Bubble

Pop Pending. by amie-faerie via DeviantArt.com

Waiting is a game best left to the protagonists. They are methodical in their introspection, which of course is fascinating. But only in small doses for those in the world stripped of will and purpose.

The good guys can tolerate the doldrums of time wasted. For the rest of us, the ambling majority, the true posture of patience is pretty much impossible.

But give us something sweet to suck on while we wait, and that is a whole different story.

I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last. It started with a ride on a bus. I sat two rows behind them, sweating and cursing under my breath when the bus overheated one Wednesday in August.

Her laugh gave me something to absorb besides the sweltering heat. I was drawn in by her luscious disregard for her surroundings, and I listened as he told a story about punching a brute at the top of a hill, one summer day just like that one, then watching him stumble down the rocky face, crying for his mommy.

I could almost hear the little bully’s wails in between her giggles and sighs.

And that first drink led me to follow them off the bus. All the way to her home.

He kissed her against an elm tree growing thick and full next to her front steps. The branches cradled their shoulders, hiding their lips from view. But I watched from a tree away as her leg wrapped around his, drawing him closer and closer until there was nothing between them but heat.

Guilt and embarrassment took me right past them at a pace that left me breathless when I turned the corner.

But weeks, then months passed, and I found myself there. Again and again. Waiting for another sip, another taste. One more glimpse of someone else’s delicious world.

I stood at the gate to the tiny alley that ran beside her building, the angry bite of late autumn making my cheeks and fingers red and raw, and I watched. He scraped a thick layer of frost from her windshield while she teetered on the stoop, sucking on one of those horrid skinny cigarettes and touching her bare throat.

She never dressed appropriately for the weather. But I suppose some people just carry too much heat inside their beautiful bodies to be bothered by the chill in the air.

They did this often, and despite my every attempt to give up this deplorable addiction, I continued to ogle them nearly every morning. My alarm went off at 5 and I was perched in my spot at the edge of the alley by 6:20.

Unless I’d fallen asleep in her back garden.

He would finish with the scraper and slide it into his back pocket. She’d toss her filter in the street. He’d bend to pluck it out of the gutter, shaking his index finger at her until she stepped off the curb and stuck her tongue out at him. Giggling. Cheeks rosy from more than just the temperature.

She was as predictable as ever. But not him.

He shook his head this time and stooped down so that his eyes were level with hers. He whispered to her, I could never hear what he said, even as the depth of his voice rumbled through my belly, but she cupped her hands in front of her and lowered her eyes. So obedient.

His gaze skimmed the street, forcing me back into the shadow of the alley, as he slipped the butt into her palms, drawing them together and lifting them into the air above her lowered head.

Like a magician’s assistant in a turn-of-the-century sideshow, holding up an invisible apple for the blade or bullets first strike. Trembling with something I felt in the pit of my own belly.

I imagined what he might be saying into her ear. “Don’t drop it again, little girl.” I didn’t need to see his face. It was branded into the backs of my eyelids. I could never be free from it.

His long, slender fingers played in her hair while he slipped his other hand beneath the hem of her skirt.

I’d never seen her protest, but there was a first time for everything. She whimpered and said something that brought his eyes back to hers, as his fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head up to meet his glare.

My own thighs trembled and I used every ounce of my willpower to hold back a groan.

I knew it was wrong, this sick fascination with him. And her. I’m not insane, after all. Just a lonely voyeur with too much time on my hands.

But I had gotten more brazen, watching their windows and sitting on her back stoop to listen to them make love as I touched myself in the dark. I could envision the actions that went with each sound, I could imagine his expression in the amber light they always left on, as his fingers squeezed the sides of her throat and his body pressed against, inside, and around her.

I could even feel his fingers just then, as I watched them in this stolen moment, half a dozen yards in front of me.

He bent forward and kissed her on the cheek as he pulled her arms down and plucked the cigarette from her palm.

The look on her face made me whimper.

“Have a good morning, Lil. Don’t be late for work.”

He always was so fucking frustrating with his exit.

She saw me that morning. I’m sure she had a thousand times, but that day, she locked eyes with me. And I felt something inside me break.

I tried to turn and go, but I was frozen. Locked in the gaze of this woman I wanted to be. Coveting everything about her, down to the smooth, olive skin she got to live inside of. She stared at me long enough that I thought she might scream, or call to him. But she only stood there.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him turn back to her after saying goodbye. His exit was final, always. But this time he turned, walked back to her, and dropped his forehead to hers. And I heard him as if his head was bent to my own.

