WRITERS WRITE... WRITING PARTNER FEUD ~ IT MAY BE LOVE EXCERPT 7 (erotic)

EXCERPT CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS WEEK


PLAUDITS OF THAT UNLETTERED MOMENT (con't) --  #7


All those tangible, yet, depressed feelings that eradicated and stifled the essence of her true self.  Now, this action, strange and exciting and semi-achy, managed to free her and fill her simultaneously.  Her façade crumbled and the genuine creature buried beneath inhibitions emerged, and she rutted more the beast than simply a woman in erotic bliss.

"Fuck me!"  Vulgarity was the red pepper flakes and garlic in the garden salad of sexual charm.  Time was a dressmaker specializing in alterations and fads, and sadly, none of her sexual wardrobe fit or was appropriate.

There was no world other than this for her.  In the distance, a siren wailed.  The outside breeze changed, becoming cooler, windy.  It rattled the blinds.  An animal growled close by and a branch scratched against housing.  She heard nothing.  All sensation centered around James, around his fist boring into her, around her need to cum.  She'd do anything.  Say anything.  Promise anything just to find that release, to break through and shatter like porcelain against concrete.  Almost there, she made guttural noises, withered and pounded.  Yet, again, he wouldn't allow it, and she nearly swooned from the deprivation.  She alternately cursed him and begged, and nearly sobbed at the loss.  Here was that great, growling engine of change, a man focused on her need rather than his own.  "Love," she whispered far too softly for either to hear.  One word that was a bud attempting to become a twig.

Suddenly, he lifted her, swung her around, and tossed her on the bed, face against the coverlets.  He grabbed her legs with powerful hands, yanked her toward the edge of the mattress, spreading her open to him, and finally nuzzling his cock against her cunt.  She was submissive and showed all the backbone of a chocolate éclair.

"You are mine," he grunted out, then plunged into her. 

"Eeeegg!" clacked from her denoting the likes of a monstrous carbuncle on the rosy cheek of a once elegant aunt; real and painful.  His wealth challenged, making them like two skeletons copulating on a corrugated tin roof wearing clogs. 

Motivated by her spontaneous whimpers, he found the justice to push the length of himself into her and held it there, all in a take that motion.  

"Ohhh," was flushed with his plunge, her tone was much like an eagle being goosed.

His brutal arousal noticeably throbbed against her pussy walls.  Other than that, stillness took hold.  Her fingers, fisted within bedding held taunt.  His cock remained immobile.  The moment held, their breath stopped, time paused, as the connection between the two souls found a mystical elusive bond.  One man, one woman, one love.  All other men were slums and all other women were chewing spitting tobacco.  And all other loves were burnt raisin toast, tossed into the trash bin.  Yes, this was but a fraction of a moment that sealed the two hearts, changing their world even as the ultimate endless route of primitive fucking regained its momentum.  

"Mine," he swore, easing out and thrusting back into her as fully and completely as the first time.  James was not the lover who'd was likened to the supermarket cart with the wobbly or stuck wheel, but a slick Lamborghini smoothly conquering each turn, providing amazing luxury to the passengers.   So perfect.  So manly.  So animal.  James was the first and only bull that brought his own china shop, maneuvering through it skillfully. 

He yanked her legs wider apart, held her shoulders down, pulled, commanding she shove her ass up higher.  She obeyed, wobbling her shape back at him, wanting him as deeply into her as possible. 

He began to pump, slow, steady. 

Like the geek at the sci-fi movie who was the first to see the creature, she ran and moaned with the rhythm of his motion. 

His groans mingled with hers. 

She felt his utter control.  His iron will. 

Each thrust and pound was theirs.  She was the cold gal with her butt to the potbelly stove being warmed, heated, burnt.

Every time she come toward the edge of oblivion.  He paused.   Held still.  She felt as if she slipped in and out of consciousness as the consuming denial etched itself upon her mind.  Was he teasing?  Yes.  Teasing the chance of them sharing one epic and beautiful moment.  Their first shared orgasm.

James' cock seemed like it believed that the sun had risen to hear it crow.  He was simply a shiver hunting for a spine to run up.  The very weak skillfulness of all the pseudo-adolescent boyfriends slash flames du moment sullied her sexual expectations, for they were all like the down feather pillow it bore the marks of the last person's ass who sat upon it.    Simply calling her horny for him was like calling a dwarf short, redundant. Yes, sometimes you have to blow out other's candles so yours will shine brighter.  The sexual analysis of the many men before James were rather like being savaged by a dead goat.  The vain sexual talents of previous lovers were now so frail that they palpably were falling to pieces, replaced by the astonishing glory of James' skills.  James' prowess was to ordinary same old, same old males as Moby Dick was to whales.  There was no equal.

Again, he changed her position, wound her on her back.  By now, she was nothing more than a limp ragdoll, docile to his every suggestion, every demand, every moment, except for her thrusting pussy, it the baby bird in the nest bobbing to be fed. As if it had a will of its own, it kept fucking.  Sometimes his fingers.  Sometimes his fists.  Sometimes just the air.  Then again, finally, greedily his cock once more.

Of course this was the epitome of fucking lust, but it was also the embodiment of expressive meaningful love-making.  Saying that it was nothing more than two libidinous people expressing themselves without acknowledging the love was suggesting that the Elks Club had to do with large quadrupeds with antlers.   This sexual moment was deeply rooted within unequivocal clear-cut love.  Nurtured over a period of time, casting in the bronze of compatibility and truly galvanized by complex circumstances.

With ungovernable might, he pushed her thighs apart as far as they could go and drove his engorgement back into her.  Now, he was fast and maniacal.  Every lunge was groan-filled suggesting a fuming beast.  Those air currents of passion could not ventilate his mind of the maddening want for her, but conversely fanned the fiery embers in his soul, enraging them into an inferno.   

James' uncontrollable tilt was evident.  The control once so restrained, splintered as frantic reaction to the pure rutting animal had overpowered any decision to turtle his pace.  Cumulative desire plowed through roadways and self-imposed barriers, rampaging like the out-of-control bus from Speed.  

These first time lovers faced their sea of absurdity, ignoring each and every obstacle commonplace logic might have suggested.  The silk stockings of refinement were tossed into the corner as they raced uninhibited forward.  Plausible deniability of being sluts for each other was replaced by berserk and savage expression.

His hands powerfully cupped her breasts, forcibly exacting pleasure, desperately squeezing them hard, using them as anchorage to fuck... and fuck... and fuck.  

He didn't slow the movement, giving her full, hard thrusts.  Their eyes met, comingled, exchanging thoughts.  Each reflecting the other's wanton passion, yet more, mirroring the bliss of this joining, of finding the missing portion of their lives and souls.  These ardor-masons were mortaring the block-work of a great foundation.  (to be continued)

***
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Angelica Hart and Zi ~ Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
www.champagnebooks.com - www.carnalpassions.com - angelicahartandzi.com










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