Home Sweet Home - Verse II

 Collaboration with Keeper of the Crimson Quill riversofgrue.com

Something woke me.  It could have been the thunder, much closer than it had been when I drifted off.  It could have been Christine, now at the side of the bed, whining and licking my hand….thunderstorms frightened her.  Or it could have been the change in the air in the room.  I felt it move over me….not so much a breeze, more like the pressure you might feel from g-force - that invisible hand that held you in your seat during a carnival ride as it flipped you upside down.  It was cool and sensual and I was soothed and aroused by the sensation.

Without opening my eyes I whispered to Christine, calming her, telling her it was okay, just a storm as my hand gently stroked the soft long fur on her head.  I was very much enjoying the effect the air was having on my body and I didn’t want to break the spell.  It dried the light sheen of sweat that the humidity had left on my skin, moving over my neck like a trail of kisses from a lover’s lips down toward my swelling tits and hardening nipples.

I moaned and opened my legs wide, my knees bent as the tendrils of the air pressed against my belly, invisible fingers continuing their downward journey to ease the ache that was building in my cunt. Accepting the invitation I had given it, I felt it move between my legs, opening the lips of my pussy, exposing the glistening nub of my clit throbbing with want and passion.  A part of me knew what was happening was more than just some weird barometric pressure playing against my skin, yet it was nothing of a human nature either.  I felt no fear as I let it explore my body inside and out.

A cold sensation, much like a wet tongue moved over my cunt, gently caressing the lips of my pussy and clit, dipping inside me, cooling me from the inside out and I lifted my ass to meet the phantom lips and tongue.  Fireworks of red, blue and yellow flashed behind my closed eyelids as the lightning from the storm filled the room with light.  Christine shook and cried under my hand but I was too involved in my own pleasure, a pleasure I hadn’t felt in such a long time to comfort her.

Thunder clapped loudly shaking the house just I felt a cold hard and very large pressure drive itself into me.  Christine let out a yelp of fear but was drowned out by my own cry of pleasure as I threw my head back and reached over my head to hold the wrought iron headboard for support.  Having released my hold on Christine, she abandoned me in her fear and scrambled for cover under the bed.    

My phantom lover wrapped itself around my hips, holding my body in the air, anchored only by my hold on the headboard as it thrust itself hard and fast into me, fucking my welcoming and wet pussy. What was happening was not anything earthly….I knew it and I didn’t care.  No previous sexual encounter lived up to what was happening to my body at this moment.  The air was cold yet left hot traces on my skin.  The touch I felt was not solid but undeniably real and I felt it everywhere, much like the force of walking against a gale-force wind.  Every erogenous zone on my naked body was being caressed, played with simultaneously.  I bit down hard on my lip, holding back my orgasm, not wanting this to ever end as the storm raged on outside.  My hair was damp though I’m not sure if it was a result of my own exertion as I rocked my hips, intensifying my ecstasy, or if it was from the rain beating into the bedroom through the open window.

My pleasure was too intense and I found it impossible to hold back any longer.  My back arched as I threw my head back, my body becoming a solid board as every muscle tensed with the shudders that overtook me, as the fireworks continued in my head blocking out all else.

As my consciousness slowly came back to me, I felt my body being lowered back down gently onto my soft bed.  The air pressure moving out and away from me once again, slipping off me like a bedsheet as I heard the thunder moving away, the storm resuming it’s path across the countryside.  The rain continued, though now falling gently outside the window, the wind having moved on with the thunder and lightning, lulling my exhausted and sated body back to sleep.

I had long been fascinated by thunder. As a child I used to sit by my window counting the beats and waiting patiently for it to light up the skies. This night something was different, the brewing storm aroused me more than was customary and I felt attuned to its rhythmic clatter. I had laid my head down to sleep an hour ago but the incessant swirling audio and periodical flashes of light had kept me awake, as had the deep stirring within my balls. I was fully erect, so much so that my stiff cock ached from base to its very tip and I felt a yearning inside which I had no real handle on.

I turned with the intention of returning to the warm comfort of my divan was alarmed to witness something writhing between them. For a moment I pondered as to what was spread out before me but the satin sheets obscured any clear optical indicators and instead I relied on the light panting for any enlightenment. As I proceeded towards my bed the audio became more pronounced and I could make it out more clearly. It was evidently a female, glistening with perspiration and seemingly inviting me in; all the while totally unaware of my presence. I felt a familiar twinge in my balls and this caused my eyes to roll back, such was the focused intensity of the testicular tremor. It had to measure at least an eight.

Unable to deny myself any longer, I whipped back the glossy linen and, there before me, was a sight for the sorest eyes. A naked woman, face obscured by shadow, nipples firmly erect and flaxen locks sprawled out across the pillowcase; just what the doctor ordered. It was as though she could feel my presence in the room although she did not speak, instead her shell reciprocated any advance on my part and arched in waiting as I slid in between her legs. My shoulders glanced her painted toes and traced up her thighs until I reached the center of her arousal. On arrival, I ran both hands along the curvature of her hips and towards her chest, grasping both breasts and thumbing her rigid nipples.

