Winter Solstice Ritual
She walked to the thermostat and turned off the heat. In this northern climate the move was a bold one. Yet it was part of the sacrament. To feel in the next half hour the temperature drop slightly was a way to represent the drop in temperature that led to this, the darkest and longest of nights.
They sat quietly meditating side by side, reflecting on the past year. The hopes that had at last come to be reality. They thought of the men and women that had guided them, the wise few that had brought them some bright light of wisdom. They thought of the seeds of potential asleep under the snow within them. They thought of each other …. and hands reached across the floor and clasped tightly.
At midnight – they both lit the white candle left in the center. Untainted white. No fragrance. The symbol of the purity of hope, of new life, of the everlasting spark of joy. They stood and shed their clothing and stepped away, peeling it like old snake skin and leaving it behind. Turning they faced each other and with a natural sponge, they quietly and reverently cleaned each other in warm water.
As the cleansing made it’s way across her flesh she was aware of everything. The scent of the red and green candles, her nipples hardening in the cooling air how her own hand on his chest trembled slightly and the Goosebumps showing. She enjoyed the feel of his hands across her shoulders, her spine, her lower back, her ass and as the wet sponge made it’s way between her thighs her entire being arched into him.
Her own digits wrapped around his manhood, and she pulled him closer. Tonight, they symbolized the God and the Goddess. Slowly as they washed away the fear and failures of the year past, they brought on the moment of purity. La petite Mort. The small death. Orgasm. Winter was, the small death in the wheel of the seasons. Orgasm was, the only time when we as humans, were closest to purity, to Love. The transparency of the moment when closing their eyes, together they felt, from the simple gesture of cleaning one another, of caressing, of holding, pulling, jerking … the ripples of ecstasy flow though them.
The floor was wet, their bodies as well, heaving, arching, rupturing in pleasure – in one blissful moment his white semen surged forward with a deep guttural growl. Her own body responded with a flow of clear liquid. For a split second, they were united in the white, unadulterated light. Back on earth, with flushed cheeks, they finished cleaning each other in breathless silence.
Walking on slightly shaking legs she turned the heat back on. As of today the days would get longer, the slow progress towards spring, summer and fall would start anew.
She turned to see him standing in his naked glory. Her man, her love, her God. Handing her a glass of Champagne he pulled her in for a kiss, deep and passionate.
“May this year fill your heart with the ever lasting spark of hope and joy my love”.
And they fell to the floor and melted into each other anew.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or
duplication of this material without express and written permission
from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts
and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to
Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific
direction to the original content.
***
Sweet. Sticky. Cherry.
“There they are!” I half mumbled under my breath, a slow smile creeping across my glossed lips. I had spent the last hour or so desperately trying to find the cherry flavoured candy canes. She liked them – that’s what mattered the most, to know that she would part her own lips and wrap them around the small stem and suck ever so seductively to tease me, toy with me. The banal, ordinary peppermint flavoured candy just wouldn’t do for my friend.
I looked down at the bag in my hands. All the props for this evening were there. A Santa hat, candy canes, a small decorative white box with a red bow and most wonderful of all a large faux fur throw. The white fur was exquisitely soft to the touch, a silken caress on skin reminiscent of delicate, feather light kisses against flesh. It just begged to be wrapped around you or stretched out on luxuriously. I could just see it now, the way our skin would get little shivers or goose bumps and the little pleasurable squeals that might escape our lips. Ah, tonight was going to be fun indeed.
I went home and quietly undressed. The air was cold and I went to turn on the fireplace. The gas clicking sound followed seconds later by a warm glow. I stood half-naked and enjoyed the feeling of my cool flesh being caressed and kissed by invisible hot and urgent hands. It wasn’t a wood fire, but it was nice none-the-less.
I made some hot chocolates and got all the props laid out. I covered a chaise long with a dark chocolate-brown throw to give us an invisible background and laid the white faux fur on the floor. I turned on every light in the room knowing that we’d need it, and then sat, cross legged on the hardwood with the camera in the crook of my legs trying to remember how it all worked. This was no point and shoot. The large flash, the multiple on and off buttons – it was all a little confusing and likely why I usually used my small credit card size camera. The quality of the photos, however, made it worth the effort.
As I went to warm up the hot chocolates the doorbell rang. I grinned and rushed tying the belt around my fluffy rob for discretion and chuckled at the useless gesture. As I reached the heavy oak door I realised I had locked it from the inside and left the key in another room. “Hold on!!” I shouted as I ran for the key. I remembered one of my grandmother’s favourite sayings: ”What you don’t have in your head you have to have in your legs”. The potential double entendre aside, it made sense and I had to admit she was right, as I made my way back to the door a little out of breath and flustered.
A freezing gust of wind nearly knocked the air out of me. Large lazy snowflakes had fallen all day and then stopped as the temperatures plummeted. “Come in … Jesus… come on in!” I said.
Rosy cheeks and perfect hair set my friend’s face aglow. An eager and slightly nervous smile was the only prelude I got before her arms wrapped around my shoulders and she hugged and squeezed me as hard as her small delicate frame allowed. “It’s SO good to see you!” We said in chorus and peels of laughter escaped from us both. Moments later we were applying makeup in the large mirrored bathroom, catching up on this and that, mostly talking about our men and how wonderful they were. It was one thing I liked about being with her. She, like I, was in a wonderful loving relationship. Unlike my other friends who spent most of their time husband or boyfriend bashing… all we did was gush and compare notes on wonderful romance, hot steamy phone sex anecdotes and clap our hands like little kids in excitement for the other.
“It’s as good as it’s going to get – shall we?” I asked. With that we made our way to the makeshift photo studio and suddenly froze. Where to start? Neither one of us was an expert, we didn’t really know how to go about this. We were however; both creative creatures and she had a gift for photography. Only something good could come of this.
I rummaged in a bag and pulled out some photos I had printed from Google images. “I thought these might get us started” … she nodded and pointed to one. It was a simple and elegant pose and a really good way to start things off.
She stripped down to the cutest little red camisole and red with tiny white polka dot thong. I had always thought of her as more of a boy shorts kind of girl and the thong was a wonderful reminder of that sleeping vixen I knew was there. I felt privileged to know that side of her. I knew in my heart I was one the only people in her life to see that side. I was grateful for the trust.
