast and diamond hard nipples.
A groan would escape pursed lips, as a finger (hers or my own) traveled closer to the ever expanding bulge along my inner thigh. Such clear signs would signal our growing appetites for one another, or failing control to keep our hands and lips, our tongues, to ourselves. Wet sounds began to merge with our primitive cries. That ambient background musk I spoke of earlier was now mingling in some cohesive ardor mix.
Getting through the layers of curtaining, as I referred to her seductive garnishing as, was always the next eagerly anticipated exercise. Much petting and preliminary teasing accompanied the readings. After such intense precursor activities, we were both ravenous to get to each others portions, a term she coined that I just loved, and now find myself using.
She was always well framed, my own coined term to describe her taste in clothes, lingerie, and stylish sexy jewelry, which I very much appreciated and enjoyed. Careful preparations assured titillating surprises to be found each new visit. I unveiled each luscious layer with reverence and great care, but also a vigorous expedited gusto. Exposing her epic beauty never failed to heighten and hasten my appetite.
To prime my passions, new rounds of shopping by her always procured the finest sensual silks and satins. I never realized how many sexy corsets were in existence, but in short order she made me a new fan. I upped my own game, as to preparation, because she hinted at her own desires with her gifts to me, that exposed her own tastes for men’s casual evening wear.
I realized I could impart my own preemptive visuals to spice things up and stall her advance a bit, that slow tease I mentioned, that we embraced and celebrated. We both lived for the getting there, the slow burn, that arc which became our covenant. We lived for the build up and the tension while apart. We barely copped with the anticipation of what new creative expressions awaited us. Each new day apart crawled in seemingly delayed fashion, but at least forward.
We measured our offerings and precise teasing carefully, and planned our rendezvous in some detail, ascribing to previous shared fantasies. A poem or short story, that each of us offered and shared upon the visit, set the table for the explorations that were to follow. This also laid the groundwork for various creative strategies upon future visits.
To set the tone, we whispered explicit details in each other’s ears, sharing all of our licentious devious desires. We reveled in stimulating each other orally, often. How delicious it all was. We were intoxicated with our lust for each other, and the unbridled giving-in to fantasies with each other. We held nothing back and gave in earnest, gave entirely. Every possible consummation of favor and fever were offered and employed.
There were the slow belly kisses, the nibbling and ravenous devouring of our favorite parcels of each other. Favoring the taste and smell of each other, like no one we had experienced before, a ravenous chemistry-concoction developed rapidly. It made us drunk on each other.
We were obvious oral connoisseurs, the two of us, as we quickly discovered. A constant hunger to explore with our mouths ensued. No quarter was left untouched or not stimulated.
I found the most amazing and intense throb and explosive release from her slow seductive invasions of my ass with first her tongue, then a finger wet from her own masturbation. She would simultaneously caress my swollen balls. She would nip at my satin crimson crown, her tongue going to my slit over and over, till I loudly moaned then lost all control. I can't remember ever before shooting so intensely when I came.
Once after licking glistening pre-cum dew from her inner thigh, I seared a trail to her ass, where I lingered and circled her rim.
She in turn shared with me that the effect nearly sent her into a trembling shuddering climax. It was when I plumbed her ass with just the tip of my cock, placing my vermilion plumb barely inside, allowing her hips to control the tempo and depth, that she did indeed cum. It was indeed a trembling shuddering affair, forever etched in my memory.
I remember well how she ravished her own swollen clit and sunk several fingers deep within her sopping folds. Our loud moans and cries said all we needed to say to each other, as to the desired effect. These were epic climaxes for the two of us, as we spoiled each other so completely.
There was no time or place together, that was taboo for instigating sex. I'd often close the distance between us, as she had her back to me cooking. I'd creep up, encircle her with my strong arms, run my hand along the front of her inner thigh, and press my smoldering cock up against her ass. I’d suck on an earlobe, and whisper that I wanted to feel the mingling of our slickest elixirs. I’d tell her that I wanted to feel my cock in each of her holes, wanted her for my dessert.