“I need you.”

Her eyes found mine again as that tiny, mischievous smile played on her lips. She slipped her fingers into his beard, kissed him in a performance worthy of an ‘R’ rating, then broke away breathless.

“Let’s call in sick.”

And from that day on, that wicked woman became my dealer in a drug that I’m not sure I’ll ever be strong enough to kick.

I’d never hurt either of them. After all, if they were gone, what would I wish for?

Nothing is quite as colorful and vibrant and real as someone else’s bubble. Even if you have everything you could ever want, there’s someone, somewhere, with more.

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instructions

awake before dawn
searching for the list
her bullet point set of
instructions
the day cannot
begin
without that list
from him

scrolling through
reading each point
with her lips
not simply her mind
the weight of life
it’s thousand and one
responsibilities
suddenly
pared down into
the manageable mass
of a simple
sheet of paper
a recipe
for a perfect day

years of failed attempts
on memo pads
and fancy notebooks
all intended to simplify
but each
laughing, mocking, humiliating
her
between the lines of
failure and defeat

but with his
authority
a gift she had eagerly
bestowed
these lists created by
him
fill each moment with
a chance
to please
an assignment
to ace
an opportunity
to succeed

she smiles at #8
and reads them
again
then again
filled with the pleasure
of accepting
his will
and surrendering
her own
submitting to the
complete
control
and squirming beneath
the ache of it
obedience is as much
a drug
as power is

and she folds the list
deftly
slipping it sweetly
into her bra
and moves around her
morning
with the sweet kiss
and firm smack
of being loved
properly
by the only person
who’s ever truly
understood

then reciting #1

it’s always
number
one

remember that you are
beautiful
and that
you
are
mine

 

 

No Wait

Wait by jeylina via DeviantArt.com
Wait by jeylina via DeviantArt.com

 

A breath, a moment, the turn of a page

That is the longest you should ever

Have to wait

There is no spell to be broken

No seduction necessary

I am yours

Seconds, minutes, hours

Sewn together into pillows

And whisper soft curtains

Tied off with satin bows

Beneath bright, shining strings

Of dreams

And plans

Glowing with such intensity that

Your fingertips burn

From the longing

Trace the stars into my skin

Kiss that promise

Against my flesh

Mark my body with your will

Your want, your need

Feel me falling over and over and over…

Because Love doesn’t wait

I am yours

In The Story where

I can write only with

My lips, tongue and hunger

I don’t have time for anything else

Just take me

In the sun, on Your bed, in this palace

Of a king…

With the conviction of your purpose

The knowledge that tomorrow

Always comes

And the patience to accept me as I am

Tell me, show me, command me

I am yours

No wait

The Dress

Taffeta folds and layers
Fall to the floor
Peppered with shining
Beads of glass
And crystal
Altered and tailored
To hug my curves
Cradle my shape
Perfectly
In that perfection
I feel the ease
Of being yours
Soft
Full
Sexy woman
But also
Just a sweet
Little girl
Playing dress up
Making memories
From hearts and flowers
Spinning
Twirling
The dance floor is
My playground
And I am magical
In your eyes
In my sparkling
Gossamer wings
As you pull me close and
The music
Your arms
The atmosphere
And love
Envelopes me
I feel the breath of life
In the whisper
Of your want
Against my mane
Of full, fiery hair
And the abandon
Of surrender
As you
Tell me your plans
For that dress
It’s your playground
After all
Beneath
My feminine armor
Tell me
What you plan to do
To me
Now that you’ve freed me
By clipping
My wings

Adrift

image
Sunrise... by zootnik via DeviantArt.com

Floating
Upon the breath
You gave me.
I beg the moon
To ask the sun…
Please
Give me this
New day.
The clock behind me
Sped too quickly,
Time before me
Ticking away
So, so slowly.
Let me drift
On the ocean
Of desire
Between us.
Let its waves
Lift me
To the peak
Of your avidity,
Before plummeting
Into the depths
Of my own voracity.
Let it lap away
At my insecurity
Until I swim
Freely in its
Decadence.
Let it destroy
The anchors
Of our inhibitions.
And allow me
To submit
To this journey.
Set me
Adrift
Toward the shores
Of your choosing.
Soon enough
This ocean
Won’t seem
So unending.
For now
I am floating
Upon the edge
Of the sunrise.
Waiting
For it to carry
You
Back to me.