Lying down on the white fur, she sighed as the warmth of it nearly engulfed her. I placed a few candy canes in the forefront, and then laying on my stomach took some portraits. They were lovely, but she was still a little stiff and the poses still felt contrived. I showed her what was being taken on the little screen, and we discussed options. As she went to get back into position, I reached into her cleavage and “propped” her breasts up a little. Then I saw her. For a moment she was truly extraordinary. “Don’t Fucking Move!!!” I shouted. She froze. I snapped the shot. Perfect. The gentle wave of her curled bang, the dip of her breast below her red camisole, the way her nose was perfectly centered with her cleavage, the soft and romantic lighting. It was really a lovely photo but more importantly it really reflected who she was. I showed it to her and her small and delicate hands fluttered to her mouth as she stifled an “Oh”.
We went on like this for an hour, trading places and enjoying it more and more. Relaxing into it – doing silly goofy poses, and over the top ones, we slowly found our style, a look, a feel. The photos remained tasteful always, a little curved ass here, a bare shoulder there. Then an idea trickled into my mind and I grabbed one of the candy canes, wet the tip and then tried to hook it on my nipple for a close up. It wouldn’t work. As much as I might wish I had comic book style perky nipples they simply did not protrude to that degree.
“Don’t you move!” … I froze. She took the shot.
I knew she was pleased with herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her lower lip had dropped as she looked at the photo, and as she came closer to show it to me I heard her breath catch a little. I cautiously looked. My own jaw dropped. My breasts looked 10 years younger and I wanted to suckle them! I could see the sugary trail of the candy cane, and found myself licking my lips. I look at her and went to say something when I found her lips on mine.
Sweet. Sticky. Cherry.
I froze. My nipples were hard, my breath felt permanently stolen from me. She pulled back and our eyes locked a moment and then her contagious laugh broke the utter silence in the room. “Now we need to download these to our laptops” she said as she practically bounded off the throw. I stared. It wasn’t like she was “acting” like nothing happened. It WAS as if nothing had happened. How could this be?
We went to download our shots; it was nice to see them on a larger screen. The seemingly innocent ass shot turned out less so as the contour of cunt lips became visible below fine fabrics. I leaned over her shoulder or her over mine breathing in her scent. My mind was awash with visions of taking her in some way. Was she having those thoughts as well or was it really nothing to her? We laughed and giggled about how we’d torture our men and talked about what photos to send and in what order.
We got dressed and packed everything up and said our goodbyes. She left as I shouted to her to watch out for herself on the winter roads. “Happy Holidays Hon!!” … and I closed the door …. and licked my lips.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or
duplication of this material without express and written permission
from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts
and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to
Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific
direction to the original content.
***
I believe that women – and yes men as well – often refuse to admit that there is an attraction between them and a same gender friend in their lives. It’s not even so much sexual as something else at times, but I am certain this is one of those “let us not talk about it” secrets we all harbour. Although I explore the female perspective – I hope to one day venture into the male equivalent. Oh and … Happy Holidays!
Tears of Redemption
Miss me? I have been away on vacation. Yes … much needed and much enjoyed time in the sun. On vacation I didn’t write. Not a single word – I did however a great deal of thinking. Those thoughts then inspired a small series of stories. Not all erotic in the true sense. Here is the first.
We don’t truly understand the meaning of the word “illusion”. Yet, we live most of our lives in one, being one. We live the life we think we should be living, and not the one that we know in our hearts is true to who we are. We keep up with the Joneses to the point of crushing debt and even breaking our own moral code. We go after big dreams that are not our own. We marry people out of fear of loneliness or because it’s “that time” and have children because it’s the next logical step. We are, in fact, spectators in our own lives, living a life of illusion.
Yet there are those that dare to be different. Those that dare to say “no” to the white picket fence, the 2.5 kids and the golden retriever. Those that stop and think for themselves, and look outside the small confines of the world they live in and the restraints of cultural, parental, societal and religious dictatorship. There are those that will backpack around the world, those that will give up every material good or their horde of false friends in order to Be real. To be in synch with who they really are. Those few brave souls find happiness although they will often be met with sneers and glances of disapproval. After all they are proof “it” can be done – and who wants to be reminded that they are too much of a coward to find themselves?
Those unique few touch the “Real” or let the “Real” touch them like the ancients did – the fathers of the desert – men that before Christianity, would venture out into the sands, alone, as hermits to think on the relationship between humans and Life, Nature and the Absolute. Today’s Psychology is a walk in the park compared to that.
For most of us, the sense of the True, comes only as bright moments in our lives that we then spend an eternity trying to re-capture, not realizing how simple it is to let go of the Ego, from “beliefs”, from this mirror image of ourselves… the illusion. This is the train of thought that inspired this story.
****
It was a gorgeous weekend. Sun and fall colors abound. He looked at the woman by his side and felt his heart swell. No explanation, just seeing her there by his side as they followed the path had triggered something in him. The sun shining in her auburn hair, the gray at her temples glittering; his hand reached up without prompting or forethought to caress the platinum strands. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he fought them back. She looked at him quizzically. He shook his head and pointed out the stunning tree in full autumn dress and exclaimed in wonder and joked that it looked to him like the flaming bush of the bible. He started dodging around pretending he could hear the voice of God. She laughed and told him he was silly.
Even those words made him gulp down a lump in his throat – what was wrong with him?
The weekend had been full yet relaxing. They had cooked together, lingered in bed and enjoyed each other many times in many ways; they had gone to a play and stopped to listen to a street musician afterwards as they left the theater behind; still talking animatedly about the scenes that had touched them. They had tea and coffee in a quaint little hole in the wall. An art gallery turned coffee shop. And they talked a great deal more.
For now, however, they walked in silence hand in hand.
They happened upon a bench by the river, and sat down. He fumbled a moment in his many pockets and pulled out his single cigar humidor, which had been a gift from her, and his guillotine. With the same reverence of a religious ritual, he pulled the cigar out, sucked the tip to moisten it, cut and lit his one cigar of the week. He leaned back to take in the perfect moment as they watched the sea gulls and Canada Geese fly, squawk and fight over some discarded hot dog bun. He was at peace, her head in his lap, the sun warming them even on this late fall afternoon. He couldn’t explain the overwhelming feeling in his heart and it didn’t matter. He didn’t feel “giddy crazy” … But it wasn’t calm either… euphoric perhaps.