My hand would snake up higher on her inner thigh as she's pump her hips back into me, sighing, moaning deeply, cursing because she knew dinner was now on hold indefinitely. However she also knew instead that dessert was forthcoming. She helplessly would give in to her own carnal hunger, and dinner be damned.
There wasn't a room that didn't witness our advances on one another, nor a patch of open ground in the surrounding enveloping verdant forest. I was her wilderness, and she mine.
When we did manage to have food ahead of sex, she would come over to clear a glass or plate from one of the wood carved tables, bending over in front of me, giving me the most arduous sensual sight. The next thing you know a fever would dictate my impulse to pull her panties down without warning and rub my already glistening cock along the crack of her magnificent bottom. While my hand would creep 'round to her growing wetness, my enlisted finger would begin a surging rhythm, glistening with her essence. My thumb would circle her growing pearl, while again she would pause her concerns and distractions, cry out and fall into my lap.
I'd feel her convulse and tremble and feel her falling into complete submission to her wants, submitting to the will of her fires and my insatiable ravaging of her every delectable inch. The tip of my cock would invariably find a merger with her pink starfish pucker, and her hips would involuntarily buck back into my own, as she would cry and beg for relief. I gladly complied as
her complete pilfering would be assured.
At the same time my lips would very softly and very slowly trace over her ears and neck, down along the top of her shoulder, then down her back. The tip of my velvet tongue would barely alight upon her satin skin. Eventually I'd turn her around and begin the belly kisses she so desired and longed to feel. I loved the taste of her and her aroma, her musky scent.
I'd trace down very slowly to the crest of downy hair just beginning below her belly button, that faint blonde fuzz that hinted at the glazing elixir further below. I'd kiss her growing wetness, and she loved it when I did so. I'd inhale her deeply, I'd nibble and lick and breath her every essence into my memory, indelibly fixed.
I'd continue to enter her with my tongue, sometimes snaking up her ass. She'd wither and sway, and buck, crying out in a passionate she-wolf cry for release. Sometimes, with great good luck, she'd be answered back by some stray coyote or a small pack nearby in the darkened woods. That was always an omen I'd tell her, a good luck talisman symbol. She'd answer me back saying it's just some bitch getting hers tonight! What a gal.
By now her hands would be all over me, buttons being dealt with, zippers dispatched, hands traversing the passageways necessary to explore my own erotic needs. Probing, sliding, pressing, pulling, cupping, finger fucking, she was insatiable but complete.
In return, my lips would press to her pussy, a tongue staccato would entertain and delight her bud. My strong hands would knead her bottom, my wet finger pressing to the same port my satin crown had just departed. My digit would be slithering in, probing and pulsing. Her ever deeper longer moans fed my own fervor and potency, causing my cock to nearly explode.
Her busy hands, with a finger now returning the favor, would guarantee my moans escaping to exclaim praise for this unrestrained exchange. She would lustfully engage her hips front to back, savoring and encouraging my attention, my own hips giving encouragement to her feisty and feverish hands and fingers. My swollen cock glistened with such a slick coating of our combined juices, and her pussy and ass were all mine. It's all I kept thinking. I had to have her again.
"Fuck me baby, ahhh ohhh fuck me, fuck meee baby,” was our mutual chorus at such times.
I would stand her back up, clear the clutter from the dinning table, and lift her to it, bending her over the edge, slipping my fingers into her dripping cunt. My satin crimson crown would nudge again at her other opening. By now I had her softened and ripened, relaxed and eager for engagement, for my attention, for a mutual satisfaction through her bliss.
I clutched at her soft hips, bent to start a trail of kisses along her spine again, as I caressed her inner thighs, and continued to nudge her aching swollen bud. I groaned in harmony with her moan and her soft mewing cries, ear candy for my ever escalating arousal.
I slowly moved closer to take her deeper, exercising precise control to accommodate her most detailed desires, as she coaxed and invited. She whined and withered again, melted into me, sighing and releasing every possible lingering tension in her body. As my molten manliness impaled her relentlessly, she was completely giving in to her bliss. Gradually deeper and with an escalating tempo, I took her to where she needed to go.
