Sinfire

Couple in sunset

The sound of the waves pounding the beach was a perfect backdrop for the night.  We watched the sun go down from our camp chairs, cold beer in one hand, plate of delicious campfire food on our laps, soaking up a relaxing moment after a busy day of activities.

We counted down as the last sliver of sun went into the ocean and I made the familiar hissing sound as I pictured it submerging beneath the waves, fiery rays temporarily quenched by cool water.  He smiled sideways at me – not the first time my child-like mannerisms had resulted in that grin.  We toasted each other over our beers and tucked into our food.  The long day spent together had inspired a multitude of appetites; we quenched the most urgent one first.

After dinner, we used the campfire to melt marshmallows, trading our sunset views for starry skies above.  The coastal night, often shrouded in clouds and whipped by cold wind, was surprisingly clear and temperate.  We took full advantage of nature’s gift, deciding that s’mores tasted best when eaten with a side order of Milky Way.

I rose to put my empty beer bottle by the truck, pausing on my way to lean down and kiss him.  He responded eagerly, mouth teasing and tasting mine, hands roaming the curve of my ass as I bent forward to kiss him.  I pulled away, licking my lips, willing my body to slow down and not rush this rare, sensual moment.  I dropped the bottle by the truck and retrieved our campfire staple, a bottle of Sinfire.

I returned to my seat by the campfire, my legs grateful for the temporary reprieve from the heat radiating off the fire.  I briefly contemplated cups and then decided against it.  I took a swig and passed him the bottle with a glint of mischief in my eye. He smiled and accepted the bottle, his finger tracing mine before grasping the neck and taking a long drink of his own.

The cinnamon fire on both our tongues, he rose from his chair, handed me back the bottle and wound a hand in my hair, gently tugging my head back to drop a sultry kiss on my tingling lips.  He moved around behind me, hands sliding down my chest to squeeze my breasts as his mouth drank its fill from mine.  I sighed against his lips as his fingers found my nipples and he teased them expertly before pinching them hard and drawing a gasp from me.

He chuckled, walked away to put away the last of the food, and returned shortly, kissing me again on his way back to his seat.  I waited for him to get settled, taking a few more sips of Sinfire.  The whiskey worked its way quickly through my body and coating me in warm lassitude that was only enhanced by the fire.  After a few minutes of conversation, I rose again.  It was time to act.

I bent forward over him, tracing his lips with my tongue, tasting the flavors of him even as my nose savored the scent of his skin.  My lips traced their way down his neck, nipping and biting at the skin as he once again filled his palms with my breasts.  I stood and pulled my shirt off, removing my bra and leaning back down and admiring the shadowy view of his mouth eagerly teasing my nipples to stiff attention.  I moaned softly, the pleasure of his hot mouth on my skin in beautiful contrast to the cool kiss of the slight ocean breeze.

Before I could take advantage of my free hands, his husky voice broke the silence between us.  “Take your pants off.”  It was a command, not a request, and my heart raced a little as I stood to comply.  I knew the beach was deserted, that we were the only ones camping out there on that perfect autumn night.  But I had a moment of trepidation, knowing that when naked, my body would be on display – aglow in the blazing light of the campfire.

The pounding of my heartbeat was merely an overture for the a more intense cadence I knew was coming.   His fingers traced my face and he pulled me down again to savor my kiss. I could feel the heat of the fire making my backside tingle.  He flicked his hands across my nipples before raising my breasts to his mouth and devouring them one by one.  He sighed happily and I echoed the sentiment.  He used his teeth with gradually increasing pressure and I felt the wetness begin to ooze out of me.

He released me long enough to pull his pants down, a sudden wave of desire making fully removing them far too much work.  I felt the pressure of his palms on my head and heard his husky voice tell me what he wanted next.

I obliged.

My lips were coated with salty-slick precum before I could even open my mouth to taste him. He traced his cock across my lips, pulling me suddenly up again to kiss me hard.  I felt my pussy twitch with anticipation as he drank his own essence from my mouth before shoving me back down.  I was ready and my hot, eager mouth enveloped him.  He groaned louder this time, muttering “Oh my god, that is so fucking hot.”  I glanced up to see him looking over my shoulder, taking in the sight of my body aglow in the firelight.