They made their way back home. Feeling like a blanket of life and joy was wrapped around them. Their hearts warm even if their fingers and noses were cold. Once inside, the fireplace was lit, a cup of cocoa made and they continued their silent companionship as the room began to fill with the smell of a stew in the slow cooker. He was startled when she suddenly bounded up off the couch, and half ran to the bathroom only to return with a pair of tweezers.
Half blushing she asked in a tiny voice “pluck the little man hairs on my chin for me?” he tried with every ounce not to laugh. She was so classy and elegant, the idea of man hairs on her chin just didn’t jive. Yet he was amazingly touched that she’d ask him to help with their removal. Mutual grooming was such an intimate thing. He swallowed any smart ass remarks threatening to stumble off his tongue and onto his lips, and accepted the show of trust for what it was with gratitude and composure.
She lay herself down on the bed, in the sunbeam and stretched out like a cat. He started plucking away the few sparse hairs, and then was done. Yet he couldn’t move. He stayed there, hovering above her, kissing her eyelids, caressing her neck softly with his hands. The stereo played a longing tune, the sun was warm and he could not be anything but amazingly tender and loving and … she started crying.
The tears fell slowly – just falling down her cheek. He wasn’t alarmed. She was smiling, breathing quietly. Joy was writ all over her. Her delicate hand pointed to her now bare nipples and she just smirked, her eyes still closed. He started plucking out the half dozen slightly darker hairs there as well. She squirmed and squealed and then … her breathing changed.
His hand caressed her body longingly, the energy in him non sexual. It was something else. He noticed the smallest things. The pores of her skin, the tiny little hairs that would rise to meet his hand like a sweet peach lifting to meet his lips, it all amazed and intrigued. She was soft, yet firm and he marveled at that. As he lifted her leg up, and slowly entered her with his hard member, his act wasn’t a sexual one. It was one of unification. The goal not the pursuit of orgasm, but the simple joy of being cohesively One. She breathed deeply, and sighed, the rhythm was soft and slow and nothing was urgent. They gazed into each others eyes, hers still moist from her falling tears.
With both ankles atop his shoulders, he lifted her ass up softly and gently. Leaning in he was lost in wonder at her flexibility. Resting on the back of her thighs he let his eyes meet hers again and they never left. Slowly a build up occurred and they leaned in to kiss as a caress rushed through them both. They sighed. He pulled out with regret and let her legs go. She curled into him and let her hands caper and carouse with his nipples, and follow the contour of his muscles down his navel where she then played with his now softening prick. She sat up, leaned on one elbow and looked at him with tender love and compassion in her gaze.
He was looking up at her and feeling the warmth of her glowing body was an incredible comfort as was the cascade of her hair; a curtain of intimacy for just the two of them. She kissed his eyelids, his cheek, his lips and neck; she cupped his face to her, in her lap. And now he too cried. No sobs; just quiet tears pooling and gently falling in a small trickle to the white cotton of the hotel quality bedspread. He was in harmony with who he was, living the life he wanted and for the first time he loved without agenda.
He looked up at her smiling, open faced and shed more tears.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or
duplication of this material without express and written permission
from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts
and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to
Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific
direction to the original content.
Rain Drop-let
It’s raining. It should be snowing but the temperatures are above seasonal this year. I sit in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace looking out the large bay window onto an empty street. Not a soul stirs, not even the usual stray cats. I’m reading, or trying to, but my attention wavers and I can’t concentrate on my book. It doesn’t have enough substance, the story line weak and the writing mediocre. I look out again, at the dismal landscape and I am overcome by this sense of loneliness.
I feel very much like the rain drop that somehow managed to circumvent the large front porch roof and hit the glass pane before my eyes. It’s so alone, streaking slowly down the dusty surface. Another drop hits the window its velocity far greater, b-lining for the first one still lazily, patiently making its way down. The two drops intersect and merge, suddenly there … for only a moment… they remain thus hanging, hovering defying the laws of gravity. Then together they plummet, plunge and dive giddy in their union and disappear from my view.
I close my eyes, becoming that first droplet. I imagine the frightful fall from my familiar cloud. I imagine that strange gust of wind that changes my destination beyond my control. I imagine the pain as I smash into the bay window. I see myself slowly walking, stunned and lost down a dusty road. As I walk I feel my senses come back to me. I hear a bird sing in the distance, I notice the grass on the edge of the road is dry but still alive. I think back on my long journey and lost in thought I don’t see the path up ahead cutting mine horizontally; I don’t hear the sound of the oncoming car.
Suddenly wheels screech, an engine hums and dies and the smell of burning rubber fill’s my nose. My hand reaches out in an automatic reflex at the blinding glint of sun reflecting of metal. My fingers resting on the burning chrome grill, I steady myself. I hear a door open, I look up and there standing before me, is my hearts desire. A combination of worry and anger etched on his face. We stare. He stops in his tracks. His lips move as if trying to say something, his eyes searching mine and looking for some hidden memory in the vaults of his mind. Time stands still for an instant. Recognition or love entwined reunited through time.
No need for introductions we know who we are. He walks quickly towards me, wrapping his arms protectively around me, supportive. “Are you alright?” I nod. I am now.
Standing on my toes, raising my head to his I bring an arm around his neck and pull him down for our lips to meet. We kiss. Long and sweet an all-encompassing embrace that triggers memories lost of our past lives. Reluctant we part a moment. He looks at me as a smile slowly curls the edge of his mouth and he lifts me up, placing me on the hot hood of the car.
Oblivious to the stinging of my skin from my nearly scalding perch, forehead to forehead we take in the moment, our breaths caught in our lungs, we are barely able to breath. “I found you” he whispers… a sentence that barely makes sense. I press myself to him wanting to erase lifetimes without his presence from my lonely bones and heart.
His hands glide up my thigh, lingering a moment near my ass, fingers firmly pressing, digging in a little, getting a good grip. It feels so good. I kiss him again with more passion giving him the ok.
My skirt is short and flimsy, offering little in the way of resistance. My blouse low-cut with tiny buttons offering his right hand a challenge in dexterity. One pops open and the blouse falls off one shoulder and his fingers follow hungrily to the cleft between my breasts. He circumvents the small hurdle that is my “balcony” style bra and his hand dips into the cup and scoops my breast slowly, reverently. My leg’s part, allowing him into my personal space even more, he takes a small step forward in response to my invitation.