I remember for good reason one similar occasion. She was wetter than I can ever remember, as I continued to fuck her with my hand, invading her welling heat with busy expert fingers. My kisses sparked goosebumps where ever they departed, and little shivers coursed along her entire back and ass.
It was an electrical persuasion between us, this conduit that solidified our melding with a focus like some erotic laser beam between the two of us. We pumped, we ground, we clutched and groaned, we swayed and bucked and cried for more of each other. We simply could never get enough of each others candy.
There had never been anyone I'd met who harbored such a deep yearning pang to flesh out my closest held fantasies. Not only that, she would commit them to memory, and then fashion some future exploit to assure a carefully measured and pleasured outcome. Her desire to give herself completely rivaled my own.
She'd expertly bring to fruition the ripening buds that would faithfully bear us our bliss, a mutually celebrated consummation of desire and lust. God was she good. She was an unrivaled monarch in that department.
She made it ever harder to manage the two week separations. I ached for the ongoing fantasies we shared together, the way she coerced my hand to appreciate her profuse swelling, her senses begging for a conspired consoling.
While enduring separation and in anticipation of what would transpire the next time we tangled, I found it difficult to avoid the temptations of self manipulation. I’d fall victim occasionally to at least a close consummation. I wanted to build to a near eruption, but also withhold a complete climax, for the intensity it would bring upon seeing her again.
While apart, in my fantasies I'd start picturing how we might be guiding each others hands, our ardor drenched in emotion, while a flood of copulating vapors and sprays escaped between us. I must confess to a near giving in to such visions, pumping greedily at my slick slider. Quite often this would take place while she performed in similar manner, by way of a phone conversation between us. Those phone sex episodes were the hardest to endure without a complete loss of control.
While on the phone to each other, there was invariably an unrestrained self coaxing, set in motion by explicit innuendo. Occasionally, when especially well primed by her, my self restraint failed me. Our mutual petting would end in a heavy explosive conclusion. Obviously I didn’t consistently succeed in holding at bay my flow. These self manipulations left me only partially satisfied, still starved for her eventual touch and a communal release.
In truth, my cock was an untethered monster when I'd hear her voice on the phone. The conversation might start out mundane enough, and often did, but invariably it would soon approach the genre of subject matter we both really wanted to fixate on.
Our fires smoldered from afar, patience waning thin. These interval conversations were a mere holding pattern, a temporary fix, if you will. These stop gaps of slight relief only partially held off the ache. Only the touch of one another could truly satisfy and cool these burning needs. Typical of her teasing would be something similar to the following words she purred into my ears one lonely night.
"What are you thinking daddy? What is it you miss most now baby? What is it that you want right now, if I was there Hun? Tell me all, hold nothing back baby. Mmm tell me any fantasy darling. I'm wearing only a black bra and panties right now daddy, wanting you, your touch, your penetrations. Tell me baby, what are you thinking right now? Hmmm? I'm touching myself baby mmm oh Hun how I want you now."
Then their were the text messages late into the night, the descriptive orgies, the offering of young nubile bodies we rounded up for each others pleasure, while we imagined ourselves watching from the shadows, then joining in with and for each other.
In her company, she never failed to satisfy my deep appreciation for her creative flow and a determined sustained desire to please. Her slow strips, her pleas for me to get even more comfortable, which became code for, "You have too many clothes on still baby, get naked,” in essence.
There were her offers to assist me towards getting more comfortable, if my resistance or pace failed to satisfy her impatience. Her requests for me to help her get comfortable were born of the same smoldering impatient hunger she continually harbored for me. One of her favorite exclamations was:
“You can't get TOO comfortable sweetie,” as she’d wink and run her tongue along her full wet lips.
New toys, oils, candles, music, and sexual positions, were used to keep things freshly exciting and hot, always erotic as hell and enticingly smart. Did I say she was the Queen? Oh, I did? It's worth repeating because she was!
Alas, there can be no beginnings, if we haven't the ends, eh? In this case it was only an end of sorts. You see, it’s not entirely what one would term a clean break. We just share more with others now. We are borrowed or we borrow as opportunity affords such pleasures. The rendezvous are further apart, and mostly the Muse, well she comes and she goes only on occasion. I like that however, because she was right when she expressed that the output, our poems and our meet-ups will no doubt be broadened, will give birth to new intensity.
