Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Art to Passion

This month, Zero Boss's Blogging For Books asks us to write an original blog post about one of three topics: lying, fornicating, or going home.

I missed the entry date 'cause I'm a schmuck... but I like the topic(s), so I'll put this out here anyway. (So there!) It's my blog, I can type if I want to.


There is an art to passion.
--In letting it simmer and steep like tea leaves.
--Stirring every so often so the leaves don't stick to the pot and
turn the brew bitter.

You might begin with a look, a glimmer in the eye caught and returned. Then the faintest of touches in passing, sending shimmers of electricity along her skin. Shared laughter lilting in the breeze might nest in your soul and draw you closer. And anticipation, the best seasoning for so fine a brew. Just the faintest sense of unknowing…..yet knowing….where this will lead you.

Faint trace of fingernails on skin, ruffling the tiny hairs along your arms. Aimlessly wandering your body, no goal, no intention to their direction. At once soothing and stimulating.
You relax, muscle by muscle. The days', the weeks' tension flows out of you as the slow, constant whisper of skin on skin goes on. From that loosening of tension slowly rises a languid sense of passion. The clock slips away until finally the night is yours. It stretches endlessly before you -- your playground. You are no longer focused towards a goal, but utterly content to bathe in sensations as one flows into another: Timeless rhythms as seductive as the heartbeat of the earth.

Fingernails and fingertips: faint tracings brushing across sensitized skin. Small forgotten corners of your body weep as they are found and rejoined through touch. The tiniest crevasse in the crook of your arm joins its broader bicep cousin, flowing into the back of your arm where shoulder meets armpit and curves into side and then chest. Broad swathes take nails down your back where sides meet back, then back up along your spine. Brush softly that sweet hollow in your lower back, covered in tiny sensitive hairs to touch softly as a breath of air. Light furrows raked across pale buttocks of flesh, framing them in pale pink lines. The lightest flicker of touch along the line where buttocks meet--so vulnerable, so sensitive to a wing-like flutter. Teasing with an almost-there caress, they flinch and contract and beg for more.

Down your thigh, strong muscles outlined in moonlight and nail polish, defined in burnished passion's heat. Back of the knee, feather light, then over calves' curve to the ankle. Nails change to fingertips to hand cupping your heels, across the tender sole of foot and toes, each individualized, separated, recognized. Finger drawn between each tiny foot's finger, skin rarely recognized leaping to obey. And back up that foot, delicate bones traced quickly by soft strong hands. Ankle, calves brushed lightly along the sides as hands slide up your leg, over knee and meander across thighs taut with a different tension. Forever they climb, slowly, oh so slowly back and forth across your thigh. The sensation spreads & tingles from legs to toes to buttocks to groin, electric pulses oh so slightly slower than the touch of nails to skin.

Tension mounts, and that soft plateau where thigh meets hip meets belly pulses. Touch explodes into a fiercer rhythm, heart pulsing to its beat. I can feel its rhythm through that delicate skin.

Upwards towards its source. Tiny goose pimples of flesh greet me as I brush your belly. Soft gasps of inhaled breath fill the silent dark with sound as I tease the softest trail of hair in treasure's triangle. But those teasing, grazing hands move onwards up away from that throbbing bent of passion. Your whole body begs to be touched. Up, up, outlining ribs and feeling each quick shallow indrawn breath.

Circling round and round tiny nipples hard as pebbles on a rocky beach. They leave. They pause the space of an exhaled breath, and on that breath's last wings, they touch. Tiny ripples of fire straight from nipple tips to groin to toes, body connected in electric sting.

Mouth descends to join the dance, hot moist breath felt oh, so softly in the crook of your neck. In the silence, the parting of lips is felt as clearly as the closing of teeth lightly on your earlobe. The tiniest of moans is as audible as your heartbeat, our breath, in the stillness of this night.

My lips trace the path my fingers have flown as we move together effortlessly, touch and sensation merging in this passion's dance. Along the outlines of shoulder blades and spine, the faintest touch of tongue makes you arch your back in involuntary response. Soft lips tease your contours, pale cheeks of flesh quiver and tense as they are gently probed. And again, contours fully outlined, the crease of buttock and thigh so often forgotten is paid homage by the lightest flicker of tongue.

Soft skin trailed to the back of the knee, hot warm mouth open and sucking widely on that skin while tongue rolls across it. Down taut calves and to the foot's benediction. Each individual toe is immersed into this hot, wet mouth for a moment of blind sensation. And up, up again come lips and hands, across miles of skin begging to be caressed yet again.

I ignore passion's plateau, toying with bellybutton and taunting the tiny hairs with my chin. My hair brushes across your belly randomly, flickering onto unteased areas. Up your chest to where I began, where neck meets chest meets shoulders, earlobe getting the lightest of nips. Across your shoulders, down outstretched arms, your mind's eye follows my mouth in the dark.

Teeth graze your palm followed by tongue, then each finger is drawn deep into that mouth, surrounded by heat and tongue, teeth grazing callused tips in rough sensation. Sucking, pulling, each part of your body drawn into and through those fingers as they writhe helplessly in passion's grasp.

Back up your arms, to chest, lips toy aimlessly across it's breadth then graze nipples, tiny pebbled nipples straining t be kissed. They are immersed. Tongue toys with them as I suckle on that begging flesh. Your fingers twine in my hair as your whole body throbs in response.

And as I suckle there, teasing and tweaking nipple's peaks, my fingers inch downward, nails leaving a trail of crescent moons until they reach that soft plateau of hip and belly. They twirl there softly and I release your nipple with my mouth, only to take it up again, lightly rolling it between thumb and finger.

Mouth descends on mouth and tongues duel for love or lust. Hot wet maelstrom of kisses, mouth locked on mouth sucking and demanding surcease. Fingers curve and nails dig into that soft spot on thigh-belly. Digging deeply into that pleasure nerve, nipple explodes and mouth explodes and cock explodes into passion's grasp. I take your cries into my mouth and my body presses against yours--anchor in sensation's storm. And as that storm subsides, the still warm press of flesh on flesh melts oh, so slowly into exhausted passion's aftermath, curled in my embrace and ravished in our storm.


Blogger Nino the Mindboggler said...

MMMMmmmm... YOU get to write the next erotica entry for B4B.

Friday, May 13, 2005 10:05:00 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home