I feel light headed as our breath runs wild, our kissing eager. He moans deeply as my pelvic bone rubs and grinds into his jean protected crotch. I can feel his heat, his bulge, his desire. I moan myself as I feel the electric tingle intensify as I squeeze my inner walls aching for the fill of him. My clit is bulging outside the protective, defensive barricade of my lower lips, every movement, now, a caress as the fabric of my soaked undies rubs with the rocking back and forth of my hips. His hand finds its way to my cunt, expertly as if he’s known me for centuries and starts a slow and hard figure eight on my clit. My entire body trembles and I hear myself beg “more ….”.
He lowers himself then, his soft warm lips following the same trail his hands had blazed across my flesh. Wet tongue flicks and then follows suit and the small, hard, figure eight resumes against my clit but with the added intensity of the intimacy of oral sex and the heat of his breath. His finger slides inside and starts a gentle simultaneous come hither motion. My head falls back and I collapse on the hood of the car, giving up any pretence of composure.
My head is reeling as emotions and sensations course through and awaken my body. I slide of the edge of the car and find myself face to face with his crotch. He has managed to pull of his belt but that’s all. I undo the button; I carefully pull down the zipper. I pull on the pant leg and watch the white expanse of his underwear bulge in front of my eyes in a pleasing way as his jeans fall in a dark pool of denim around his ankles. I find the opening in his tighty whities and pull his shaft out. The sun is out, and I watch as a single drop of precum appears on the tip like a clear pearl, a rain drop.
I look up into his eyes and his gaze is filled with intense desire, passion and strangely, the knowledge of who we are beyond our names and current bodies. I close my eyes then, breath him in, the scent of him, luxuriate in his presence, in the display being presented on this dusty country road. My mouth opens, my tongue wets my lips … I open my mouth wider still, cradling his balls in one hand and pulling him in closer with the other hand behind a thigh, I plunge and take it all in.
His knees almost buckle. The waiting and anticipation is getting to him. The warmth, the moisture, the suction, the rhythm, the sight of me, my breasts sitting outside my bra, my skirt around my waist, my hand playing with the folds of my inner most self, the sun in my hair … release, pull back, release, pull back…. Drops of saliva slide down my chin and drip drop into the dry soil along with my moisture. The sandy dirt begging as loudly for the wetness as his hot cock is begging for release in my mouth. He tenses and I stop.
I stand and lay back on the car, pulling him towards me. His cock is poised at the right height as I lift one leg up and place it on his shoulder. My finger never leaving my clit, he has an open passage before him.
He groans as he fights to not come just from the sight. The heat of his body against mine is almost unbearable. I feel it then, the pressure of his cock head against my slick cunt. There – on the brink – he pauses and holds. We stop breathing a moment. He presses slowly, but lingers at the entrance, slowly … so slowly the walls give way easily but the penetration is barely occurring. I can’t feel the rim of his pulpy head inside. The sensation is blissful and we savour it as my finger continues its little crop circles on my clit. I lift and he leans in and he takes me, fully, deeply and utterly. Tears of joy flow from my deep blue eyes and as they fall on the car, sizzle away in the heat. He pulls out and my fingers almost loose rhythm, we steady and start anew. He enters, I lift and press in, his hand holds me steady, my leg holding his weight, he pulls out, I circle on my clit… repeat.
We dance like this under the sun, on the deserted road for an eternity and a moment in time. The giddy frenzy comes upon us; we lose ourselves in the sensations of our union. Our breath catches, he tries to hold off and yet … I come and as my flood gates release and the damn is broken and he witnesses the total abandon of my body and my soul, he pumps a little harder, a slight aggressive deepness, the tingle in his balls causes a tensing in his core… and for a moment time stands still … hanging, hovering defying the laws of gravity suspended in time and we plunge together into the crazy free fall of ejaculation and orgasm.
He collapses over me, his half hard member still inside. Catching our breath we start to chuckle as the smell of evaporating sex juices hits our nostrils. He pulls up his pants, I pull down my skirt, button my blouse; he helps me with the last of the tiny buttons between kisses. He takes a step back, holds out his hand and says “come…” and I do.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or
duplication of this material without express and written permission
from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts
and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to
Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific
direction to the original content.
The Red of Blood
If I was inclined to vampirism I would have an unfair advantage. No need for dental enhancements. These babies are real. Fangs. I have them and they are hard to miss although not distractingly obvious either. The irony of my ancestry is almost a cruel cliché. Eastern European without any doubt, with the large almond blue eyes, high cheek bones, pale, smooth white skin and oval face with a slightly pointed chin.
The thing is, even without trying I have some tendencies that occasionally make me wonder if my father may have been right when he claimed a direct blood line to Vlad the Impaler. Charming ancestry indeed, but I can’t deny that I love to bite. I don’t mean a little nibble here and there. I am not talking a love bite … no. I mean full on, let my teeth sink into your flesh and leave a bruise. Claiming you like some animalistic temporary tattoo.
There is a wonderful French expression that translates to “Chase the natural and it will come galloping back”. It’s true. Psychologist claim that the desire to bite your partner has two components. One is female specific, that to bite with the mouth is a oral demonstration of what the cunt walls wish they were doing. Clamping down on the object of desire. The other is a form of territorial branding. When I read this all I could do was nod in ascent. What they don’t say is how good it feels when my lips part and I taste the smooth skin of my lover, and my tongue sweeps across his delicate flesh and I taste the salt of him and then my teeth place themselves carefully, my jaw clamps down, the most euphoric feeling is released into my body. Like a small adrenaline rush. It’s heady and intoxicating. The pathetic whimper that usually comes out of the man in question, on the other hand, isn’t.
That’s how I knew he was different.
I had been seeing him for a little while, we had finally kissed and moved on to heavy petting. Something I enjoyed tremendously since it had been a very long time and, in all honesty, it made me feel young again. Teenage-like even. It was wonderful. I had bitten him repeatedly. A few times almost drawing blood and his reaction was a deep growl of lust, a most extraordinary hardening of his manhood and hands that would grip and dig with flames of desire into my own flesh. The time had come – we both needed a day to explore each other in peace; so we planned it …carefully. Nothing over the top, nothing fancy – but we did book a motel room with a fireplace, neither one of us resisting the Hallmark corny romance of it. Coordinating our crazy schedules was half the battle but in the end we found the time and a safe and warm place to finally make love.
