Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Who darkens my door at this old hour of night?
I wrote this fantasy for Christmas, which as everyone is aware, has now come and gone. For nearly two weeks I've been silent on this blog while the holidays rolled by, a New Year arrived and the snow began, and didn't seem to stop until it turned into a good old fashioned blizzard and now sub-zero temperatures. While it may be frozen outside...it's certainly warm inside the cozy world where these hot lovers meet.
The snow is falling, quietly, a stealthy thief, its silent power spiriting my hopes away as it builds in fury, and the wind whips and the icy mess on the road takes my fondest dreams and tramples them into the drifting white, on this night, this ONE night.
I lie back in bed and turn off the light, listening as the sounds in the house diminish… the TV off, the cats asleep, the rustle of the quilts settling around my naked body quietly as I lazily meander toward sleep.
Just the sound of the whispering wind outside and my own breath.
I’ve accepted it. Facts are facts.
Roads are icy in this wilderness up north
covered in snow
wind sending flurries of white stuff into the air
into a blizzard
into one more night without him in my bed
I’m drifting off, mind spinning down, but not deep enough that I don’t hear
the sudden sound of the doorknob rattle
the front door creak open
the click of the lock as it closes
A sharp intake of breath, panic rises
Who darkens my door at this old hour of night?
In the cold, this wind, in this dreadful snow?
He would have called, I tell myself.
So, yes, I have reason to panic…
until the light goes on in the hallway,
and my bedroom door, once standing ajar,
suddenly opens wide
so I see the outline of my intruder back lit by the radiance around him
No face, no eyes, nothing to identify him
but the shape of his body
And that I recognize
I breathe deep again
this time a sigh of relief
He stalks me, walking slowly toward the bed, looking into my face – a fact I know only because I can see that his face is aimed toward me. I stare back, seeing his features emerge from the darkness, his eyes lit on mine, his solemn expression much as I expect.
Panic further recedes, replaced by a warm and lusty heat that begins at my crotch and radiates outward. To fingers. To toes. To very top of my head I am turned on.
But now the silence he brings with him causes a different kind of panic.
No cheery greeting
No twinkling eyes
No kind grin
Just the man in his primal state
remote, sexy and dark as this black snowy night.
I shudder fiercely as I await his first move – chilled to the bone.
He comes softly to my bedside, standing above me with the same shadowy, sinister promise I gleaned from him in that first moment of recognition.
Makes me wonder if this is really him, or just a phantom born my imagination.
Ah! But now I can clearly make out his eyes as he stares down at me through the midnight gloom. I can see he’s real. And the tingle of lust that pervades by body doubles, triples, quadruples in size, as his presence magnifies – something to do, perhaps, with the silvery aura that surrounds him? It’s just that bright hallway light, but I’d swear he appears like some ghostly apparition.
Slowly he strips off his clothes.
Shoes first – he kicks them off.
Then the sweater
the blue jeans
til he stands naked next to me.
My heart skips beats. My pussy clenches orgasmic at the thought of all that nakedness lying with me.
Touch me. Come to me. Hold me tight my delirium calls him to me.
He leans forward, grabs the covers and opens them wide. The cold air dashes in and goosebumps break out on my flesh, while I swear the rest of me is sweaty and hot. Hot because of those startling eyes, that enigmatic look as he appraises me, because of that naked body, and all those sexy body parts – hands, lips, thighs, cock, because of the promise of sex lingering between us in one, long painful moment of anticipation.
Touch me. Tease me. Make me cum I call to him again
Orgasmic spasm No. 1
He slides in bed on top of me. Here I am naked, as if I knew all along he’d be here with me. Naked to naked. Skin to skin. Cool flesh against my warmth. He wouldn’t miss our date, not this ONE night. I have reason to smile. I feel his cock, flaccid just a moment ago, already thickening as it presses against my inner thigh.
Orgasmic spasm No. 2
I grind myself against his smooth skin and the muscled chest, my lips waiting hungrily for that first hot kiss. But it’s “hands above your head,” he says as he pries my clawing fingers from his body.
“Please,” I plead. I don’t want to let go.
“Hush, slut, and do as I say,” he speaks again, with a degree of firmness. I react to his mild reproof.
