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the light
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the light When I arrived at the farm there was only a quarter moon. The fields were still and the night owls and whippoorwills were keeping to themselves in the wood that was all around. Junebugs and fireflies were the only signs of life as I stepped onto the porch. I opened the door and walked into the large and long hallway. I could hear music. It was low and the rhythm was slow. It conjured-up memories of the low country and blues from a slower and less complicated time and place. I walked farther down the hall and turned into the den. It was framed with brick walls and exposed timbers that had been hand-hewn over 130 years prior and ceilings that were 12 feet high. This was a man’s room. It had shelves lining parts of the walls with hard cover books, small and large statues of dogs pointing into the wood, horses posed for show and a pheasant on the wall looking as if it was taking flight just because I entered the room. At one spot on the bookshelf were two crystal decanters. Both were half full and both contained a dark reddish-brown elixir that shimmered in the light, no doubt aged well and inviting. There was an overstuffed leather chair by the French doors with an old floor lamp shining softly onto the seat. Even from across the room you knew you could melt into its arms and for hours enjoying the stories that lined the walls waiting to be experienced. There was a long settee covered in soft Victorian era cloth facing the stone fireplace. It had pillows with earthy paisley designs and fringe around the edges. Over the fireplace hung a colorful painting of men raising their shotguns about to harvest the main course for supper that night, their dogs ready to retrieve and be rewarded for their efforts. The floors in the room had seen better times. They were soft heart pine taken from the same woods that so many generations before had protected this house but which had themselves long since been harvested and sent to the mills to be turned into shelves and mantles and paneled doors. I sat in the leather chair. The lamp shown down over me and I listened to the soulful sounds of the night. In a few minutes I was joined by a true vision. She had been waiting for me. Her red hair shined. She wore a thin white cotton blouse, the first few buttons left open to reveal the shimmering off-white string of pearls that surrounded her milky white neck and lay gently onto her freckled skin. The faded, yet neatly pressed jeans were accented by a belt clasped by a silver buckle. She wore high heels and a faint fragrance of lilacs followed her into the room. I stood as she approached and her smile made the room shine. She came to rest in front of me. I didn’t have words worthy of the moment so I simply smiled and let myself enjoy the sight of her. I raised both hands and cupped her face in my hands and bent down and kissed her lips, then her neck. “Hello Sweetpea. You look fabulous.” I had to clear my throat as I spoke and even then all I could muster was a whisper. “Thank you kind sir” she spoke with the pronounced soft southern accent you expect to hear from all southern-bred ladies. “Now, you may have your way with me. Just tell me what you want me to do for you.” I had to pause for a few seconds to compose myself. Her words carried that trademark innocent southern tone, yet blatantly candid. It made me forget the role I was intended to play that night. “Well, I thought we could begin over here, next to the bookshelf.” I stepped over to the bookshelf and reached for a stool that was pushed into the corner. “Let’s try this. You sit here and I’ll adjust the light,” whereupon she nestled onto the stool gazing across the room as I twisted and turned and adjusted the light from the lamp. I went to the chest in the opposite corner, opened the burled wood drawer and pulled my camera from its depths. Tonight, we were the lady and the photographer seeking to immortalize her beauty for all time. It was a solemn moment for me, despite the playfulness that was inherent in the idea when it was first proposed. I had been a fireman, a businessman, a pip and a policeman in nights past. All had had their fantasy played-out one way or another; but, this was different somehow. To play a role one must be able to assume some element of the personality being assumed. The task for my character was to find the depth of her beauty. On the one hand it was easy because the subject was natural and known to me. On the other hand it was difficult to look at someone and see deeper than normal and capture that inner beauty. She sat quietly on the stool while I arranged her hair and positioned her arms and legs in what I thought was the correct pose. I snapped frame after frame from different angles front and back and side to side. I changed her position time and again her hair and her posture. The hours past quickly but I wasn’t satisfied that I had done her justice. “Let’s take a beak Sweetpea, maybe I can find a better approach in a minute or two” I went to the bookcase, to the decanters and taking the crystal glasses from the silver tray I poured us each a bit of the reddish-brown elixir. The scent of the brandy falling into the glasses