I woke up that morning with a headache from hell, and cramps that would cull the strongest in the herd. I was reminded of those slightly humorous adds of mother nature handing women a red box as a gift at the worst possible time and the women, using some brand of tampon, was alright and oblivious to the inconvenience. I had my period. Mine are brutally painful for 48 hours. I showered, managed to shave my legs, took 3 extra strength Advil and got in the car to meet him. I wasn’t sure what to do.
I turned the corner and saw him there. He looked up and quietly smiled as I parked the car and got out. His brooding face now ablaze with a tender smile and an intense light of pure desire emanating from his amber and hazel eyes. My heart sank at having to tell him that I really wasn’t going to be up for it. He saw my body language and immediately came over and wrapped his arms around me. Concern writ all over his handsome features. “Mon amour …. what is it?” his pleasant and comforting voice asked. I buried my face in his chest. “I am so sorry, but ………….” I couldn’t’ say it. He lifted my face up to his, saw how upset I was and would not move. “Just tell me – what can I do?”. Tears of frustration threatened and a sudden excruciating cramp causing terrible pain made me double over. He held me, now utterly taken aback and uncertain. I half laughed though clenched teeth… “You could rub my tummy and just hold me? … I ….ugh …. I have my period and…” I never finished my sentence as he swept me up in his arms and walked us into the hotel room after some interesting key maneuvers to get the door open whilst carrying my full weight.
He lay me on the bed.
Gently and carefully he undressed me except for my undies leaving the tampon and thick ugly pad out of site. I was grateful. He then tucked me under the covers, kissed me on the forehead and caressed my cheek longingly and walked away to turn on the fireplace and to make a cup of tea. I snuggled in the sea of pure white pillows as my aching body relaxed. I dozed a short time and woke up in a dream like state. I grinned at the feel of his naked body against mine under the sheets and his breath in my neck. His hands ever so slowly making tiny little circles on my stomach. I turned to lay on my back and look at him. He never stopped making the little circles. He had taken the “you can rub my tummy” very literally it seemed. I was happy to let him. It was simply nice to be naked together. He leaned in and kissed me tenderly. His hand now explored the contours of my body. He looked at and was mesmerized by every inch of me.
He sucked my toes, murmured at how perfect my tiny ankles are, described and let his lips glide the length of the long expanse of my legs, paying attention to the delicate and sensitive skin behind my knees. He kissed my stomach, rolled me over on my side and caressed my ass. His breath held a long moment as he gazed at it stretching the cotton of my panties and let it go when he came in for a kiss and a bite of his own. He followed the vertebrae of my spine, let his fingers linger at the small of my neck. As I relaxed even more into his caress, it hit me that this man had managed to make me feel sensual on the worst possible day. The hurt was still there but every time my body tensed his hand would find some spot to massage and it would pass.
I found my body letting go of the pain. I opened up to him and breathed deeply and started to discover his body visually and then, my fingers started their own exploration. His hard athletic build, his beautiful ass that made me want to dry hump him, strong yet slender legs and his erect and beautiful spike. It stood there. Without a doubt, he was painfully aroused.
Shockingly, I found myself getting excited.
We had ended up switching positions as he now lay on his back. I straddled him and let my mouth, tongue, teeth and fingers explore him. His scent filled my nose. Like a blood hound I smelled him engraving his unique fragrance to my memory bank. I stooped and watched as the thick vein in his neck pulsed with the beating of his heart. His hands at his side he left himself completely open to my gaze and my hunger for him. I let the tip of my nose follow the curve of his jaw, then to the soft spot below the earlobe. My tongue danced and followed the pulsing track until I couldn’t take it any longer and I bit him, hard. His hands grabbed my hips and pushed me down. Even through the padding I felt his hard shaft increase in heat. He moaned and gasped for air. My face in his neck I followed the tiny trail still and bit again, this time my hand on his face, as his mouth opened to groan again I let two fingers slide deep into his mouth and down his throat.
He fought the gag reflex and arched his back into me with violent passion. I bit again and let my fingers slide out and heard his hiss in my ear. My wet fingers found his nose that I pinched closed and I came up to kiss his mouth… his mouth and lips made for the battle of love play. I held the embrace until his chest opened up in an attempt to draw air that failed. His Adams apple dances furiously. I let go and he breathed a deep chattering breath. Never did he display fear. He was hard, he was hot and he wanted more.
I continued our play, alternating between gagging, biting and suffocating him gently. I could not believe how much hotter and harder his member was becoming, and I worried that if he didn’t have release soon things would go beyond rough play to actual pain. I wrapped my lips around his shaft and he gripped the sheets so hard he nearly ripped them. From that lower vantage point I looked up at the sight before me. And saw that as I had wiggled my way down from straddling his chest, to his hips, to his thighs to my current position I had left a trail.
A trail of bright crimson red blood.
I froze. My stillness must have gotten him out of his stupor a moment as he lifted his head and looked down at me. I held my breath. I had bled through, and the white sheets now looked like some violent act of crime had been committed. He looked at his chest, let his finger slide on the blood and then …. He smiled. A big, thrilled and excited smile. My heart leaped. He sat up, grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the shower.
Turning the hot water on, we stepped under the stream and a blanket of steam embraced us. I took off my now drenched undies and tossed them out of sight. One leg lifted up on the ledge, he found the little white string, and pulled removing the now engorged and useless tampon. I had never believed such an act could be so utterly erotic. It was. There under the water, blood was washed away, and I kneeled down to continue to apply lavish attention on his member. Fingering myself I was startled to see that the moisture on my fingers was not blood…. But lubrication. I was beyond horny. I was in love.
Pushing me up against the shower wall, he spread my legs apart and went down on me. “No … you don’t have to …” his gaze told me all I needed to know. He wanted to. I didn’t fight it then. “It comes from you. And you are beautiful … relax …” I did. My body forgot about pain, discomfort and I let go of preconceived notions of what was right or wrong or clean or not. His head between my thighs, his tongue on my clit I let the hot water and rush of orgasm flood and wash over me. My knees buckled and he held me up. Wrapping me in a big towel. He turned the shower off and led me back to the bed.