Our song

image
http://www.deviantart.com/art/music-sex-165469798

My broken breaths meet your warm, hungry tongue, while your fingers compose a sensual song on my skin.

My body is not my own, but I turn away, and you’re response is swift and determined.

Your hand on my throat, a growl inside yours, your body is now the conductor of our song.

Lost in sighs, the crescendo builds, my music vibrating against yours in perfect disharmony.

My heart races as our flesh mingles and my pleasure is taken by your melodic force.

My back arches to receive even more of you, as you pound out each luxurious note.

My breasts heave against the beat and you work to wrangle and coerce them.

My lips tremble and seek direction by yours, which deny me, but employ your teeth for the job.

My thighs part and hips rise, as your tempo stretches my patience and will.

My voice joins the chorus in whispered pleas and whimpered defeat when you deny the refrain with your own lyric.

You play your symphony across my skin and deep inside my favourite instrument until I’m sure the song will destroy me.

And just then, the perfect melody explodes between us under your skillful mastery.

Oh play me, my love, your own, delicious creation, play me over and over and over.

Until you tire of our song, which you promise is unlikely, because I am the sweetest music you have ever heard.

His and hers

It’s a lazy afternoon, when she lies down on the sofa and puts her head in my lap. Looking up at me, she asks me to touch her, with those enchanting eyes and that sweet, lopsided smile. I grin down at her and stroke through her long, messy hair. I know she wants more, but that is all she gets for now.

In a little while, I will tell her to pull up her skirt, so that I can see what’s mine.

I will make her wait some more, because I know she’ll get wet thinking about what might come next.

She might ask me to touch her, and I’ll take her over my knee.
She might ask me to kiss her, and I’ll flip her around and devour her dripping slit violently.
She might beg me for anything, and I’ll lift her head and feed her my raging cock.

If she’s a good girl though, and she waits patiently, I’ll give her everything she could ever hope for. I’ll give all that I want and so much more. I’ll give her hours of mindless pleasure and bend her to my will.

I might pull up her silky shirt, exposing her overflowing lace.
I might stroke inside the cups, and pull her soft, full breasts free from their cage.
I might swirl my thumb over her hard, pink points, before pinching and pulling until she whimpers.
I might turn her and part her creamy thighs, so I can lean between them and feast on those heavenly orbs.
I might bite and suck on every inch of them, marking them as mine so she never forgets.
I might work my way down her belly and over her bunched up skirt until my nose finds her pretty panties, damp from her liquid desire.
I might inhale her decadent musk and growl my appreciation right against her swollen lips.
I might snake a finger inside those panties, to feel my pussy and the heat that I create.
I might tease her, tenderly, for a while, until I can no longer wait to taste her.

If she’s a good girl, and doesn’t try to pressure me, direct me or coerce me, I’ll give her more than she can imagine. I’ll strip off her clothes, clear her mind completely, and take her pleasure as my own.

She might wriggle and writhe, but I’ll be able to tell that she’s working to control those hips.
She might run her fingers through my hair and beard, but I’ll know that she only wishes to touch me.
She might moan and whine, but I won’t tell her to be silent because I love the way she sounds.

If she’s a good girl, and asks for permission, I’ll hold her climax at first. I’ll tell her not to cum until I know she can no longer contain it. Then I’ll rip orgasms from her repeatedly until she begs me stop. But I’ll still take a few more.

I might bathe her with my tongue until her little button is engorged beyond it’s hiding place.
I might rub it firmly with my lips while I slip a finger inside and she clenches and strains beneath me.
I might smack her folds firmly when she seems too out of control.
I might spank her repeatedly until her thighs attempt to close.
I might force two more fingers into her, thrusting them up roughly while she cries out and starts to beg.
I might growl my negative response against her, before sucking her sweet clit into my mouth.
I might torment her nipples further, with my free hand, as her mind begins to slip away.
I might continue my pleasure assault until I feel her beginning to fail.
I might demand her release with my voice and fingers, while I watch her sweet, beautiful face.

If she’s a good, patient little girl, I’ll take what’s mine and give her what’s hers. I’ll explore her and make her explode until she is nothing but a rag doll, limp limbed and mindless. Then I’ll bend her over and use her trembling body, in every way I desire, until she’s sprawled on the floor with my creamy seed sprayed across her tongue, lips, and breasts.

It’s a lazy afternoon, and we will spend the rest of it wrapped in each other, immersed in his and hers.

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