reached my nose and immediately revived my senses. I handed her a glass. We clicked our crystal goblets in a toast then turned to our respective corners of the room, she on the stool and I to the old leather chair. The soft sounds of saxophone, low country fiddles and piano still played in the night air exuding that slow bio-rhythm that runs deep into ones head. The only light now turned on in the room was the lamp next to me. My store-bought photographer’s lights and glare deflectors and filters lay in waiting on the floor behind the settee. She was lounging on the stool swaying slightly to the music and seemed to be lost in her thoughts. We hadn’t spoken a word since our toast. I nestled into the chair and watched her. Her eyes were closed and she found ways to curl up on top of the stool that only a feline could appreciate. I finished my brandy and allowed the warm rush drift down through my body while I watched her perched there. A moment later I stood and walked slowly to her with my camera in one hand and my empty goblet in the other. I sat the goblet back on the silver tray and proceeded to reset my camera for black and white images. It was after all a dark and still night in a house with an old soul. The light from the lamp from beside the chair cast only on her body and seemed to fade immediately behind her leaving only a dark backdrop with little or no recognition of the books and statues and pictures. She was turned half away from me so that I looked at her back and a bit of her profile. Her head hung down and lay onto her left shoulder that same way she used to trap my hand with her cheek when I put my hand on her shoulder. The moment was now picture perfect, I thought. I clicked away at her once again seizing all the angles and capturing her beauty but I wasn’t yet satisfied. I put my camera down and walked back to her. She looked up at me and smiled. I kissed her moist lips and found the buttons on her blouse. My fingers meticulously loosened the buttons and drew the fabric away from her skin. As I revealed her breast to the night she gasped a breath of air, quietly though, trying not to be obvious in her arousal. My hands reached for the silver buckle that guarded her jeans and loosened that shackle. I reached down and pulled her left leg up to my waist and slipped her high heel off and let it drop to the floor. The right leg came more voluntarily and that black, leather strapped heel fell onto the hard wood. Gently I grasped each side of her jeans at the waist and began to slide them down. She placed both arms around my neck and braced herself as her jeans along with her undergarments joined the other accessories on the old, heart pine floor. All that was left was the shimmering pearl necklace that lay just above her soft breast and over her freckled skin. One thing had changed in the last moment however. Her nipples stood almost erect as opposed to the placid demeanor I found when I first removed her blouse and she grasped the inside of her thigh kneading it tightly. She continued to follow my every movement with her eyes. Her lips were parted slightly. She had once again assumed the feline position on top of the stool. I stood back a distance and admired her. I retrieved my camera and began clicking. This time I knew that I was indeed capturing the beauty that was in front of me. I clicked from every perspective. She would move when I asked her to and each pose was better than the previous. Finally, I was done. But I was not satisfied. My mind was exhausted from the task but I yearned for more. She looked at me and she knew it also. I walked back to her and she said to me “you played that role very well dear. It was all very professional of you.” I looked into her eyes and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, “I stopped playing the role the minute you walked into the room”. With that I bent down and kissed her opening lips and allowed my hands to touch her hardened nipples. She moaned and I lifter her in my arms and moved us to the settee. The light from the lamp beside the old leather chair shown softly on her passion as I explored her body and soul with the slow deliberate rhythm of a dark, still night in a low country wood. her story… As he touched my nipples, he sent a wave that coursed straight from the fullness of my breasts to the sacred warm place that lay between my soft, supple and very white thighs. As his fingers lingered, softly, tenderly tracing the areola encircling my very erect nipples, the sensation only increased what lay between my thighs. The sensation of warmth and moisture, at first subtle, then becoming the feeling of pulsing and increased moisture that I was aware had slipped out of that most sweet place. Now taking his hands, he began to caress the curves of my breasts, lightly at first, then more firmly. Taking both breasts, one in each hand, he fondled and squeezed, pushing them together, feeling the roundness and yet, making sure he continued to allow his deft fingers to make passes across the erect nipples. He knew that my nipples were directly linked to the place he wished to taste. Tracing lightly with his fingers down the sides of my body, chill bumps formed and yet more moisture oozed out of what had become hot, no longer warm. As he began to