It was his turn.
I tried not to feel embarrassed at the blood on the sheets. Nor at the small drop of blood trailing down my inner thigh. He was going to have his way with me and there was little I could – or wanted – to do about it. Towel on the bed, I climbed up and in doggy position, offered him my rear. His shaft was hard to the point of pain, his balls full and his desire real. He let his hands roam on my ass a few times as I relaxed into his touch again and then … he took me.
His shaft entered slowly at first. He watched as he impaled me and then pulled out. The sight of blood covering his manhood drove him nearly over the edge right then. It was primal. Intense. Like taking my virginity but not. He plunged in again and the blood trickled down towards his balls. Leaning on my shoulder I brought a hand up to play and tease my clit. Blood pooling a little in the palm of my hand. I felt it then. Our orgasm. We were coming and we were coming hard. He lunged, I quivered, he pulled I moaned. The walls clasped, his cock pulsed and the jism flowed pink as he screamed in tandem with me and we collapsed in sheer ecstasy on the white towel.
I realized that moment that he was not like any other lover I had ever had.
Smack That!
An ass for spanking. Really there is no other way to describe it. I watch her at the gym, bent over – one leg at an angle on the bench and the other on the ground bringing the weight up parallel to her shoulder and working her triceps and back. I can’t help it – I walk by and just want to smack it. I have images of her ass floating in my head a long time after I have showered and gone home. I know every one of her workout outfits, the green one is a favorite with the way the pants are cut and snuggling, cuddling, molding her ass that just makes me want to find a pair of scissors and cut them right off.
She is an unusual beauty. Strong and powerful, nothing flimsy and delicate about her. Her amazing hair a dark brown with bright red highlights throughout. Sparkling eyes and a life energy that practically leaps off her body. Her laugh an absolutely contagious sound, that can’t help bring your own laughter up from whatever depths it’s hiding in, especially with the snort that often punctuates at the end like an exclamation point. A little brash and perhaps a little rough around the edges, I find her delightful. She simply cracks me up and wets my appetite.
We chat in the locker room after a lunch time workout. Standing there in some form of undress. Full or partial. I like the colour of her skin, the curve of her back that reminds me of a delicate valley. I just want to be a miniature person on a snow board and swoosh down that curve and fly off the bouncing arc of her ass. Her breasts are divine little globes. Nothing big and bulky. No. Perky and perfect. I am not certain if they are real or not, but they fit her. Suit her. They don’t move. Her nipples aren’t bee stings no … more like bumblebee stings, proud and just begging to be pinched or swatted. Would she snort at that too?
Neither one fully stares or flirts.
Neither one is “into” women.
Neither can deny that there is a physical pull.
I want to undress her.
I want to put my fingers in her hair.
I want to kiss her.
I can see it. Her man sitting on one side of the room. Mine on the other. One can’t cross into the other’s territory. The bed a no man’s land in its center. I want to find her there. She’ll laugh, even snort. I’ll be uncomfortable and nervous. Yet my hands, even if shaky, will start to undress her. A shoulder strap, a top pulled over her head, a tug at a bras and with a lick of my lips I’d undo that clip, throw the bras in the air … and then I’ll get to touch. Will my fingers be cold or warm? Will I have the courage to lean over to her succulent morsels and lick? Suck? Kiss even? Will she release me of my top? Will our hands caress and will she pull me into her or will I pull her to me? Or will we suddenly be overcome by embarrassment and stop the whole thing cold?
I wonder. Will my hand glide down her pants, unzip them? Will her breath catch in her throat as I do so. Will I want to play with her cunt or her with mine? Or will tits and ass be enough this time … will there be a next time?
Oh how I want to be on all fours. Two bitches in heat facing and facying each other. My mouth on hers while my man ploughs me, owns me and fills me and hers does the same to her. I want to see the flush in her cheeks. Will he spank her? Will I hear the reverberation of a loud *smack* on her firm flesh? Will she hiss her pleasure between my lips. As I climb to the heights of release, will I lean my head on her shoulder and hers on mine, our men expertly fucking us and will I watch his hands on her hips pulling her towards himself and imagine myself with a dildo strapped on doing the same to her. Will I picture that as I smell her scent in her neck and drive myself to release.
Our men would come … we would come…. We’d kiss, collapse and then …..?
*snort*
Fresh Paint
The key turned in the door, it opened and there they were. The freshly painted walls of a small but well laid out apartment. The view of the city’s skyline was breathtaking as the sun set with all the over-the-top flare of a cheesy romance novel.
It was as if nothing stood between me and the large river, the trees and the hustle and bustle of the crowd below as I looked down on the tiny ants that were the people going about their business on the sidewalk. Top floor exhilaration. Even if it wasn’t a penthouse, somehow this bird’s-eye view of the world made it feel more special and the unobstructed vista made the small space seem larger.
I made my way to the window, drawn like a moth to a flame by the scenery displayed in the warm orange glow, and stood in front of the window just soaking it all in. I heard the door th-thunk behind me in a pleasant yet firm manner, a jingle of keys on the counter, some geese in the sky practicing their flight pattern squawked and I smelled your gentle cologne moments before your arms wrapped around my waist. “Welcome home“. I smiled as your warm voice and tender words soaked through and started too knead away at the built up tension in my shoulders from days of stress.
It had been a long journey to get here with so many ups and downs and such tremendous uncertainty. Highs and lows had become our new normal. But we had made it.
There was still no furniture. We had bought it all but it had yet to be delivered by the multiple distributors. Much of what we owned was still in storage. I took it all in. These bare walls. Strangely even without a stitch of our personalities to adorn them the place did indeed feel like home.
I leaned back, trusting you with my full weight and just stood with you for many long minutes. I marveled that we were already so comfortable with each other that long drawn out silences weren’t awkward. Your lips found the soft spot near my ear and you kissed me pulling me in and a little up into you. For a moment I was overwhelmed by the deep love emanating from my heart and yours and that little doubt in my head in my mother’s voice “this shit doesn’t happen in real life wake up and smell the coffee!” was silenced. You hugged me as if sensing my internal release.
It took all of 2 minutes to walk around the place when we got to it. It had a small bedroom, living room, den and bathroom and a galley kitchen opening onto the living area. But everything was high end, the hardwood floors clean and the fixtures brand new. This wouldn’t be our final home but for now it would do. It would do very nicely.
