deepundergroundpoetry.com
Telling Stories
Telling Stories
She lies on her side, facing the middle of the bed, and as he approaches, she pulls the covers back gently, and a small pile of rope bundles are revealed, like eggs in a nest.
"If you don't mind….I need it," she opens.
He reaches over her and turns out the light on her side of the bed, and, on the way back, his palm rounds her forearm and pulls his narrowing grip along her wrist until he has it cupped and brings her over on her stomach in the darkness of the bed, now with the bundles between her legs.
One by one, hands and then ankles, with a hand or raw surface of him always against her spine or hips, and at each interchange nudging her shoulders with his face and lips, opening his mouth, and feeling her flesh, wet friction increases as he moves across her. Eventually, her limbs are all tied up, spread out; she is the "X" on his treasure map. He pulls himself onto her, covers her mouth with his hand, then pulls it down to her throat, and begins to whisper into her ear the stories of her, all of her. His hands respond to her breathing, and then, repeating, each episode of her narrative ends with one ovation after another, a series of tales that never end in a night that never goes away.
She lies on her side, facing the middle of the bed, and as he approaches, she pulls the covers back gently, and a small pile of rope bundles are revealed, like eggs in a nest.
"If you don't mind….I need it," she opens.
He reaches over her and turns out the light on her side of the bed, and, on the way back, his palm rounds her forearm and pulls his narrowing grip along her wrist until he has it cupped and brings her over on her stomach in the darkness of the bed, now with the bundles between her legs.
One by one, hands and then ankles, with a hand or raw surface of him always against her spine or hips, and at each interchange nudging her shoulders with his face and lips, opening his mouth, and feeling her flesh, wet friction increases as he moves across her. Eventually, her limbs are all tied up, spread out; she is the "X" on his treasure map. He pulls himself onto her, covers her mouth with his hand, then pulls it down to her throat, and begins to whisper into her ear the stories of her, all of her. His hands respond to her breathing, and then, repeating, each episode of her narrative ends with one ovation after another, a series of tales that never end in a night that never goes away.
Published 22nd Mar 2015
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9th Jun 2015 3:12pm
Ahhh, runningturtle87, luv ~ :-*
This is truly exquisite, sensuality incarnate, redolent with eroticism, steeped in it, exuding it.
I find myself deeply, oh-so-deeply desirous of hearing stories such as these, luv.
You are beyond skillful, subtly masterful, superbly aware... ;-*
This is truly exquisite, sensuality incarnate, redolent with eroticism, steeped in it, exuding it.
I find myself deeply, oh-so-deeply desirous of hearing stories such as these, luv.
You are beyond skillful, subtly masterful, superbly aware... ;-*
11th Jun 2015 9:59am
