In a world that turns, the ending always starts at the beginning… Softer than a dovetail feather falling from Heaven and landing into Duce’s lap to nest, she caroled I loved you like a timid soprano in a church choir, echoing into the canyon of Duce’s mind. Her light head drifted in the groove-line between Duce’s thighs like baby’s breath in a stream, surfing to the melodic beat of his heart and sailing back and forth against his undulating abdomen. She cooled her sweat in the rift of his breath, as he gently combed through her hair with his fingers. Subtly, but seductively, she tilted her head back to allow Duce’s fingertips to slip from her hair to her ear. When he slowly traced her earlobe with his ring finger, she felt a rhythm in her spine and a singe between her thighs. She held onto Duce’s waist like a life raft, as she lifted her satin-laced leg to the couch, thrusting her pelvis against a throw pillow in a delicate attempt to snuff out the fire brewing below her belly. But it was too late. They had both become too hot. Tension mounted in her chest as Duce incessantly flicked the igniter behind her ear. And the passion she radiated sent a jolt to Duce’s undercurrents that made the cleft in his lap too turbulent for her faint head to float on. The raft of her careless mind burned and crashed into the log that popped up inside Duce’s tide, so she climbed on top to avoid sinking. She knew that if she tried to swim away alone, she’d suffocate, but she needed to breathe again. And she wanted Duce to be the stem inside her pump, pushing in and out, forcing the hot air from her midriff through her chest to her lips, making her breathe harder and louder, and louder, she tenderly squealed,... Happy Birthday Black Sheep! 10 years old and you remain the crown jewel of my inner visions. toldson
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 13:41:38 +0000
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