PLAUDITS OF THAT UNLETTERED MOMENT (con't) -- #4
He was aptly grateful for Cyndy, because she was the
charmingly naughty gardener who made James' soul blossom. Was she a dangerous plaything? Damn straight she was. Was any of this dysfunctional? No way in hell.
He hastened his
motions, hips bucking, fingers tightening in her hair, his body tensing with
the frenzied build-up of having been without all too long. He shuddered with intoxicating intensity, and
then with sudden and unexpected and deliberate intent, he pushed her head
away. His cock bobbing from her
mouth. His eyes boring into her. "No!"
"Yes."
"No."
"But..."
Confusion twisted her insides.
"Have I done it wrong?"
"You are,
were awesome."
"So let me
finish."
"This is
not just about me. I want to make love
to you."
Befuddlement
showed in her gaze that suddenly flashed up at him. There hadn't been a situation, yet, that a
man denied his natural primal urges, especially not at this juncture. The puzzlement mingled with a fresh spasm of
desire. It morphed from his exceptional
restraint and his abrupt power over her.
She sensed his decision would sever
her connection to the past, to any sexual event she had known before. His satisfaction could wait as he made their
dual bliss paramount. From time to time
reasoning with James was like trying to saddle a cow, so much work, and what's
the point.
He encouraged
her to rise from her knees, peered into her eyes, winked, cupped her face with
his hands and leaned toward her, a whispering breeze of syllables tickled her
ear. "This isn't just sex,
Sweetart."
Those words
transfigured a long time belief that men were hunters and women their
game. He wanted a bond. He wanted a greater connection. He wanted her. "Eat me." She playfully winked.
"Sappy
alert. You're my soul mate, and I want
to make love to you, to make you my own, to cement our souls into a bridge that
shall span all time."
Society had
taught that women were to remain motionless, until they were wooed, as if a
spider waiting on the unwary fly.
"Oh..." Tears misted
her eyes. This was what she wanted,
yearned for, dreamed about, and in this respect she was virginal for she never
had it. Her body cried out for release,
her nipples puckering against lace and fabric while her pussy tingled,
dampening her panties. Quick shallow
breaths broke her paralyses, and her mouth formed the word, "Yes."
"Yes,
what?"
"Yes,
sir!"
"Yes, sir,
what?"
"I do want
to make love to you."
"Five
bucks!"
"Whore."
"That's Mister
Whore."
They
kissed. At first it was sweet but the
overrun of sensation morphed into tongues wrestling for the perfect
placement. Their fluidity would flood
and wash them into a place of greater wetness.
Cavalier
expectancies were the termites of deterioration. However, Cyndy was completely present in this
moment, enthralled by every movement, captivated by each sensation and
jittering with anticipation.
Though wholly
eager to move forward, an inner resistance wanted to freeze time, encapsulate
it, to hold onto the reality of his words, his intentions, and her own
awakening to this soulful connection.
Time had its own momentum, and wouldn't be denied. So she flowed into it with paramount
keenness. Their love letters were
campaigns of their hearts, fattened on smooth words. They had bonded over many words shared, and
she began to understand the love was friendship set a fire. So easy when he was so hot.
Cyndy stepped
away, surprising James by reaching for the hem of her dress, and pulling it up
and over her head. It lingered on the
tip of her fingers for an instant, and then drifted to the floor. The silvery night glow in the room catching
the frailty of it in blinks of shadow and light. The act underscored the direction their tryst
was heading and the honest degree of comfort she felt with him. Oh so many of her dalliances were just a cock
liberated from trousers and the jism liberated into her mouth, while she was
still dressed. This was different. She found herself that fish whose heart was
caught in the net of love.
Vulnerability to
real love had been Cyndy's closed book, that was also belted shut, placed in a
hat box, ribbon tied in a bow, transported to her bank to be kept in a
reinforced steel vault that happened to be two-hundred and fifty feet below the
surface, protected by belt-and-suspenders alarm system and guarded by the
cyborg assassins from Terminator. Just as plants don't grow well in
the dark, she retrieved that weakness and laid it open to James. This was that exploding cigar which she was
willing to light. She looked forward to
the exploding.