She let out a gasp and I felt her wetness against my forehead as I climbed from her asshole, along each rung and nestled my burly tongue into her clit. Her scent was intoxicating, I pressed the tip of my nose against her button and intook the sweet, cloying aroma. Ripened forest fruits. My licker began to traverse the inside of her delectable cunt and kept unraveling, each movement inciting further convulsions as her inner thighs closed in around my face, pressing me deeper. I released one hand from her front and collected a glib of honey from her haunch with two fingers, commencing to slide them back to her slackening anus. Delicately, I probed and probed and was now spinning the plates on four fronts, much to her quivering delight.

I felt the storm around us, only the thunder which had threatened previously appeared to exist in every fiber of her pelt. It was raging inside as was my gnarling prick so I left her sticky hub momentarily and she reciprocated by raised her ass from the bed and throwing her drenched hair back, palms against the bedstead in anticipation. Her pussy was sopping, nectar glistening in her labia, awaiting further instruction. I place one hand under her back and assumed position, keeping her elevated as I plundered her cunt with my pulsating cock. As I entered, a gush of excitement passed by and doused my balls which were pressed hard against her paddock.

Her imminent eruption denoted that she was prepared to cum for me and, I myself could feel the ejaculate slide around the base of my shaft. Each thrust was synchronized almost as though an electricity ran through both of us. Yet, I hadn't yet seen her face. Here we were in the throes of passion, the boudoir stinking of sex and both of us percolating wildly but she remained ambiguous. The curiosity overcame me and I allowed my honey to release whilst moving my head in line with hers. As she jerked left and right her features remained contorted but I caught a fleeting glimpse of her eyes as her lids fluttered with overwhelming pleasure. She cum hard against me, milking the last few droplets of spunk from my well-coiled member.

I closed my own eyes and exhaled harshly, lowering her gently back down and sitting upright on both knees astride her as I regained composure. By the time they reopened I was alone, dripping in perspiration and meshed bodily fluids but with this inexplicable beauty now conspicuously absent. The thunder had passed now and the tender persistence of the rain continued outside the window. It had been a most exquisite storm.

Pictures provided by Keeper....

Home Sweet Home - Verse I

A Collaboration with Keeper of the Crimson Quill

I'm not sure exactly how I found myself in the place I reside now. An unfortunate turn of events rocked me to my foundations a year ago and my idyllic lifestyle was wiped out in favor of a far less picturesque existence. It's nothing more than a transitional stage that I find myself in now, back to my home base to recuperate and lick my wounds. I needed somewhere that I could focus on my writing, somewhere safe. 

I've long been disconnected from any apron strings, have been independent since I first moved out of the family home at twenty. So it was with heavy heart that I returned to the scene of my adolescence. That's not to say that the times I spent there weren't jovial, on the contrary, I was blessed with a happy upbringing and have many fond memories within these fortifications. However, once you have made that decision to forge your own path in life, it becomes uncontemplatable taking those two steps back.

There are times in your life when it is necessary just to bite the bullet and I masticated hard on the one fired my way. I relocated from my modernized century-old cottage to a poky little bed chamber, pallid and somewhat unwelcoming to a man fast approaching his forties. Fuck it, I had to do something right? It seemed fruitless renting and I had made the decision to cease employment and follow my dreams of becoming a writer. All my monies were temporarily unobtainable and only likely to be freed upon a lengthy divorce and I didn't want anything to compromise my goal. So I sucked it up.

Anyhoots, now I'm a prisoner in this place. Not that I'm getting it twisted, my time is largely my own here and right now it serves its purpose rather well. As a sexual creature though, I feel confined. Social outlets dried up on commencement of my return and I spend large portions of my day with myself and I as company. I'm self-sufficient so it suits the purpose but, to say that I don't crave the touch of another, would be to tell a rather hefty mistruth. That's what we all desire ultimately, to feel with our fingertips, kiss with our lips and fuck with whatever it is we're packing. I miss that. 
 
A few dusks passed something happened...something I felt as though I had no control over whilst, in the same moment, something I totally owned. The sun had ebbed away, leaving behind it chilly whispers as its moist rejoinder. I had been outside, grimacing like a cooler at a poker table, punishing myself as I invariably do by choosing such a frosty locale to scribe my prose. It was one of those deceptive evenings where it felt warmer than it actually was, leaving me chilled through to my marrow and none the wiser for a lengthy period. Eventually the penny dropped.
I'm more of a shower person ordinarily but my former walk-in cubicle had been replaced  with a modest wall-fitting which could best be described as working. Thus, the cramped bathtub was my destination this night and I spent forty five uncomfortable minutes semi-submerged and without so much as a rubber ducky as company. Naturally, at one juncture, attention turned to my soaping myself down and my cantankerous cock began to stir as it traditionally does in such circumstances. Always the opportunist. Nevertheless, something held me back from petting on this occasion...so I left him be.

Some of my least favorite moments in life are those few breath-stealing minutes after you evacuate your tub/shower of choice and re-acclimatize while you towel yourself dry. It has become customary for Keeper to slide naked under the divan while this adjustment takes place. This night I felt different to others, wired somehow...to what I had no idea but there was electricity present and furthermore it appeared my stiff prick was acting as some sort of conductor. I nestled back into my array of pillows, closed my eyes tight and reached down to grip my thumping member.

