The Next Step

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Would a gentle touch
Be too much? 
An ask a step too far?
Or a soft kiss
Upon your lips-
Would that seem bizarre?
 
Or would it start
A beating heart, 
The stirrings of desire
If it tastes sweet
When our lips meet-
The kindling of a fire?
 
With stretch and sighs,
Would you close your eyes
While my lips brush your soft skin?
Or with languid charm,
Would you wrap an arm
Around me, pull me in?
 
And if my hand
Were then to land
And start to stroke your knee
Would you pull away
To my dismay
Or roll close up to me?
 
Would you resist –
Or perhaps assist –
My quest to reach your breast?
To loosen your shirt,
Then your skirt
Leave me to do the rest?
 
Would it be intense,
Would you like the sense
Of your breast by my hand caressed?
Would your body ripple,
When I touch your nipple
My lips to yours hard pressed.
 
If my lips leave
And begin to weave
Lush trails across your skin,
Would you be thrilled
By passion instilled
Or consider it a sin?
 
Nipple ‘tween lips,
Sucks and sips,
Hands gently stroke your sides.
Rhythmic sighs
With the fall and rise
Of hips and a hand that guides.
 
Would you complain
If I moved again,
Traced my tongue down to your waist
Then tickle and tease,
Gently ease
Your clothes away, displaced.
 
Would you beg,
If I caressed your leg,
It’s contours from thigh to toe,
Softly paced
On veins so laced,
Delicious pace so slow.
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And if I rise
Between your thighs
To trace the source of heat
Would you open and spread
Upon the bed
Or on my back rest your feet?
As I probe and lick
And taste and flick
Part soft lips with a swirl
Would I feel the brush,
Then languid crush
In my hair of your fingers’ curl?
Would my adoration
And agitation 
Of your pussy and your clit
Amuse, confuse,
Bemuse, diffuse
Passions as you submit?
 
Would you writhe
Your body lithe,
Push pussy to my lips?
Hips rise and heave
To achieve
Sensual eclipse.
 
Would a rising tide
Make you guide
My body over yours
Lips to lips
And hips to hips
Sweat bursting from our pores.
 
Perhaps you might
Clutch me tight
And roll me on my back –
A change of role,
you’re in control
It’s time for some payback.
 
Would I feel a draught
Upon my shaft
As your mouth envelopes tight
And the fickle trickle
Of your tongues tickle
It’s touch both hard and light.
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Then it’s time,
Moment sublime
Understanding yet unspoken
Your legs spread wide
And in I slide
In motion quite unbroken.
 
Could I prove
As I move
Intensity of urge? 
Total immersion,
Deep submersion
Withdrawal and then the surge.
 
Would you cry out loud
As you shroud
My body with each limb
So I feel
Hand and heel
The clutch, caress and skim.
 
And would our motion
Be the potion
To cause my gush and spill
To spurt and drench,
While you clench
And I empty as you fill?
 
Would a gentle touch
Be too much
Something to be debated?
Or shall we go
With the flow, 
Realise the anticipated.
©DeviantWriters 2017
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College Repo

I was lucky enough to find BA d’Catt’s College report. It makes for good reading…..

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Professor E Rotica

123-456-7890      education@sex.come       4567, 7th Heaven, Erotica, 2468

 

 

 

24 October 2017

To Whom it May Concern

Ms BA d’Catt

It has been my exquisite pleasure to have taught Ms d’Catt over the last few years. It is safe to say we have both enjoyed and benefitted from a consummated learning curve in Physical Studies which has involved, at various times, literature, weaponry, food, massage, knot-tying, and wine appreciation.

She has taught me as much as I have taught her, if not more, about the correct approach to practical assignments and how to use all assets to achieve the desired outcome. Personally, I particularly enjoyed her expressions of delight when she came to climactic appreciation;  these were times I felt fit to burst – and did.

Nor was she tongue-tied in class. I welcomed her approach to the hard issues and the way she could cajole all the elements to her will, firming the more elusive, looser components, while strengthening the fundamental component to realise and then exceed its potentiality.

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In food class, it was a delight to sample, during various practicals, fruit, cream, honey and chocolate presented in novel arrangements. I do worry about her propensity for whipped cream, but her use of ice cubes blew not just my mind.

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In weaponry she was mistress of the whip, working out well exactly where to strike for maximum effect. I believe she appreciated the unit on knives, volunteering to test sharpness of the blade by sacrificing a particularly alluring floral dress. She was competent in swordplay, too, deftly leaving an item of attire on my hilt.

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Knot tying was one of her weaker areas of study: although frequently subjecting herself to the demonstrator, she did not fully grasp the techniques required to restrain her subject so as to inflict maximum pleasure on him.img_8531

On the massage table, however, she proved herself quite capable of both receiving and giving the finest attention to detail. She judged well how to control her subject, mastering the art of both digital and lingual persuasion. It was especially a pleasure for me to  demonstrate these arts upon her, a process which brought her to ecstatic euphoria upon realising her potential several times in one practical.

