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The Golden Light of Dawn (erotic prose for sensualists)
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The Golden Light of Dawn (erotic prose for sensualists) The Golden Light of Dawn Someone left the bedroom window open, and the sweet clean early dawning breeze is beginning to move the curtains. Lines of golden light are seeping in, bands of honey across your body sweet. You lie there sleeping, the sleep of the just, and the worn out sated libertine. I have freshly awoken, and recall last night as if it were a dream. No writer could capture the time we had, the way we played, the sensations which curled, and coiled, and frayed, the normalcy of our lives into a Nerudian mystical magic fantasy. I can smell you still on me, The addictive musky scent of your juices, of your love spilled, of your nectar basted across my body by your brushing rubbing body. An essence of truth all pervasive in this room My lips are sore from kissing, and tongue feels as if it were stretched on a rack. My joints ache, and I have nail raking scratches along my flanks and down my back. There is a red bruise on my neck where you kissed so hard last night. I carry these fading scars proudly, and lovingly, and rejoice you were so lost in passion last night you did not notice when you gave them, and I do not notice when they were received. I should lie here, smugly, and warm, and wait till you wake; however my hands and caressing stroking fingers will not be stilled. The sight of you arouses me, in the most obvious ways, and deep inside my body and spirit a sigh as if the Spring tides were at their peak and turning. Along the blades of sunlight as they curve along your body I trace with nimble caressing fingers, sliding down and out and about these delicate loved curves and slopes. A trickle of light hits a breast, highlights a nipple, and I cannot resist leaning forward and catching that familiar taut jutting point in-between my lips, and lightly rolling it back and forth, as I lightly crush it as if it were a grape capable of producing the greatest vintage. You release a low moan, and yet seem not to wake. You move your legs apart, and raise the right, and the Sun strokes across your inner thighs, and my hand is not slow in following. First my fingers skate out your name in some unlikely form of calligraphic script, and then I weave lines of swirls and curls and infinity markers which never start and never end, as those lines across your body bend....and then the tip of finger skates from thigh to edge of vagina, and runs up along one peach slice lip and feather touching draws along this precious culvert, and then, turning just before that tiny hidden bud, turns back and runs lightly down the other; and again you murmur soft, and your legs move as if an itch they could not catch pursues them. There is a dew rising here, between and upon those lips, to the inner molten core of you, to that pit of ultimate blinding sensation, and I lean forward, and place my face just above, and pursing my lips blow warm breath over, and the<b> fragrance </font></b>rises, surprises me with its musky lust creating intimacy. More dewy nectar thick begins to rise, and I lower my mouth, and extend my tongue, and place it flat there, and perform a long deep lick, as you are my favourite dessert to be consumed. The lines of golden light, give this place a sense of elysian heights, where pleasure divine could be shared by mortals such as you and I. And I hear a growling moan, and know you are waking as your thighs close over my head, and your hand into my short hair rakes and rubs, my partner signalling onward, and forward, and toward....toward the deep goal burning deep within her whole spirit and soul. I set myself slightly different, propped on elbows, this glistening treasure inspect, and decide you shall truly wake to thunder in your ears, and rainbow lightning behind your eyes, as I focus on the hidden little pearl, and lower my mouth, and suck in, and roll cross tongue, and lightly stab, and.......the fundamentals no longer matter, just that flesh is pressing super sensitive aroused flesh, and your hand has gone from my head, and your hand is on my shoulder, your fingers clenching and digging in deep... ...as you are fully woken from sleep, fully woken from every earthly stupor, by the golden light of dawn pouring, bubbling, swirling, through your veins... and you arch your back, only hips and shoulders rest on bed, and let out a moan, a shriek, a yell, a deep throated husky announcement of your arriving orgasm, as I feel the molten wetness of your sweet juices, the spasms of your muscles twitching, as you wake to the day, and to the golden light of dawn. Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction |
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