Her tits hung ripe like melons on the pregnant dew laden vine.Rog's roughhewn digits pressed into her warm swollen flesh, the temporal imprints of his desires roue.
She sighed.
He sighed.
"I thought you locked the door?"
"Nope, thought you did."
"Frail."
"Lock the door first."
Yul pressed her soft chest into the whin of Rog's broad sweep,
his arms pulling her mams of female production flat as if caught in the vice of his wicked intent.
Yul closed her eyes
and tilted her head back and to the right,
Starlight catching the silver highlights in her hair
and the long simmering drool at the corner of her lips.
His hands plied the small of her back as baker's hands to warm dough
And as if he kneaded supplication, Yul's lips parted in release of harbored stress
Her tongue on lip firm as shoulders narrow fell slack under the spell of seduction rendered
In the breeze of thoughts moving as the winds of autumn.
Slowly, as inevitable as dawn to noon, he kissed her inviting skin
and upon his tongue imbued the scent of submission.
Yul opened her eyes into the bright darkness of his smoldering masculine reflection
and smiled with vision of warm waves to come
Washing the pain and stain from heart and soul, of mind and body.
Her nipples ached from chest to crotch
as if one were but an extension of other
as her knees resisted the call of gravity.
Taking her willing hands
Rog slipped the ceramic leather cuffs over her wrists
and as surely as moon winks at tide
Yul gave forth resistance futile
a device of feminine cunning
in the art of warm breath exchanged.
Rog pulled the cord tight and high
Secured as slave to master, as calf to hired help.
Her long arms reached to bed and post as supplicant to lord
and upon the alter of bedding impetuous
and sheets white
Lay skin moving of nature, not volition.
Eyes opened in the wetness of lustful tears
and as the stars blinked in silent witness to wonder of loin
where curve held curve
as surely as trembling hands in winter sun.
A Reading: Ripe
13 comments:
I really wish I had the time just now, for this one demands it if I am even to attempt to tell you just what a thoroughly engaging chapter this is. You are a master of words.
Sweet dreams, Poppet, can't wait to get back home and read this again. :-)
Blame Yul, that little seductress. :-D
She certainly is that, :-D, looks like Rog wasn't able to walk past a second time. This was most certainly just as good on the third read. :-)
I love how it is flavoured after of a type literature that one doesn't often see anymore, with the odd assertion within that this is anything but. It is in some ways a contradiction and yet the language works to create a blend of then and now. By those terms, a titillating liaison full of imagery of the strong and forceful male and the largely gentle, malleable female, quite contrary to what we know of the two of them, which is a great part of its charm. Between the winks of the moon and the scent of submission, there are tits.
It appeals too for regardless of the equality that may exist at every other point of the day, there is something intoxicating and erotic about obscuring the lines of power and subservience in the bedroom. This time it is Rog in the role of master, but we know very well that Yul is quite capable in the mistress department. :-) I'm off my intended subject for what I really wanted to highlight on this second visit is the writing. At first, I thought I might mention the parts that I favoured most, but there is not one sentence in this chapter that does not make me want to highlight it for one reason or another, mostly to marvel at the sheer eloquence. This chapter flaunts almost line per line how adept you are at using the minimum amount of words to create the maximum ripple of understanding. I've always had a soft spot of the theatrical when it comes to writing and your metaphors nudge that way, at least some of the time, wonderfully imaginative all of the time. Going back to the nostalgic feel for a moment, the regular mentions of the meteorological, of bakers, masters, hired help, the way in which you work your way through almost every body part (below hips aside) made me think of some of the more renowned sonnets. Laugh if you will. :-) But as said, the reason why it is so easy to make those comparisons given this is Rog and Yul is because of the unforgettable cuffs and frail and nope and tits.
I'm still so tempted to actually enthuse over almost every sentence, but instead I shall mention one or two that were to me especially noteworthy. I just loved the part that writes; he kissed her inviting skin
and upon his tongue imbued the scent of submission and the part about warm waves...washing the pain and stain from heart and soul, of mind and body. Lustful tears deserves a mention also. As does the thought of starlight catching the silver in her hair. The single but infinitely weighty word alter. And before I forget, bless you for using the word smouldering which has darn near become stigmatized as inadmissible, though nothing quite says smouldering like smouldering. :-D
Thoroughly delightful chapter, is so incredibly nice to see Rog and Yul engaging in something other than tense and painful conversation.
Hi Trée, how's it going? I haven't been blogging for soooooo long, but I had to stop by just to say hello. I see that your fractals still rock ;), and after reading just a few lines of the story...well, ditto.
Stay well, my friend.
Wow!
all perfect.. except the word tits in the beginning. It sounds pathetic in such richness of wild imagery! It is a beautiful imagery. Surely you are the master of wordplay!
The moon winking at tide...& the tide straining out its arms for the moon out of reach...
Mona, I suppose I could have used "creamy amplitude" or "cisterns of maternal nourishment" or perhaps "the twin curves of eyes pulled asunder" but "tits" just seemed to be the thing on my mind at the time. I just wanted to say "tits." :-D
As always, thanks for the very kind words. :-)
Deb, so good to see you again. I was afraid you had hung up your blogging spurs. :-)
Thanks for the very warm words. Always appreciated. :-)
Sweetest, I almost didn't use "smoldering" for the very reasons you suggest. I looked at other choices and then I said the hell with it and used the word that said what I felt Yul saw in Rog's eyes. Maybe there is another word that would paint the picture better, I just couldn't think of it. :-)
As for the rest, well, as you know, this exchange was not a chapter to be, but just a playful interchange between pillow and coffee, between morning eyes and bedroom eyes, between hearts apart beating as one to the sway of words back lit with imagination. In other words, once again, without you, this chapter doesn't exist. And you can't argue with me either, because you know it's true, you know how this sonnet was penned. ;-)
Much love to you,
Your Dear Poppet :-)
That's such a nice thought for me. :-)
And like I said, nothing says smouldering like smouldering, nothing else would quite suffice to say the same.
Much love back attcha, Poppet, x
Wow Tree... simply wow. I haven't been here for a while and I find this gem!
Thank you Chicky. :-)
Well, shiver me timbers (international talk like a pirate day I'm told), though no real surprise here, a rich reading of a great piece of writing, very, very nicely done. Must say, there were parts when I was listening extra hard, hoping to capture an extra thrill to the one already created by the black and white, and I was not disappointed. :-D Excellent reading!
My dear sweetest one, I would do this reading ten times ten thousand times if I thought that is what it took to make you smile. Thank you my diva. You were always the one. ;-)
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