He stroked my skin, petting my hair reverently then assertively grasping a handful to steer my mouth.  He thrust his hips up to meet me, then suddenly commanded me to turn around and bend forward.

I stood and turned, the sand and alcohol making my feet clumsy.  I spread my legs, bending forward and secretly hoping the alcohol didn’t send me face-first into the campfire.  It would be just my luck that a fireside fuck would turn into an emergency room trip and second degree burns.

He held my hips steadying me and when he felt my hands grasp his ankles, he leaned forward and drove his tongue into my wet slit.  He traveled all across my body, tongue flicking around my ass, dipping lower to my dribbling pussy, across the soft skin of my thighs and ass cheeks.  He reached around me with his other hand, smearing my cream all over my clit and making my legs begin to shake.  He recognized the precariousness of the situation and opted for a safer thrill.

“Sit.”  He said.

I lowered myself onto his waiting cock, using the arm of the camp chair for balance and slid down on his swollen sex.  He marveled at the sensation of my fire-hot skin against him.  I started out of the gate like I was trying to win the derby, my pussy so hungry it was greedy.  He steadied me again, telling me to slow down.  I fought my animal urges and made my body listen.

The orgasm was building up inside me, threatening to make me scream right there in the middle of the beach.  Once again he came to my rescue.  “Come have a taste of that beautiful pussy.”  He told me.  I stood and turned, once again baring my tender parts to the heat of the fire.  I licked him eagerly, my citrusy juice on his cock one of the best flavors I had that night. I swallowed him deep, thrusting him into the back of my throat in quick deep thrusts.  He pulled me up again with a firm hand in my hair.  “Sit again.”

I obeyed, my pussy aching to be filled again.  I sat effortlessly, my hot skin once again igniting his as he drove up into me, countering my thrusts until I cried out, shaking from head to toe as my pussy grabbed him and pumped his cock like a fist.  His lips were on my back, tracing tongue and biting teeth as my body shuddered and my juices poured down his balls.

With a deep groan and a powerful thrust, he filled me with his cum.  I couldn’t help the laughter.  My body felt so amazing and the experience was so liberating.  The air on my skin, the sand between my toes and the heat of the fire on my body.   He wrapped his arms around me, his lips kissing my shoulder over and over as his cock softened inside me.  When I stood finally to retrieve my clothing, he slid back into his pants and watched me pull on my clothes.  His eyes shimmered in the firelight as I settled back into the camp chair next to him.

He gave me a wolfish grin and handed me the Sinfire.

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Killingsworth

I drove south on the freeway today, my mind turning to you as I passed it.  The Killingsworth Exit.  The exit that once led me to your door.

There was a time when driving past that exit would require a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to keep the tears at bay.  Now, there is no extraordinary grip required.  There was a time when the wounds were fresh, still bleeding freely and refusing to heal. They are but scars now.  The faint lines across my soul where it was once torn. 

There was a time when the mere act of passing the exit would send me reeling backward in time; back to stolen moments spent with you – laughing, sharing music, doing that anticipatory little dance in the kitchen before our mouths invariably met, melded and yielded all the sensual fruits we craved. 

They were stolen moments.  As surely as if we had snatched them from the shelf of the local convenience mart and furtively shoved them in our pockets, those days and nights together were purloined goods.  They were moments that never should have been ours in the first place.  Maybe that is why they felt so thrilling, tasted so unbelievably sweet.  Maybe that is why there was such an empty hole left behind when they were gone. 

I think about you from time to time.  When I do, I feel no anger or bitterness swelling up inside me.  I no longer feel the stabbing pain in my gut as the thought pierces me over and over:  Why?

Now, when my thoughts turn to you they are simple.  Are you happy?  Do you spend your weekends with your daughter as you dreamed?  Do you thrive in your job and have you set roots down in your new home?  Have you decorated your home and what car did you replace the Pearl with? Do you grill flank steak and drink Iron Horse? Do you listen to Mule? Do you sleep well at night, knowing you are writing the chapter in your story you wanted?  And sometimes I even wonder, do you ever think of me?