Orgasmic spasm No. 3
“My god I want you in me!” I exclaim as my arms are stretched out overhead, and he’s clamping my hands in his fist, firmly applying greater force than I’ve felt in days, maybe weeks. To think, I’ve recently considered asking him to heat up this Master/slave game of ours…and he’s right on point, without my having said a word, within these first three minutes of another erotic rendezvous.
Orgasmic spasm No. 4
I roll my hips against him, feeling his cock further harden, the stiff muscle throbbing hotly against my pussy.
He kisses me now, fervently, forcefully, fiercely; we’ll be fucking soon, I’m sure, though kissing is all he wants from me for now, and there’s no complaint from me. I’m into his kisses, his soft pliant but ever-so demanding lips. His tongue pushing into my mouth, colliding with my own tongue, which means that down below between my legs I feel the electric shock of our lust hit hard. I groan like a lusty whore.
Orgasmic spasms Nos. 5, 6, 7
I’m like rolling thunder now with hips grinding deeply into his hips, my hungry, empty snatch grasping, clenching, wanting what is only his to give. “Yes, yes, yes,” I hiss between kisses, when we come up for air. Even in this darkened room I can see the glint in his eye as he sees the glint in mine. I know where he’s leading and will happily follow. Except that he makes me wait. He knows I’m ready but he forces me to teeter on the sharp edge of pleasure and pain. Until when? I wonder.
Oh, you miserable bastard! I offer up a silent protest, but he still holds back.
I want to touch him, grab him, bring his body deeper into me. I part my thighs further, bend my knees, make it clearly apparent that I want him inside me, inside me, riding me to hard paradise and back again.
Orgasmic spasms Nos. 8, 9 10…
Suddenly his cock is in my cunt, hard, firm and determined. There’s no counting spasms anymore – like I would even want to try once he’s slipped that ravenous cock of his inside my slick, wide open hole, and he’s banging me like a man possessed. I become one wet, hot cumming cunt, squeezing down with my inner muscles, grasping, thirsting, wanting him hard, deeper, meaner than he’s ever been before.
This is the orgasm to write home about
the best yet
the better than ever brand of climax that won’t quit. I’m riding on that high plateau, the spasms stronger, gaining amplitude, subspace stretching far beyond me, my body wracked with orgasm while bound by his hammering body, his steely fist and lips that won’t stop kissing mine…
…until just before I think he’s going to cum
and sits on top of me, turning sadist in a blink of an eye
He slaps my face first – and my body swoons again, cunt pressing up into him, begging…
Then my tits, back and forth
the blows repeat until the skin burns hot, and, aching violently,
lusts for another stinging strike and then another…
Oh! What sweet pain this is!
No longer are my hands captured in his fist, though they remain above my head as if he’s glued them to the headboard. I wouldn’t dare to move them until he gives the command.
“You like your tits smacked, slut?”
“You want more, slut?”
“Then ask for it proper, slave.” He emphasizes the word slave so I’m sure to remember who I am…
And proper. What does he mean by proper?
“Please, my generous master,” I begin, “I would really, greatly, desperately love for you to slap my tits again.”
“You are such a slutty little wench!” There’s a sly smirk on that handsome face.
I feel that smirk deep between my legs, where he owns me, where his throbbing cock is planted; where I can feel that hot throbbing make my cumming cunt more ecstatic than it already is. And so I grind myself against him once again, raising my aching pussy into his groin.
“You want it bad?”
“Don’t you, too?”
“As a matter of fact…”
He drops down against my chest and my thighs open wider than they’ve been before. He plunges deeper than I can remember, tunneling with that throbbing organ, in me, all over me, owning me, using me, taking me back to subspace
thrust of that steely ramrod
And then he cums
And I cum, too – for the umpteenth time
And I think Yes, this is it. What it means to love this man. I’m happy, ecstatic, deliriously myself once again, in his arms, in his control, in love with his lust for me.
His every pleasure-filled groan makes me smile and it seems for a long while we bask in the beautiful aftermath.
“Arms tired?” he asks at last.
“They are, Sir.”
“Then take them down and love up the rest of me,” he says.
I can see through the window that the snow still falls silently, steadily outside the cabin. And with a smile on my lips, I snuggle into him, my hands pouring over his flesh as if I’ve never touched him this way before, and will never again, never quite like this.
“I thought you wouldn’t be home tonight,” I murmur from my sweet nirvana, still astounded that he’s even here and this is not a dream.
“Well, then, you underestimate me, slave. I said I’d be here and I am. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Master.”