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fairground games
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fairground games fairground games A landscape reminiscent of the Third Man. Buildings casting twisting shadows from the blaze of searching spotlights. Above the heavens have opened, and the streets grow wet and somehow darker even as they shine, and the pavements filled with umbrella scurrying pedestrians. You meet me at the steps, without a word take my hand, and we move on. Contact made, and the confirmation is no words, just that you will wear a yellow blouse and be waiting. And we turn into the fairground, looking at the many rides, the Mad Mouse, the Carousel, the shooting gallery, until noticing a chalk mark above a door we enter the Haunted House. A large plywood door painted in blackboard black closes behind us, and the air is rent with taped screams, rattling chains, and screeches of terror, glee, or the roars of hungry predators. There is a smaller door, almost unnoticeable if you did not know where to look, a faint outline of white light edging a doorway; and we enter this doorway to a loud peal of maniac laughter from the Haunted House and a crash of thunder from outside. Rain was so hard and heavy, and you are half soaked. Your long hair a damp mess upon your head,strands sticking on your brow, across your face. And I lean in, and discover, your red painted lips smoulder and burn. Your tongue leaps, and tangles, and sends tingling sensation through my body. Tear your blouse open, and even with the rain, and recorded and real squeals from Haunted House, hear the buttons rip off and go skipping across the floor. Black lace. Your bra is black lace, and full. Your smile is coquettish. And we rush into each other's arms, and this kiss is animalistic and passionate in nature. This kiss does not stop at lips, across body<b> hot lips </font></b>roam, and nipple or curve of hip to sensual attack succumb, and inner thigh and soft belly teased and pleased, and seduced. Our cries of ecstasy and release, of celebration and rejoicing, and a long purring sigh of contentment, all drowned by the Haunted House, and the heavy rain falling down. I give you my long trench-coat as we leave, for your blouse is dead, and your skirt misplaced, and only your black lace underwear under my coat as we move through the fairground. Rain plastering my clothes to my body. And the rain continues to fall, and I hold you close, so close, to share my heat, to suckle on your earlobe and neck, and propose a late supper; and ask your name. Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction |
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a more or less. Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction
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