Here they were, ripe luscious globes, rapidly getting that warm pink hue with a touch of purple, boiling hot, tender to the touch, sweet, delicious, smelling of cinnamon with a whiff of vanilla.
Ahem, I was talking about making the apricot jam. I know, no good deed shall go unpunished.
Such a sweet way to start the day! Some apricots were about to go bad, so I threw them in the pot together with leftover blackberries and a heap of sugar, and voila, the jam was on the way, and my deprived imagination was taking notes, rolling the reality and the fantasy in one...
Now, get off your lazy bums and go read Never in Anger or any of my stories and comment! Pretty please with a purple blackberry on top...
I could not help myself, falling under her spell... her ripe, luscious globes were too enchanting, as I caressed and massaged them, even though they were tender to the touch and she winced, I dropped slowly to my knees before her, kissing my way down her front, between her breasts, on her navel, resting my forehead on her muff, smelling that spicy, sweet elixir, I had to taste her juices. Thick and intoxicating as apricot brandy... I could not help but lap, and lick, and love, and lament that I could not know her her whole life long, but just for the night, just for the moment!ReplyDelete
Is that a challenge, JM, is it?Delete
She slides back on the edge of the bathtub, now her naked bum, a living metaphor of a low-hanging fruit, a peach or an apricot specifically, a super magnet to his eyes and lips. Suffice to say that a drunken lounging in an empty bathtub with a bottle of a quickly diminishing whisky never paid off so well.
Drowning in a heavy scent of vanilla, probably from the body wash she used after, well, after the unfortunate events of this never-ending night, he tips the bottle again. Vanilla, no sirree, he will show Her Highness that vanilla he is not.
He leans over to the right cheek. At first, it's just a kiss, his teeth graze over the soft flesh, sucking it in to leave a mark. He licks the sting away. His hands push her hips down to hold her in one spot. The encouraging moans she makes, and the way she slow rolls her hips despite his tight grip. He lounges into the same spot, now biting into it harder, holding onto it, waiting for her to move away, out of his reach, but she doesn't. She wiggles and moans and squirms but doesn’t try to move away. He lets it go and moves to the next spot, then the next one, and one more, closer and closer to her pinkhole.
It was not intended as a challenge, SIM. I would not take-on the fastest gun in the West! I know my abilities, my limitations. I was just drunk with how you set the scene, had to, HAD TO chime-in. And I love what you wrote in rebuttal!ReplyDelete
LOL JM, I meant it as a joke. Chime in any time, I'm glad that my posts inspire you the same as yours inspire me. Did you really mean it, "the fastest gun in the West"? Me? *blushingDelete
Yes, I meant the compliment, but the analogy is not totally encapsulating. You are the most accurate shot around today, not just a quick draw. I am a journeyman (person), someone exercising their craft, hoping to get better at it over time.ReplyDelete
"the most accurate shot around today"? JM, I'm speechless, truly. I was trying to come back with some smart aleck comment, but alas, not this time. Thank you!ReplyDelete