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In literature she  thrived, especially after wine appreciation classes. Her grasp of both subjects was second only to that applied in our physical exertion studies. She approached the wine classes, in particular, with great enthusiasm, her efforts occasionally draining her of energy for hours after the studies. I appreciated her readiness to criticise honestly literature in both grammar and context.

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As a partner in education classes I have no hesitation in awarding her a High Stinky and feel certain she has the ability to exceed her potential in her chosen field – provided she is on a comfortable blanket and there are no thorns.20150510_212813000_ios

Sincerely yours,

Professor Rotica  MC, DJ, BDSM, LGBTIQ, EBGB, D Phil(anderer),

A Reference

Norty Nell is in search of new employment. I have written her a helpful reference…

 

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24 October 2017

To Whom It May Concern

I have known  Ms N Nell for a number of years during which time she has proved herself invaluable to my organ. She usually turns up on time and, when she does not, she has excuses which  amuse us and the other staff here: Ursula, The Twins, The Brothers and MrC

She has a great sense of humour – dirty too – and provides great uplift for all here at the organ. She is studious, being able to source the best erotic humour and cartoons with which to entertain us. She is also resourceful, generating innovative ideas  for both our written projects, collaborations and  dress-up days. She has stiffened my resolve on more occasions than I can count, and I believe she has enjoyed my special flow charts.

I have consistently admired her willingness to be tied to the office – and bed – and to try out new approaches and suggestions. With the exception of the Surprise Coconut project, these have been mutually both successful and rewarding.

She is efficient, her organisational skills in providing nibbles and succour  rarely faltering in appropriateness of timing and action: indeed, without her exquisite attention to detail with her nibbles and the total  dedication to her sucking, Mr C and Brothers would have gone bust, rather than burst, long ago.

My dealings in projects with Ms Nell, Ursula and The Twins (to whom she is very attached) have always been most pleasurable in both execution and result. Indeed the results  have always been climactic – usually repeatedly.

I have always enjoyed her appreciation of my efforts to keep her satisfied and sated: from light kisses to her neck, to deep kissing, brushing of breasts, tongue-tickling nipples, caressing her clitoris and, of course bringing her to orgasm through cunnilingus before  teasing and meaningful intercourse.

I cannot praise her highly enough, only hoping that my efforts at lip service, massages, titillation, arousal and long, deep, delicious copulation give her as much reward as they have myself

Sincerely yours,

Mr C

4567. 7th Heaven, Erotica,   (123) 456-7890

 

©DeviantWriters 2017

Ravish

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Ravish ravish
Upon you lavish
Stroke of sensuous tongue
Let my finger
Across you linger
Orchestrating songs unsung.
 
From between your thighs
My mouth shall rise
Away from your sweet lips
Holding me in thrall
With the rise and fall
And rocking of your hips
 
And now I crest
The curve of breast
And kiss up to your chin
Your arms hold
And legs unfold
To guide and bring me in
 
The probe, the feel
As lips unpeel
The smooth and sensuous slide
The rapturous gasps
Breath which rasps
As I sink home deep inside
 
Slow, slow
Ripple and flow,
Succulent and lush,
Moves combined
Limbs entwined
Heavenly sensuous crush
 
Hip on hip
Heels which grip,
Hands gloss tingling skin
Desperate cry
Pleasured sigh
Stirrings deep within
 
Sweat and slick
Movements quick
Intensity increase
A rising tide
Deep Inside
Imminent release
 
You start to writhe
Your body lithe
Clench my length with vigour
Pleasure and pain
I try in vain 
To overcome the trigger
 
A surge and rush
A burst and gush
Inside I pulse and pour 
As we roll in motion
Like the ocean
Crashes on the shore.
 
And at last
All is past
The falling of the tide
Sighs and moans
Cries and groans
And beating hearts subside
.
Soft kiss
Glowing bliss
Sensuous, enchanted.
Satisfied,
Deep inside
A part of me implanted.
 
So if my finger
Starts to linger
Don’t stop what we start
Let me lavish
Let me ravish
And my seed to you impart.
©DeviantWriters 2017

Warm


Warmed away from sand and wind

Close beneath the covers

Contrast to the brisk and stark, 

The intimacy of lovers. 

 
Skin on skin, touch and feel,

Tender caress and kiss

The trickle of a passion rising

The sighs of tingling bliss. 

Lips which glide from mouth to breast 

To kiss and nip and thrill, 

The hands which guide and wrap and pull

Our bodies closer still. 