I don’t have any answers.  That once drove me nearly mad – the lack of answers and the endless swirling questions.  But like a tornado in my heart, the winds have died down.  That funnel of wind, fueled by grief and silence, fed by the unknown and unattainable has faded.  I won’t say my soul is at peace.  That would be stretching the truth too far.  But I will say that storm within has passed. 

Now, when my thoughts turn to you as I drive past the Killingsworth sign, I raise my eyes momentarily to the clouds above and say a prayer that you are well.  I pray you are whole and thriving, that your world is everything you wanted it to be.  I wish you well and even if you don’t want it any longer, I feel the ties of friendship that for me, were never severed. 

And I keep on driving. 

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2014 VagFest: A Festival of Vaginas

I was scrolling down the event calendar for our local convention center this evening when I came across an event that, to my mind, was long overdue:  2014 VagFest.

An entire festival dedicated to vaginas? My eyes sparkled as I considered the possibilities.  Grooming demonstrations (how to treat/avoid razor burn and ingrown hairs in delicate areas); erotic art displays; toys and lubes; scents and flavors to make even the most mundane vagina beguiling.  Anatomy lessons for those unfortunate souls who haven’t yet stumbled across their G-spot; group discussions on how to get the most pleasure out of every penis; exercise seminars to tighten and firm those most special muscle groups post child-birth and beyond.  That would be a valuable and popular seminar.  (Nothing intrigues a woman with three kids more than having a twat tighter than a 17 year old cheerleader.)

The smile spread like warm sunshine across my face as I began to feel at home in this imaginary, labial world.  I imagined a special area where men could also browse, learn and discover the secret world where men love, yet fear, to go.  Seminars designed to help them not feel threatened by the 11-inch black vibrator in their partner’s nightstand drawer.  Advice on how to navigate the menstrual cycle without having to skip the fun stuff.  A medical booth where embarrassing questions could be asked and strange pustules examined in anonymity by clinical professionals.  A homeopathic remedy booth nearby where women could purchase creams and tinctures that would make their nether parts smell like an herb garden. 

As I gazed off into the distance, my face lifted up in supplicant bliss at the notion that the vagina could be celebrated at level worthy of its own festival, I glanced back at my computer screen to make sure I was not dreaming. 

And that is when I read the event name again.  “2014 VegFest.” 

A festival of vegetables and not vaginas?

My shoulders slid into a destitute slump as the air left me in a dejected whoosh. 

Damn those organic farmers. They have all the fun.

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“You Ok?”

You affect me. 

Make no mistake about it.  You cause a chemical reaction in my body that is virtually impossible to ignore. 

When you touch me, my skin sparkles with electricity.  Your palm against my back, fingers tracing me softly, wrecks me in a way that no one else can. 

To hold back those urges takes an iron grip of determination I was not sure I had within me.  Not until that resolve was tested tonight.

Your hand against my leg, fingers tracing a distracting pattern against the inside of my knee made it hard to track the plot of a movie I’ve seen a hundred times.  Your fingers laced through mine warmed me like liquid honey. 

I knew the kiss was coming.  But still wasn’t prepared.  Your lips brushing mine in that familiar, hungry pattern and my resolve was rocked to the foundation.  I breathed in as I kissed you back, the sensual concert of touch, taste and scent turning my core to molten desire that was almost more than I could bear. 

You brought tears to my eyes.  A sudden rush of emotion so strong that my eyes leaked from the pure awesome power of it.

Did you feel it? Did you feel that wave of emotion?

Or did you just feel me pull away? Did you sense my uncertainty, my restraint as I forced my lips to cease their movements and retreat from the moist invitation of yours?

You noticed something.  Something about that moment made you pause and utter two words: 

“You ok?”

I’m fine.  I’m just fine.

I’m just swimming in tidal wave of physical desire and emotional vulnerability.  I’m just battling with myself to make the healthy choice, the one I know is right for me in this moment. 

Yes I have the strength to resist you.  But not without paying a hefty price. 

I sent you home tonight.  I sent you home without that devilish moment of delight when I lap up essence from your cock.  I returned you to your own bed instead of welcoming you into mine. 

I held my ground. In spite of absurd, painful temptation. 

I don’t know if you could see, feel or sense it. 

So I’m here to tell you that – without a doubt – you continue to entice me.

You affect me still.

 

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Now, now.

There are times when we all need a break. 