Playfully I blitz stripped and let my clothing fall in a pile on the kitchen floor and started running around arms up in the air, my breasts thus lifted I shouted “running naked in the apartment!! Running naked in the apartment!! Running nak….” your own nude body collided with mine as you stood in my way. I giggled and dropped to the floor and took your erect penis in my mouth and sucked.
Not feeling very serious about it all, I moaned in a dramatic act that you knew was my way of poking fun at the porn industry. It included giving you bedroom eyes with an exaggerated fluttering of the eyelashes. You grinned, then laughed and picked me up off the floor. “Oh you….” I kissed you to stop the “cheeky monkey” from escaping your mouth.
Three steps and you had me on the kitchen counter. We had talked about this so often. The only thing missing was the sushi for you to eat off my body. Some day, some day soon. For now you let your hand glide over my stomach. I felt as if I was on an altar and yours to take as you would. Your fingers lingered over my breasts and you pinched my nipples a little harder than needed. My back arched up as I squeaked my surprise.
You leaned over, I watched in admiration the long sinewy muscles of your body, and I reached out and let my digits trail your tendon and muscle definition. You turned me on. Lost in the visual feast that is you, I was almost surprised when your full and warm lips parted me below and you took my clit between your teeth. I moaned and let go of the worries of my life.
Lost in the corporal pleasure of our play I did not even notice you shift from cunnilingus to full on penetrative sex. I don’t know if the lack of décor made the world around me a blank canvas, or the joy of us having our own place was more of an aphrodisiac than I had thought possible, but whatever the reason lost is the only word left to describe the moment. I knew not my body, or mind. I wasn’t me or thinking or concentrating … I was lost in the ecstasy. I came hard.
Dazed, you pulled me off the countertop and laid me down on the hardwood floor. It was … hard. But in the stupor of my afterglow it was a bed of down feathers. Your head on my lap and mine on yours, curled in a ball like a ying and a yang, we relaxed. We didn’t speak. There was no need. We dosed.
I found myself looking in great detail at your member. Its happy little tired head flopped against your inner thigh. I couldn’t resist, I reached out and caressed it lovingly. Before long it was back at attention and we started making love again. But comfort became an issue. No matter what we did, knees, elbows, or in my case some serious hardwood burn, would halt the pleasure. With a sweep of your hand you raised us both and walked us towards the bathroom.
The restroom was disproportionately large for such a small apartment. It was in fact a selling point. No cramped little space. The main feature was the 3 mirrors above the very large counter. The one’s on each end were at an angle following the odd curve of the wall. The result, I soon found out, was that once I was flat on my stomach with my one knee cocked and on the counter as well, the kink in the reflective surfaces meant that we could both see our love making at almost every angle.
At first I was shy about it; not liking to see my own face and expressions reflected so. But when I saw your body flexing and moving in the rhythm of your penetration, the in and slow out of your shaft entering and leaving my cunt, it was like watching us as the leads of our own porn. The entire situation sent me over the edge over and over again.
You plunged deep, deep inside of me. We watched as your prick disappeared and reappeared. I observed through glazed eyes as an orgasm hit my own body. Your core engaged and you curved inwards, your head flipped back, your butt cheeks clenched and I could almost see the tingling, erotic arousal that made your cock-head feel hotter with each movement. Cum poured from your flared tip with long, tired pumps. Your eyes closed and you inhaled as your hose drained the newly built load in tandem with your slow growl of pleasure.
You collapsed on me, our eyes met in the mirror and we both smiled, and then laughed.
“I’ll get the camera phone” … and off you went excitedly.
Oh yes, this was home.
The Salon – Challenge II
“Let’s get together some time! Call me!” How often have we said or heard this and not followed through? With that in mind this is my new challenge!! Ah yes … I know you’ve all been sitting on the edge of your seats waiting impatiently for this since the last one. *chuckle*
I want you to imagine a Salon. Like in the olden days when people of great intellect and talent would congregate in some famous location to exchange ideas and feel inspired or while away time during writers block or a Muses vacation. In this case I am the lady, Duchess, in question. I am the patron, the great mind and talent collector. Oh come on … it’s my challenge!
Duchess Fantasia de Lillith invites you to Le Manoire to share …. Share what? Ahhhh yes, good question. Good question indeed!!
Imagine we are all lavishly costumed (period of your choice – time and space play no part here!) and we are discussing … ah… Oh, you will have to wait and read the intro I wrote below to get the ball rolling.
How is this a challenge?:
On October 10th, 2009 (10/10/09) I shall post all your entries for the Salon Conversation – my only interference will be in connecting your words to create a fluid story line. They will be entered in the order they are received. Talk about collaboration!
Here are the rules:
- Describe yourself (like an avatar) and your perception of your surroundings.
- The “voice ” is that of talking to me and/or other equals in the room!
- Feel free to add some internal monologue if needed.
- No vanilla! Off the edge, outside your comfort zone.
- More than 200 words – less than 400. I will use a word count so don’t disqualify yourself!
- Entries must be received by October 8th, 2009 (10/08/09). I appreciate if you let me know in advance that you are planning to enter the challenge so that I may start creating the poll. Send to fantasia.lillith@gmail.com .
What’s in it for me?:
Awe come on!!! Really? Alright… fine. Besides the opportunity to shed light on your darker side, as patron of your art I shall grant you a PRIZE!! I will personally donate to your charity of choice (must be registered) the $ amount equal to the highest number of hits for a single day over the two week period the challenge will be live on my site. This could be a substantial donation!
How do I win?:
Competitive much? Jeeez!! I did not want to be the judge, just in case there might be some conflict of interest (I know some of you personally now!!) So I came up with this formula;
The largest amount of comments posted regarding your fantasy + the number of votes for you (via poll) = A number
… the story with the highest number wins. Simple. Yes, people have to comment AND vote!! Ooooh …. Think you can rally your troops? If this works – there may be more than one Salon!
So … without further ado (I do SO love that word) allow me to set the stage:
*****
Leaning against the massive, ornately carved, marble fireplace; I carefully sipped from the small crystal glass a sweet elixir of unknown origin left to me by one of my many past suitors. Its flavor was exquisite and every time I had a glass I felt as if years had been lifted from me. A feeling that turned out to be real and long lasting. I sipped it carefully not wanting to overdo it and give away the secret to my agelessness.