Mouths which hungrily hunt their way

To arouse and stir and please

With probing tongue which flicks and licks

To stimulate and tease. 

I feel you come and hear the moan

As my tongue your clit does brush

I feel the rise, the stretch and shake

The overwhelming rush. 

Mouth takes me deep in delicious heat

Tongue along my length travels

My pleasured cries, my hips which rise,

Self control unravels. 

A pause, a sigh, you rise up high,

Leg over, sit astride.

In firm clasp, my length you grasp 

Into your moist depths you guide. 

Up and down, back and forth

Erotic, sensual grind

Lips pressed to your breast 

Burgeoned shaft confined. 

Clench and squeeze with delicious ease

Overpowering every sense.

A shake, a shiver, a subtle quiver 

A build up so intense. 

A tide does rise up my thighs

A welling soon to gush

Gasping urgent, passions resurgent

Overwhelm us in a rush. 

Then the cause of the pause

And shuddering elation

As our rapture starts to fracture

In pumping exaltation. 

I strive to drive to furthest reach

To cum so full, so deep

To pour more and more into your core

My precious gift to keep  

Deep inside the spurts subside

Throbs now sparse, diminished

Til we sink low in the afterglow

Replete, sated, finished. 

© DeviantWriters 2017.

Reunion

I’m still unsure how I arrived there. It had been so long since… That.

Taken me so long to sort myself out.

So much casting, looking, searching.

Hunting.

And I had found her through the satin night, street lights glinting, teasing in ordered chaos across the city below an indigo night. Over the ocean the air was damp and cosseting, white specks of startled foam twisting in the dark surge of sea below, delicate stars slopped so carelessly across the vault of sky above.

And I had come across those foreign miles because she had called me. I was sure she had called me. Certain. Other wise how could I have found her?

Over the harbour with its little boats strapped together awaiting their next foray. In the yellow pool of a street light I glimpsed a cat licking an extended leg, pausing to look up and follow my sweep high over the shore.

Out to sea a little way, I curled along the sandy gleam of the bay, saw the solitary glow of the little beach bar, a couple silhouetted against garish light, wrapped in conversation,  an orderly bar tender bored.

I curve inland, follow contours of dunes, then hill. And there she is.

Looking for me, I know it.

The window is open to let me in with the polished night to envelope her.

To hold her.

She’s looking out over street lights, swelling nightscape and washing sea, but she hasn’t yet seen me although I’m here.

In front of her.

Right in front of her.

She can see me, I know it.

It’s why she’s smiling.

That soft, lost smile, lips almost imperceptibly widening in recognition, eyes bright in sorrowed welcome.

I’m here. I’m here. I’ve found you.

At last.

My kiss is indefinite, contingent upon her response.

Soft. Tender. At the corner of her mouth.

I pull back, hands on her shoulders, searching, searching in the laughter of her eyes. 

But there’s a shift, a shiver. A change.  A gleam withers in her eyes. Her downward glance, fingertips brushing my kiss, caressing.

She’s turning from me, arms crossed. Hands brushing where mine had held her shoulders.20150512_213713000_iOS

I stayed with her that night.

I wish I had not.

I watched over her, guarding her.

I watched the curtains drift, stirred by breezes which chilled her into tugging up cotton sheets. I watched the dark fragility of her hair on the pillow, the feline flow of limbs in the mild night, the careless glance to the window.

And I saw him come in, the swift undress and the glint of naked buttock. The smile and peel of sheets, the welcoming arms. I saw the kisses, the morph from swift and spry to luscious crush.

The skim and stroke of tender hands, the roll and writhe of muscle and skin.

I saw the lift and rise of feeble cloth, the glow of breasts bared to searching mouth, neat nipples  defining the peaks, overshadowed and enveloped.  And I watched sheets pulled back by insistent hand to reveal, for an instant the stretch, the long, the lean, the gloss and gleam of liquid limbs and curves; the supple surrender to eager mouth and touch.

In the light of night movements were slow and smooth: a hand reached to shadowed depths to grip and stir with soft sleek strokes; to prime the rigid length and cluster.  His hand on her hip; glide to inner thighs spread, offering the soft and sweet to gentle anticipation.

I saw the roll, the twist and wind, the unwinding then the wrap. A looming of broad-shouldered brawn and lust clouding over and covering diffuse pale fragility unfurling, unfolding limb and sinew.

There is no sound. There is never any sound in my world now.

I am now conditioned to reading the shift of tones, of colours. Of moods.

You can call me but I cannot hear, yet you can draw me to you through the ether.

And so I see the the rise then fall of  soft-blanched buttock, the search and pause, the deep drive into her dilation. I sense the easy release of the moon washed merge. The legs which rise to wrap around his waist, the hands which brush broad shoulders – the perfect, welcomed consummation.