A break from someone, something, someplace.  A time to just sit in the silence, cry the tears, feel that moment when you are truly alone.  It doesn’t have to be depressing or dark.  Though often, it is.  It can be gratifying, rejuvenating.  The dormant period in nature is really just a time for gathering strength for the sudden burst of spring.  But try telling that to the tiny seed freezing its ass off in the soil.  The tiny seed who feels only the dark, cold earth around it and has no sense of what it means to be warmed in the sun.

I took a break from him.  The lone man who has touched both my body and my heart.  I took a break from him.  The other man, who claims my soul in a way no other has ever done.  I took a break from him.  The man who claimed me as his wife.  I took a break from the others.  The ones who filled the quiet with their electronic noise – my favorite little pacifier.  I took a break from the zipless fucks and their lusty texts.  I simply…logged off.

I have a tendency to retreat when I am struggling.  It is a kind of defense mechanism I guess.  I pull in, like a snail being poked by an inquisitive finger.  Deep into my shell I go, until I feel strong enough, centered enough to peek out and face the world again.  Right now, I just want to survive the next twenty-four hours.  If I do that often enough, I stand a chance I’ll make it through the week, the month, the summer, the year.  Somewhere along the way, the soil surrounding me will release its icy grip and wrap me in a warm blanket of sunshine.  And then we will see what kind of flower this seed will grow. 

I can’t think too far into the future.  I can’t anticipate the twists and turns.  I am too exhausted to try.  I am too busy trying to stay alive in the dirt to worry about what is happening above.  Will I go back? I don’t know and at this point, I don’t care to hazard guesses.  The future will take care of itself.  To quote a favorite movie, “We’re at now, now.”

 

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Filed under Love Notes, Uncategorized

Son and Consort

A crisp lavender expanse of down and fluff.

Warmed by body heat and scented like my skin.

A 54×75 sanctuary where my two worlds dream.

Side by side in unwitting repose.

They will never meet here,

Merely know the feel of resting here with me.

I bear lone witness to this strange changing of the guard.

I am the treasure they share.

They each claim a place in my lilac-colored world.

The warm void between sheets the tender turf,

Where my intimacy runs free with Son and Consort.

I am the constant.

I am the Mother-Mistress.

I am the gravity that draws them here.

I am their common ground.

***

You climb into my bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Your warmth seeps into me as you snuggle close.

I can feel a sense of safety fill you as you settle in next to me.

I can feel the pull of my love,

like the gravity of the sun holding my universe together.

I stroke your hair and watch as you breathe deeper, relaxing into my touch.

Remembering many nights together.

The texture of your hair is coarser now.

Not the baby fine silk you had when you were three.

But the feel of it transports me back in time.

To every moment I rocked you to sleep in my arms or held you close to me.

You are my reason, my sanity, my tether to this world.

You are the reason I fight, I strive, I grow.

You are my heart and soul, the definition of my love.

You are my son.

***

I leave the door unlocked for you and climb between scented sheets.

My body tingling, anticipating your touch.

I try to sleep, knowing you are on your way to me.

But I think of your caress and abandon thoughts of rest.

My hands roam my body too hungry to wait for you.

I lose myself in the sea of my own desire.

You open the door and find me in passion’s throes.

A wolfish smile upon your face as your hand replaces mine.

I am shocked back to reality by your kiss.

And delivered to passion once again.

You are the one who stokes my fires, who drives me beyond my brink.

You are my balance, my motivation, my laughter, my release.

You are the visitor that drinks from the wellspring of my heart.

You are my lover.

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Moment of Change – Part Two

Seismic movement happens in waves.  The same can be said of us.  In the first Moment of Change, I prepared to shed you like a skin that no longer fit me.  But now, the earth beneath me has undulated once again.  Where once there was a valley, now a mountain has formed…

Moment of Change – Part Two

I talk a great game.

About living fearlessly; about living with intent.

I pride myself on facing my fears; not letting those fears hold me back.

I am lying to myself.

Your caress has awakened more than just my body.

Your smile has shined light into darkened corners.

As I feel my vulnerability rise up to meet your kiss

So too the fear rises up to meet you.

Still reddened where the wounds of last November flayed me open,

My desperate instinct was to protect my heart from another blood-letting.