Love's tongue
was found in the eyes. James eyelids
pinched into intense and appreciative slivers as he took in her enormous
breasts barely contained by the ecru colored bra.
She smiled. Once
purged of vanity, possibilities multiplied, wobbled to tantalize.
He was the
ancient Hun soldier wanting to plunder the village's damsels, spirit hot and
heavy, but he swallowed to control his breathing, less it turn completely into
that of a panting Hun-beast. Oh,
yes, that full core feral wolf, howling
in the wilds upon finding his life-mate.
Was the command over his inner-animal out of fear or scaring her or
himself? Neither. It was good erotic technique.
She purred
audibly and without any fretting she slinked her frontage toward his
touch.
He continued to
watch as she undid the bra's front latch amid
a sway that flowed to the sultry beat of a love dirge that was looping in her
mind. The separation was first held tight but with each rock and wave she
shared more until her fleshy tits announced themselves.
Their ouster
from the garment changed the banks of grey torrent in his life into flowery
shores. She had been blessed and she
gifted him.
There was no
spillage or drooping, for despite their weight they were firm and round and
blushing rose tipped.
That beast he
held at bay hinted a spontaneous growl, splashing on her, not chilly nor
havoc-wreaking but purely base. The
cosmic artists that created the physical beauty that was Cyndy, stopped with
her, retired, why, she was their pièce de résistance. Skin so silky, firm and blemish free. Every curve on one symmetrical to the
other. The nuance of size and shape
catapulted the male libido into a frenzy.
If magazines rated great boobage
as tens, Cyndy intimidated them all with her twelves.
Cyndy had
thought of love, practiced that gamesmanship of it, sensing it was like
checkers, whereas, one had to know which man to move. Her tits were her best salvo. King these!
One plus one
equaled everything but one minus one equaled nothing. She was a student of the math of love, but
never had she so ciphered. She was
committed to their discovery.
The crown peaks
reached upward, pinpoints that demanded consideration and openly invited
attention as well as a sojourn of familiarity.
He accepted the invitation and stretched forward, curling one hand
around a plump breast, grazing the turgid nipple back and forth with his thumb.
Love and lust
were the wild roses found in the meadows of the minds, so stunning and calm,
but willing to exact blood in their defense.
Cyndy knew her mind and sheathed her thorns. Why?
She wanted to know the Kingdom of James, a place ruled without a sword,
nurtured by compassion, and founded on consistency and patience.
The warm hue
spreading across her face rewarded his action, and he wanted more. As if the warming sunshine after the spring
rain, he treated her second tit to the same dose of adoration, lovingly
comforting, teasingly squeezing and playfully pinching as if an added
bonus.
Swaying into his
touch, her straddle string was haunted by the power of a clit evoked by
erogonistic thoughts. She released a
breathless sigh. Her fingers clenched
his biceps, as if admitting she couldn't remain standing without his help. This
was her love song, a caress set to music, and that tune was tapped out by her
fingers.
Her nipples
became denser and larger under his encouragement, seemingly begging for more
consideration. That beseeching created a
flow between her thighs, so wildly dramatic that she could have jested she
needed galoshes. Lust kissed by love was
a cunning wistful weaver of fable, daydreams, and fantasies. Cyndy found herself entwined within that
fabric.
He had wings,
came quickly, and flew away. She could
not cage him, just enjoy him, and maybe fly at his wing. She saw James as the
ultimate bad boy, never actually adhering to the rules, pushing the edges,
asking for more, and the best she could do was be his rabid, willing
accomplice. Every facial expression,
every minuscule touch, every sigh and whisper displayed her eagerness to engage
in the intimacy he offered. Without
words she pled for all he offered and more.
She merely
uncorked her imagination while bottling any commonsense. At that moment it would not be incongruous to
believe that if James engaged her in heavy kink she would resist. If he unceremoniously exploited every orifice
simultaneously, she'd multitask, why, he was a messiah and she his flock of
one. She refused to escape from the
frantic and savage master; sex. (to be
continued)
***
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