She's still the Queen of all, the one who really completely satisfies. The Queens court? They are but the fill, the in-between, to satisfy her newest twist and pacify the prey, until that prey again pounces as the pursuer.
Our auroras will always be the glue that binds us. If one has a common awareness with another and acceptance of such phenomena, then on some level your vibe or aurora will be visible to one another, and anyone open to such views will see it too. We saw, we wanted, we took and we gave.
It was what drew us to each other very rapidly from the start, very powerfully, that common glow. She confessed that my own drew her in from our first meeting. I had to admit the same about her, an inner brilliance that awed me. At the risk of sounding unnecessarily dramatic, honestly she immediately enslaved me. I was drawn to her intellect and creative aptitudes, as well her exotic beauty.
Being anywhere near her immediately garnered a visceral primal stirring somewhere deep within my core. The first time she laid her hand on my arm as we talked, the hormones lit. There was a commonly held acknowledgement veiled ever so slightly behind each our irises. There was a less subtle glistening beginning to develop elsewhere, if I’m being completely candid.
Our history will assure some form of continuation. Consider that just like clockwork we merged those auras every two weeks, merged our talents, our openly shared gifts, merged our hungers and needs, our rampant pangs. Best of all, we each paid close attention to each others deepest held desires, often dropping subtle hints knowing none were for waste. We carefully plotted for future rendezvous with an aim to please, and please we did!
You who have followed my exploits from the start, already know of her by now, as regaled in my first confessions when I initially joined this site. There was so much that was never acknowledged or shared. I thought I should at last expound a bit, give a little pretext and back history to the descriptive affair I shared earlier.
Her deep potent torrential tugging at my heart bore out the Muse. Her keen interest in discovering my deepest desires, my most longed for fantasies and lusts, fed my creative flow and fires. She satisfied me so deeply and awoke a beast in me rapidly and voraciously. Least of all, I'll never get over the way she always ended each visit, by climbing on top of me and having her way. It seemed the perfect parting gesture and left such a want for the next time.
How can I ever forget such details? Those full bouncy breasts, with her head thrown back. How she enjoyed spilling drops of liquor over me, after her farewell rides, to lap up along with my cum. It was this now familiar sendoff, this final celebration of our union, that fueled me and reminded me of why I always came back. She never failed to concoct some veiled invite, for yet some other project to be satisfied.
You can rest in the satisfaction of knowing I will faithfully return for that mutually sought connection. That I will continue to seek the sensual sear that quakes our limbs every time we near each others orbit, that sumptuous heat that hitches up the rhythm of our breath, as we're helpless to control the rampant beating of our hearts. I will return to do her bidding.
It appears, you see, that we are mutually consumed by our intense anticipation for future newly minted prose. We have an addiction to the telling by one another. Friends with benefits is a term that fits here. These revealing telltale glimpses, that are always well targeted towards the desires known of the other, will continue to some extent for at least a while longer.
Oh sweet the seasons of such ardent sessions, especially those that are experienced out in that primal musky forest. How I love the Hemlock, Cedar and Ash that shelter her creek-side Shangri-La. Here in the shadows of ancient conifers, two souls will reach out their lonely ache to each the other. Wild animal calls will ricochet off Cedar trunks, will echo from the core of our Eros centers. Hunger will beckon and primal needs will call to us again.
Should I feel the need to confess again dear voyeur, I shall share with all of you the lurid details of testimony, as I fulfill her latest evolution in our dance. I shall indeed patronize the prearranged hookups she proffers occasionally upon me with great vigor and gusto.
Upon her requests I will of course lavish her with the details of such consummations, as I know she desires most of all. She claims it gives my writing new purpose, a new vibrant authenticity, and potency. She claims a new found wetness for such tales. She shares her own exploits in detail, to be fair to me, while we mutually masturbate, and move ever closer to each other, again as before.
I am ever hungry like the wolf ... forever releasing my pangs within her, as she cries for more. I am prey and pursuer, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