And my fear nearly drove me away.

Nearly.

But I am not the same woman I was before.

And I am not beholden to make the same frightened choices I have made in my past.

I can own my feelings.

Voice my emotions.

Face the monster in the darkness.

Expose my vulnerability to the light.

Regardless of what you say or do after you see it.

In the end, what you do with that knowledge is your decision.

What happens next is in the future, beyond our reach.

But right now,

There is another moment whose time has come…

 

The moment I let you in.

 

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Author’s Note: The Fickle Vagaries of Pussy

Friends and Followers of Pussy,

Writing, at times, can be a fickle mistress. In spite of the thousands of words at our disposal, sometimes as authors we fail to convey our message in a way that satisfies.

Take for example yesterday’s post, “Son and Consort.”  I have taken it back to the draft stage so that I can re-work it and hopefully, coax it into the form that I had envisioned when I sat down to write.  I hit publish a bit hastily – what can I say? Sometimes even I get a little eager for the Pussy.

A trusted friend assured me that, while a jarring left turn in subject matter ensued, I did not cross the boundary into Creepyville.  Not that it would have been the first time (anyone remember “Security”?) but let’s say there are certain junctions in Creepyville even this train doesn’t want to stop at.

So hang in there friends and be patient.  Sometimes the Pussy needs some gentle stroking and a bit of probing before she gives up her secrets.

Moistly yours,

CJ

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Right Bicep

It was the curve that caught my eye, drew me in.

That sloping curve from your shoulder to your elbow.

An erotic arc of skin and muscle.

It’s embarrassing to admit.  Like my fetish for a conference room table.   But…

The curve of your right bicep ignited something in me.

I could barely take my eyes off it.

I wanted to lick it.  I wanted to run my tongue along the line I saw.  I wanted to sink my teeth into your skin.

I wanted to taste the salt of you there, grip its left counterpart in my hand as passion reared.

I wanted to feel those muscles bunched up and tensed around me as you lifted my hips and drove yourself into me.

Wanted to feel them wrapped around my ass and holding me steady as I ground my pussy against your mouth.

The sweep of that line, from the cap of your shoulder in a graceful angle down to your bicep.

I wanted to taste it a dozen times that night.

I very nearly did.

Just as I very nearly got myself off in ladies room after the first game.

I laughed as I fingered my clit in the ladies room stall, feeling it swell, wondering how you would react if I sent you a picture of what I was doing at that moment.

I contemplated coating my fingers in my juicy goodness and offering you a taste when I got back to the table. Or would I just tease you with my scent and lick my own fingers clean?

I wondered if it would have the same effect on your concentration as the effect a wicked line of sinew was having on mine.

I am lucky that I didn’t pierce an innocent passerby as my wandering mind played havoc with my dart’s trajectory.

I am lucky I still managed to win two out of three and keep my bragging rights.

I am lucky I got to take you home and let my tongue re-enact the sensuously filthy things I was thinking about at the pub.

I am amazed at how completely you managed to wreck me.

With the curve of your right bicep.

 

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Moment of Change

When did it happen?

When did that moment occur when you stopped fucking me and started making love to me?

I didn’t see it happen, I didn’t feel the shifting of your emotional tide.  I just know at some point it changed.

You stopped spanking me.  You stopped pulling my hair.  You stopped tying me up, clamping me down.  You stopped the punishments.

You started caressing my skin.  You began stroking my hair.  You put away your tethers and devices.  You stopped trying to leash me.

When I asked you about the change, you said you didn’t need those things.  That you liked us just the way we are.

And I knew.

The shift had taken place.

The tide had changed.

You are invested.

I can see it in the subtle depth of colors in your eyes.

I can feel it in the loving way your mouth moves over mine.

Your feelings are silently present in the quiet moments lying naked with my head against your shoulder.

They are on the tip of the tongue you use to kiss me.

We laugh about it.  Joke about how it isn’t happening.  You assure me you are staying in your box.

But you are lying – and so am I.

There is a subtle depth of color in my eyes too.

There is something on the tip of the tongue I use to kiss you.

We aren’t fucking any more.

We are making love.

And now there is only one course left to take.

There is one more moment whose time has come…

 

The moment I let you go.

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