And I know I should want to cry – to shout aloud that I am here, that it is my mouth your lips should now be leaving to gasp closed-eyed by my ear and whisper. It is my mouth which should be brushing your neck, my arm under you pulling your breasts to me, my veined throb and hot pulse which you should be  absorbing, delighting in the slide and plunge.

Me you should be loving.

But I cannot cry any more – no yell, no tears – it all went with That, didn’t it?

And now it’s over.

The writhe and roll ended in a swelling, clutching billow and gush from which she uncoils and loosens, spilling him from her to lie sprawled upon his back. Dark chest, ashen band at hips and groin and the darker mat in which I know his dripping limpness lolls.

And her… she turns from him, pulls out tight the furrows of the sheet.20150831_202933000_iOS

At the window now I turn. She is looking at me again. I know she sees me now.

I glide to her, kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips like I used to. Brush a lone damp hair from her cheek.

  • I’m with you,  I say. I’ll always be with you.

And I watch the delicate finger brush where I just brushed: sweep her forehead, graze her nose, rest on her lips.

A tear. A solitary tear wells and bursts, runs glittering down and away.

She smiles at me.

At me.

At. Me.

She knows I’m here.

But hands snake round to pull her tight, his mouth distracts her with kissed-cheek words I cannot hear and she slow-blinks, slow-smiles .

  • I’m fine. She is saying. It’s just the wind blowing through.

But it’s not.

It’s me.

And I’m gone.

©The DeviantWriters 2017

The Sweet Spot

You asked me if you had a sweet spot.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Everybody has a sweet spot.’20150916_222826000_iOS
‘Oh?’ you pretended to be puzzled. Mischievous. ‘Where is mine?’
Well… a short answer is your skin. But more –  it’s just the start of the steady, domino progression which begins at your neck, particularly just below your ears: that seems to start you purring …
Breasts and nipples…maybe I don’t pay enough attention to them…I feel you enjoy the 20150624_223741000_iOSbrush of tongue on crinkling nipples, the caress of lip and hand on your breast. But by the time I pay attention to your breasts sweep hands down sides, smooth the already smooth belly, other places are already calling…
Ah!! Your pussy: is that the sweet spot? I think you like the approach and journey as much as the tenderness lavished upon your clit.
I think you love the broad weight of a hand curling around your mons, fingers trailing over the softness of your lips, the hint of imminent ingress of finger, the promise of what’s to come.
I think you love the kiss and nip around the edges, a cheek brushing the swelling fragility; the first approach – hot breath then cool tongue tip. The gentle brush between the lips, testing their readiness to part.20151121_233005000_iOS
I think you love the feel of the soft tingle, the parting which allows my tongue access to the smoothness and folds directing me to your clit. I think your pussy starts wanting to be possessed by more than the flicker of tongue.
I think you love the roughness of my tongue upon meeting your shy clit; how I tease it first by drawing tickling circles around it, then by applying long flat sweeps over it.
I think you love it when my lips clasp and gently pull it free from its retreat, allowing it to fall back only by passing through lips as reluctant to let go as parting lovers.
I think you love the rhythm and pulse of urgency as we each respond to the other’s heightening urge and desire: the first gentle rise and fall of your hips stirs me; the glossy passage of your pussy along my tongue drives a chin-drenched passion in me to  lick and tease to a frenzy.
I think you love that. And the  welling slick, the unfolding, the unfurled billow which yearns for more.20150903_224945000_iOS
I think you love that moment when I enter you: the hard, firm, bluntness. The easy slide and spread, the thickening and enlarging, the deep travel and the brush of tight, wrinkled sack with its tight, poised balls against your the plush of soft-parted lips.
Or the hard arrest of the plunge by hard bone on innervated clit.
I think you love the motion and rhythm, the mass and muscle bearing down on you, spreading your thighs around rolling waist and hips. The forced dilemma: to wrap  your legs around to urge – to pull – me in with your heels, or to place feet on bed to push against me to take me in deeper, deeper.
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I think you love to feel the shift and ripple along my back, the heave of sinew and clench of muscle, the rounding and tightening of driving buttocks. The mix and mingle, the convergence. The meld.
And I think you love the final breathy, searing crash which stiffens and cramps. The momentary pause before  pulsing, crashing spasms wrack us both.
And I think you love the throb inside, the knowledge that I have immersed in you more than unyielding muscle; that I have  rushed, gushed, flared and flooded, driven and striven to pour into you all that I can, as deep as I can, as much as I can.
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And I think you love that you have caused this in me.
So when you ask me if you have a sweet spot, I cannot answer easily.  It is all of you and parts of you, each a shivering anticipation of the next.
But if I have to give a single answer it would be your pussy…every thrill, throb and tingle leads to your pussy; the delicate sensual approach, awareness of its transformations, its needs.
©DeviantWriters2017