~ erotica ~
I left my sandals on his back porch. I left the sliding glass door open, my wet foot prints across his wooden floor trailing behind me.
I dropped my shirt at the beginning of the hallway, my skirt at the end. I unhooked my bra and let it dangle at my fingertips as I slowly stepped into his bedroom.
Plush cream carpeting nestled in between my toes. I let my bra land at my feet as I stood on the edge of his bed, a tall wooden four post structure, nice and sturdy. I leaned against the carved and lacquered wood waiting for him.
Even in this Summer scorcher, I still felt his heat just behind me. One delicate fingertip started at my shoulder and trailed down my arm, then across my back, until hooking into my panties.
He knelt down, sliding them off as he descended. I stepped out of the fabric, which he held in his hand, playing with the pink silk.
As he stood, I turned to look at him. His eyes were hungry, starving. Pushing me down onto his bed, I knew he would take his nourishment from my body.
I landed on his down comforter, enveloped in the fabric; my sweat glued my skin to cover. My toes barely touched the ground, my hips half on half off the bed.
He was naked, his manhood hard and ready. But instead of taking me right there, he pushed my legs open and buried his face in my cunt.
I gasped, my hands finding their way to his auburn mane. With my panties still in his hand, he lifted my hips up, drinking all of my pussy in. My breath quickened as I bucked my hips, trying to fuck his face. His nails sunk into my skin as his tongue traversed my lips, my clit. His five o'clock shadow tickled my skin. I moaned and giggled, wanting nothing more than for him to never stop.
And then it started, the build up, the rising up to my ecstasy. Like a wave coming into the shore, the warmth grew in my body, gaining strength and breadth, until finally bursting forth, rippling out from my hips to my limbs, sweet warm pleasure surging throughout my body.
I screamed. I gripped his hair and screamed his name and moaned and cursed and loved each sweet moment of it.
When he stood, I sat up and kissed him, tasting myself on his lips. I lapped up myself from his face, letting myself get lost in his embrace, until breathlessly I panted, "Now, it's my turn."
The Rude Pundit's Annual Nativity-palooza, Now with Bonus Cultural
Insensitivity
-
Like movies about suicidal snowmen and tortured ghosts and pole-frozen
tongues, some things are a tradition around the rude house. Beloved reruns
are good ...
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