eros, logos: Melt

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Melt

My bed. We're naked, and I won't let you any longer be above me, despite how I love and crave to bear your weight on top of me.

I reach a point where I need to be on top, where I can no longer bear this gentle teasing.

I straddle you, and take your cock in my hand. You haven't been inside me yet, but you will be, and now is when I need to kneel over you.

I take your cock between both my hands, and kneeling above you I use it. I trace it along my naked and bare slit, so you can feel how wet I am already there, and I tease you and me both by rubbing your cock now, gently, the head of it, on my clit, parting me at last.

I love my body, this source and root of sensual pleasure, and I also don't like my body, of course, --does any woman?--but I know you love it, and you love for me to be on top for this reason also, so you can look at me. I watch you, and I close my eyes when I drag the head of your cock over me, and smile, and not because I don't want to watch you but because I know you love to watch me, my face, like this, lost in our pleasure, dreaming, drowning.

Lost; drifting in the underwater world.

I want you inside me now, I need that. I open my eyes, I watch your face, your eyes, I lift; I straddle you, I hold the head of your cock just between the lips of my cunt. I want you to feel the heat, the wetness there.

I want you to beg me, before I let you in, just a little.

But now you grab my hips and I catch my breath. I think you'll pull me onto you. I think you'll impale me.

You don't.

You pull me upward instead, towards you, towards your mouth.

No, I say, involuntarily. I always do. I can't only take pleasure, and I have to say no, when someone gives me it.

Yes, you say. Gently, urgently. Yes. You pull me by my hips, that one arm wrapped around them, you pull me towards you. You position me above your mouth.

I shake, I tremble, I shiver.
I grasp my headboard. I'm kneeling now above your face, my thighs spread.
If I did not cling to the iron of my headboard, I would fall. I hang on, and my knuckles are already white, before your tongue ever touches me. I already feel naked and vulnerable, before you open me, as I kneel over your face.
I already feel split open, and already I am wet; then your tongue parts me.

Your hands are on my hips, holding me firm above you. Your tongue probes me, opens me.

I melt. I run like melting ice. Unlocked, I flow.

You open me with your tongue, while your arm is around my hips; then one hand snakes up, and while your tongue is against my clit the fingers of your other hand suddenly part me, open me fully.

You sink one finger in, and then two, while you kiss me. You kiss my cunt, my clit, you make love to it with your tongue, your lips, and your fingers sink into me at the same time, obscenely opening me, spreading me for your hungry mouth, penetrating me, taking me.

I cling to the headboard, I want to lift myself away from your mouth's knowledge of me, from your ownership of me, I want to hide. But I can't escape. I can't escape that tongue--you hold my hips still and unmoving, firm, in place.

I shake.
You hold me steady.

My arms tremble, like all of me. I can't do anything. I can feel how wet I am--how wet you've made me. I feel it running down the insides of my thighs. I feel it against your cheek, which is against my thigh. I can feel how I am drowning you and drenching you with my cunt. I cannot help it, this is what you do to me, this is me, coating you, your face.

I can't bear it.
I feel the tender abrasion of your cheek against my thighs, that roughness there because you need to shave again, and as if my own thought passed through your own mind at the same instant, you turn aside suddenly, press your lips to the hollow of my inner thigh, kiss me, and then bite me gently and carefully, expertly, there, a lover's bruise I'll find in the morning, blooming on that most pale and delicate secret skin.
I feel the muscle there jump and quiver as your lips touch my thigh, and I know you feel it too, leaping under your lips and mouth, like my pulse, my heartbeat there.
The tenderness and intimacy of this caress alone almost undoes me, makes my heart melt too, running over everything.

You pull me down now against you, you want me to let go, in every sense. You want to devour me, you want my cunt pressed against your face, I hear you inhale greedily, I feel you drink me, and your hand and arm try to pull me down even more.
I can't.

I need to turn around. I can't bear this. I can't bear to only receive and not give pleasure, and I need to twist around. I need to lie on top of you, I need to have your cock in my mouth now--if this must go on, I need to have you in my mouth too. Please.

It's the only way I can go on, with your tongue against me like that, with my secret heart laid bare and beating and open to you.
I need your cock in my mouth. Please.
I need your most secret self laid bare and beating in my hands.

I take your hands in mine, I peel your arm off my waist, though you resist. I pull away. I twist, I pivot on your fingers still inside me, and I lie down on top of you. I hold your balls gently with one hand and with the other I touch your cock at last, gently at first because I savour that initial gasp I tear from you, and because I love to touch you gently at first, before I settle down to the real business of making love to you, of fucking you. I stroke your cock with my fingers lightly from bottom to top, and I place my tongue against that exact place on the head of it--you know the one----before, with a sigh, I take the head of you into my warm and waiting and wet mouth.

I taste myself and my desire there, on your cock, mixing with the taste of your own.

This is the same moment when your lips wrap around me again, around my clit, and I must close my eyes at the same time as my lips close around your cock, and I shudder on top of you for an interminable and eternal instant as your hands hold my hips, your thumbs opening me, spreading my cunt open for you, splaying all of me open for your mouth. I must shake and cling to you like this, before I can go on, distracting myself from the pleasure you give me by the pleasure I know I can and will give you.

Now.

Now we can begin.

Words are the axe for the frozen sea within us.
Franz Kafka.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
Theodore Roethke, The Waking

posted by O @ 06:36


1 Comments:
At 09 January, 2009, Anonymous said… Beautifully written, nicely composed, lovely use of langauge. But I can't leave my house since I have a raging hard-on.
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