I reveled in my young body. The corset I had on made my bosom heave most seductively, the men, and some women, in the room could only stare with intense desire. The deep teal and emerald chinoiserie of my satin kimono swished in a series of tiny claps and whispers and I turned to face the large, yet welcoming room, exposing my legs and bare feet as I flopped gracefully onto the chaise longue of my Salon.
A handsome young lad, in livery of the same hues, took my now empty glass and I petted his firm ass as he left causing the most pleasing blush to color his cheeks. I sighed. I’d have to replace him soon as he got used to me having my way with him. His charm was in his not quite submissive shyness. I was sure I’d find a fine home for him among my Ladies. Oh that lovely discomfort was all too ephemeral.
A young and voluptuous middle eastern girl settled behind me and started to coif my long and unruly curls into an intricate “do” for that evening’s gala. Her soft and supple fingers never pulled a hair, and the scent of jasmine and her warm body made her delectable. My shoulders now exposed, I relaxed… Ah yes, this one I’d keep in my service a long time.
A few regulars, that liked to stay at Le Manoire, were already assembled before me. Soon others would join. An air of debauchery hung between us from last night’s foray, most of my guests still languid and at ease. I tossed a subject out for today’s discussion:
“I have this fantasy” … All heads snapped up, eyes glistening and ears eager to hear more.
“One I have not heard, Duchess?” says my consort as he brushes his hand lovingly across the full expanse of my bosom and leans in to kiss the beauty mark on my right breast.
“Yes, even you don’t know this one …. Awww love… don’t look so hurt… allow me some air of mystery”. A snort or two emanate from our guests. It is my turn to blush.
“As I was saying ….” I continue with a coy smile and a raised eyebrow … I have this fantasy”. I stop, suddenly a little unsure, take a deep shuddering breath, showing a rare glimpse of the vulnerable side of me.
“ I am in a large box. A very large box, almost like a small room. All around me are holes. Poking out of the holes are penises of every size and race. Wrapped around them are gems, or money in form of …. Payment …..” The silence in the room shows the shock some are feeling. The idea of The Duchess as a paid whore doesn’t sit well with some. My consort’s hand steadies on my shoulder. I kiss his palm before continuing.
“I take the payments … or … offerings … and suck” I place my consort’s finger in my mouth and demonstrate. His breath hisses audibly across the room “ … suck so much cock and end up covered in cum from head to toe. They can see me and what I am doing on a small screen outside the box, but they remain anonymous to me. I only know them as an endless sea of shafts.” I spread my legs gracefully to show that just talking about this has made me so moist, that a small trail is glistening on my inner thigh and has wetted my satin under garment. I sit up. Then suddenly stand up flustered.
“How is it that we can fantasize about those things that would, in reality, actually turn our stomachs? Things we would never, no matter how free we are in our sexual selves, actually do. Things that are in direct violation with who we are and our moral code? Do any of you have such fantasies? Am I … alone in this?”
I close my eyes, and walk back to the fireplace waiting for the heavy silence to be broken by a brave soul willing to share…. It lingers, like the elephant in the room, as my guests grapple a moment with their darker side. I sigh and wait.
Woven threads of our Sunday
A shared moment and thought – un-edited – not a story. A glimpse into the life of ….
Sunrise on Sunday morning…
Some love it for the guarantee of brunch, the paper and coffee in bed, for time with friends and family, or for the slow and easy pace the world seems to take on that second weekend day.
Some see it as the end of the week, I prefer it as the first day of mine. For me it is the promise of hours of slow, sweet fucking, and the launching of my soul to depart and float forward and mingle with his, that makes Sunday my “it” day.
You’ll find the phone off the hook, the “do not disturb” sign on the door and us laying entwined, sweat glistening off our bodies and my hand reaching down for his still hard cock.
Slowly and methodically I will stroke him, pressure building towards the head. Leaning over I will whisper secrets in his ear. Of those, only he is allowed to sit in judgment. He will smile, moan, and respond to every inch of me and me to every centimeter of him.
He and I will come and come again all day. As we loose track of time between the sheets, down the hall, on the kitchen counter and back again. We will eat with, on and from each other. Laugh, giggle, sigh, bathe and speak. The world can go to hell in a hand basket, we are nesting in our own heavenly bubble.
We pray at each others altars, connect and rejoice. A week of “I don’t have time” and “yeah hold on” has finished. We start anew – connect; find each other again, charge our emotional batteries. Sure a quickie will occur on other days, and yes we will make love certainly … but the slow, all day in bed fucking, that is our lazy us time makes Sunday our relationship nuclear power plant.
We will re-etch our scents, the lines of our bodies, sounds, smells and dreams onto our hearts and minds. Trade new secrets and old, share fresh fears and battle ancient demons. All the while our hands will wonder, our nakedness will unite us and our backs will arch as we come, bathing us in glistening nectar.
In the end I will feel my soul come back to me as we lie together in the moonlight wrapped in a blanket of the woven threads of our Sunday.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
But Who Am I?
A pen name, nom de plume, or literary double, a pseudonym adopted by an author… Fantasia Lillith isn’t my real name but it is a name.
Women have for too long been led to believe that there is immense shame in feelings of erotica, of sensuality and are told to “protect” their virtue. For some reason, they are made to believe their value decreases with the “giving out” of their sexual being. Like a car that has too many miles. For shame. I prefer to see it as an athlete or musician getting better the more practice is had. *chuckle*
Perhaps my own need to find erotica that would please my feminine senses pushed me to do this, or perhaps I am just finally embracing my own femme fatal, my inner vixen.
One could even say that this was a blog started out of frustration. I wanted classy, alive and elegant writing and there is precious little out there. Go ahead and look. The vulgar dominates the genre. Whatever the reason, this is what I enjoy doing.
Note: If you are looking to preach puritanical or religious morals, are under the age of 18, or you are easily offended…. if you are searching for under age sex, cruelty, rape, bestiality or any such thing then I strongly suggest that you move on. You will not find that here nor a sympathetic ear.
Enjoy…. deep breath, smell the fragrance, taste the flavors, read the words, let me take you on a journey …. it’s positively sensual!
These are my bedtime stories for you … just a little Pillow Talk.
Copyright
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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