I was lucky enough to find BA d’Catt’s College report. It makes for good reading…..
Professor E Rotica
123-456-7890 firstname.lastname@example.org 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Professor Rotica MC, DJ, BDSM, LGBTIQ, EBGB, D Phil(anderer),
Norty Nell is in search of new employment. I have written her a helpful reference…
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
4567. 7th Heaven, Erotica, (123) 456-7890
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
And I’m gone.
©The DeviantWriters 2017