run his hands up my body with his palms and his fingers, I shuddered with desire and hoped that he would continue the exploration he had begun. Reaching around my body, he ran his fingernails down my back with just enough pressure allowing for me to sit just a little straighter, arching my back. Reflexively, I parted my now moist thighs slightly, allowing for the hint of invitation. Continuing his exploration, his hands made their way to the small of my back, lingering, sliding a bit lower with each stoke he made up and down my back, his hands moved toward the center of my low back. Without hesitation, both hands slid down the sides of what separated the cheeks of roundness on which I sat. First lightly, sensually, tracing the opening, up and down, each time with more pressure applied from his hands. I now parted my slick thighs a little farther apart. Now, fully in between the roundness of my cheeks, his hands began to separate that which he continued to firmly spread. With a single finger, he slowly stroked all the way down the spread of tissue surrounding the tight little opening he longed to penetrate. Patiently keeping one finger over the tight little opening, the other hand reached for the bottle of oil he had placed within his reach. Still maintaining contact with that tight little opening, he allowed the oil to drizzle down the spread crevice until it reached his finger, making sure there was more than enough to accomplish his goal. As I now had no shame, I opened my thighs, fully exposing the glistening honey that puddled and dripped from the opening of the secret place, now longing to be penetrated. Standing in front of me still, his eyes took in all that I now offered, with desire. In conjunction with the lust in his eyes, his finger began to slowly but surely penetrate that tight little opening. Oh so gently, but with great knowledge, he began to move in and out, sliding so easily, causing me to arch even more, allowing my cheeks to open wide. He now commanded I turn around and bend over, holding onto the sofa, legs spread wide apart, all that lay between exposed for the taking. As I began to give way to the sliding in and out of the tight little opening, it was no longer tight or little. Now I felt more intense pressure, knowing that two fingers were sliding in and out. As that sensation grew, his other hand moved to that secret, wet, inviting place I so willingly offered for the taking. Easily sliding in two fingers, he stroked the inside of my wanton, sweet pussy, feeling desired, beginning to allow myself to be taken. Pleasure streaming throughout my body began to give way to abandonment. I rocked back and forth, unable to control the movement of my pelvis. As he pulled the moisture, so slippery, covering the entirety of the opening toward the now erect place I desired to be stroked, my ass rose yet higher as my back arched into a deeper curve. Now three fingers in, what was once a tight little opening, relaxed and began to completely enjoy the penetration, all the while becoming harder and more prominent, my clit fully aroused, I began to ache for more. His tortuous stroking, up and down, in and out, around and around, was driving me to the brink of a complete explosion of juices that I knew would drench us both. Just as I released and my pussy began to contract with wave after wave of pleasure, he drove his hard cock into the opening of my ass. Driving harder and with greater intensity, cum that poured down my thighs drove him insane. Finger-fucking me three at a time, I took over my clit, now resting for a few moments but still requiring attention. His cock continued to thrust harder and deeper inside as his balls hit my ass. Losing all control at this point was not an option. I gave all to him, freely and without restraint. As his directive in a firm voice was, “Cum you nasty little girl. Cum hard. I want to feel you clamp down on my cock and my fingers. I demand you obey me if you want me to keep fucking you. You know you want it and want it bad. I am telling you to cum now.” Electric and erotic, I experienced a cum I’d never had. Stroking my now hard again clit, three fingers penetrated my pussy, finger fucking, fucking and fucking, I begged for more. “Please don’t stop fucking my ass. I want you to bury yourself deep within my body while I give in to the pleasure you so long to give.” With that, you exploded, letting out a deep-throated, gutteral moan, knowing you just let go of your hot cum. I came again, harder this time, my clit contracting wildly with indescribable pleasure. Still not satiated, I begged for more. “Keep sliding your hard cock in and out of my ass and fucking my sweet pussy with your fingers while I continued to masturbate my hard clit.” I begged and you complied, giving it harder and faster, my stroking harder and faster. We both came at the same time. What an explosion of ecstasy it was. I screamed uncontrollably, you moaning like a wild animal. You pulled out and told me to be still while you grabbed your camera in order to capture the image of my smooth, white ass and your cum dripping down my crack. The image is forever captured in your mind, buried in your soul and causes you to long for more of the same.... |
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