I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that I was in the presence of an unannounced other, could feel a mesh of essence in the air which was wholly intoxicating. I peeked out, just to ensure it wasn't my mother delivering a pile of ironed linen to my boudoir. Once satisfied, I kicked off the sheets and hoisted my nectarinal derriere from the mattress, my rigid cock standing sentinel-like at the apex.

There was an accompanying feeling also, that being of inhabiting another place entirely. The bite in the air had been replaced with a heady heat although my bedstead felt colder than usual against my bare pelt, as though were it fashioned from wrought iron. The baritone rumblings of approaching storms were in contrast to the clear dusk I had been presented with formerly. Indeed the whole integrity of the atmosphere had changed. In addition, I felt soothed by the mollifying sound of crickets, not an audio conducive to my current environment. Regardless of any discombobulation felt I had never before felt so utterly serene and, in the self same moment, aching to cum. 

 

I loved this house.  I had purchased it after my divorce for a dime and a song…well, a little more than that, but I couldn’t help feeling I had stolen it, the price was so low.  Yes it needed a little work but mostly cosmetic fixes.  The foundation was solid and the windows and doors opened and closed easily having been replaced decades after the settling had ceased on the hundred year old home.

It was nestled in the country, quiet and secluded and the second I stepped inside upon my first viewing, I felt welcomed by the old place.  It seemed to have a spirit that greeted me with warmth and assured me that this was home…the perfect setting for me to write my book during my year-long sabbatical from work. 

I needed the time to get my head straight.  The divorce had been bitter and nasty, a battle that had raged mercilessly in the court system for three years.  My lawyer had earned every cent that my ex was now paying him.  He had fought for me valiantly, winning me a settlement that allowed me to buy and fix this place up, not to mention that it also afforded me the privilege of taking a year off work without having to tighten my purse strings or pinch pennies.

So far though, I hadn’t yet written a word.  It seemed my tortured brain needed the break as well, and I had put my laptop aside and kept my hands busy with a trowel and paintbrush instead.  The colours I chose for the rooms were cheery, adding light and lifting my spirits.  The floors were made of good hardwood and I decided that only a light sanding was needed for them.  I wanted to keep some of the scuffs and scratches ingrained for character.

The hard physical work was having a positive effect on me.  My body was becoming lean and toned and the aches that throbbed in my muscles the first weeks of starting my renovations were dissipating, leaving me feeling strong and fit.  The fresh air and sunshine that kissed my skin as I worked weeding the gardens against the stone foundation gave me a golden glow that not only made me feel ten years younger but made me look it as well.

I was enjoying getting acquainted with my new home, often talking to it as I worked patching and painting, sanding and staining.  Tonight I ran my hand over the smoothly sanded trim like a lover’s caress, “You are so strong and beautiful.  Isn’t it Christine?”  My golden retriever responded by thumping her tail against the floor as she lay watching me,  thrilled that I was including her in the conversation.

The heat outside was very nearly unbearable.  The air above the asphalt driveway shimmering still even as the sun started to dip below the horizon casting hues of deep purple and orange into the clouds that were gathering in the evening sky.  I heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance.  The rain that was surely threatening would certainly be good to cool things but in the meantime, the humidity was causing beads of sweat to form at my nape under my long blonde hair and trickle down curling like a snake around my neck before continuing their path downward to be caught in my modest cleavage.

It had been a long, hot day and the heavy air was making me more tired than usual.  I decided to wash the heat and sweat off my skin under a cool shower and go to bed.  My skin still damp from the shower and with Christine at my heels as usual, I made my way through the house to my bedroom in the darkening night, not bothering to turn on the lights.  My long wet hair, clung to my back, giving me the fleeting sensation of being embraced.  I suddenly realized how much I missed being touched by another.  I stood at my bedroom window, my forehead against the glass and let my hand flutter over my apple shaped breast, relishing the feel of the soft tender flesh.  How I longed for a man's hand at this moment.  Yes, a man's hand, a man's lips, a man's touch.  I felt the moisture between my legs as an old familiar ache started building in my pussy and I let out a deep sigh, my breath fogging the glass in front of my face.

My temperature was rising again and decided I really didn't want to make myself hot all over again.  Letting my hand drop from my swelling tit and hardened nipple, I pushed away my desires.  I opened the window hoping for a breeze only to be disappointed by the stillness of the night.  Not even a breath to flutter the light sheer curtain that hung open beside the bedroom window.  The curtains were for decorative purposes only.  There seemed to be no need to close them at all as there were no prying eyes for miles. 

I had kept the wrought iron double bed that had been left in the house. It’s dark twisted metal was cold and hard yet like the rest of the house, it welcomed and comforted me.  Christine curled herself into the dog pillow I kept at the foot of the bed and I laid down on top of my down comforter, not wanting the weight nor the heat of even a thin cotton sheet covering me.   Completely naked, I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes and let the cricket’s night time serenade sing me to sleep.

For this story and more from Keeper of the Crimson Quill, please visit riversofgrue.com