Saturday, July 5, 2008

Absence

The bed stretches away, sheets pristine and soft, a yawning expanse of space devoid of his presence, his scent trembling on the edge of consciousness, evoking an aching need and underlining the absence of warmth.

This space, this soft refuge has in many ways defined the reality of our lives. It is an escape, a joy, a definitive statement of the state of mind and emotions. It has witnessed the hot frantic couplings of a sensuality that has permeated our long intricate life together and conversely, seemed to widen and yawn in an abyss of loneliness when our bodies huddled apart, faces turned from each other, minds tangled and emotions raw.

I lie alone, the hum of the air conditioner providing a comforting white noise that embraces and calms and lulls me into a state of blankness that is innately meditative. Shadows etch intricate mandelas on the Parisian blue of the walls, flickering and moving as the blinds sway in the breeze from the fan, which sweeps lazily above my supine form, breathing cool air along the long expanse of flesh.

Still damp from my bath, water beads, swelling clear along ivory flesh, flecked with the golden glow of freckled kisses.

Eyes half closed, sleepy and relaxed, my mind moves lazily from one thought to another, and imagine as I lie there on our bed, his hands on me, trailing from the swelling of calf up over smooth thigh to the jut of hip and soft belly, up along the ribcage to the small mounds of upturned breasts.

I look down over the length of my body and gently cup one small breast, squeezing the soft mound until the pale freckled flesh flushes and the colourless, plump nipple blushes pink and tightens, the areola contracting and thrusting the tip into the cool air. I watch as my fingers tighten and feel my breath catch as the marks blush deep on the ivory flesh and the livid imprint of my fingers bloom slowly a pattern of want.

Releasing my captive breast, I relish the sting as the pressure lightens and the sweet, heavy weight falls back against my chest. Leaning, I pull his tee shirt close to face and breathe deep the tangy, sharp scent that is uniquely his. Emotions and memories tumble in a confusing morass of confusion in my mind, a kaleidoscope of thought and need, of hot grasping hands and tongue and the feel of him thrusting deep inside, pushing harshly against intimate parts, the feel of my body- resistant and struggling until I succumb, and allow him in,

The tee shirt is old and much washed, almost translucent with wear and comfort. He had taken it off just before he left, draping it over the pine footboard of the sleigh bed. I rub the shirt over my face, letting the soft material slip over the soft skin of cheek and brow, trailing across my lips and enticing with its scent, so personal, so unique to him and him alone.

His scent; pungent, tangy and intimate, composed of the fresh clean sweat of his body, mingling with the scent of his deodorant and unique dusky smell of his skin. My own scent mingles and entwines with the essence of his own scent and engenders in me an aching melancholy to feel his arms around me.

I trail his shirt across the aching tips of my breasts, sighing as its soft material caresses the blushing tips. I pull the front tight against one mound and exhale as the soft plump mound of my breast with its burgeoning nipple is outlined in soft pale translucent material. Reaching with my other hand, I gently take thumb and forefinger and gently at first, pinch. My breath catches and I pinch harder now, cruelly, crying out softly as the sensation arrows down through my body to throb between my legs.

Slowly, languidly, my body feeling fecund and swollen, I trail the tee shirt down my ribs and along my waist; then, as my breath comes quicker, audible over the humming comfort of the air conditioner, the fan sweeping cool air now against flesh growing heated, I trail it across my hips and allow it to fall between my spread thighs.

I am smooth, having shaved as I always do in a nightly ritual to keep myself fresh and soft for him. The shirt slips silkily between my thighs, catching for a moment on the silver rings and tugging ever so slightly, making me gasp. I raise my hips, holding one end of the shirt tight against the mound of my sex, the soft cloth pooling between the tight furled lips of my cunt. Reaching behind me I grasp the other end until like a sling, his shirt slips between my thighs, cupping and caressing the secret part of me.

I close my eyes and breathe deep.

I tighten my thighs and push my heels into the mattress, moaning very very lightly as I thrust gently against the line of material. The material tightens as I pull, front and back, and rub slowly the length from ass to mound. In the shadowed embrace of a room, I smell my musk wafting and twining with the scent of him as the material darkens with my secretions.

Eyes slitted, I look down the length of my body and watch as my breasts quiver and shake, soft flesh moving slowly, rippling, tips aching.

My hips flex and I trust a little harder against the material, my hands holding it firm, one hand resting just above my mound, the other below my hip towards the back. The material twists and dampens, and I can feel it rubbing against the sensitive bud of my ass. I push against it harder, feeling a deep, aching emptiness in the middle of my body, wanting, craving his hard length.

I close my eyes and drink in our mingled scents, breathing deeply as if it were solid the hot, wet musk of our bodies. I allow my mind to wander through a myriad of moments until it pauses and pulls into my body the scent and feel of that smooth throbbing vein just behind his balls. I allow memory to crash over me and take me with it in a tsunami of erotic thought the musky scent between his spread thighs, his balls tight and pulled up against his body, the slippery throbbing length of cock and the tangy pungent taste of sweat and secretions as I lick and lip that beautiful swollen vein and then widen lips and ever so gently suckle and pull until the sweet, swollen testicle is imprisoned in the warmth of my mouth.

I moan in the quiet room, the shadows dancing on blue walls washed with light spilling from between slitted blinds, the air conditioner thrumming a rhythmic pulse into my body, calling me to join in a dance of want and desire and lust.

I savour in my mind the feel of his warm flesh, lips so gentle, barely pulling, tongue caressing ever so softly, barely dusting with warmth and moisture and heat the delicate prize.

My hips move rhythmically now, pushing against the increasing dampness of material, lips swelling, their pale smooth flesh blushing pink then deeper, the deep pulling want of my emptiness craving, wanting, needing.

In my minds eye, I gently release the delicate orb and move up the throbbing delicious length of his cock, slippery with my saliva and the oozing clear liquid of his own want. His foreskin bulges around the swollen purple head of his cock, pulled down almost painfully away from the sensitive glans, slippery with secretions and desire. I run my tongue around the dripping need, sipping at the liquid which pools in its intricate folds then run my tongue up, narrowing it to delicately push into the winking need at the tip.

I pull harshly now at the teasing length of shirt between my legs, then pausing, I release my hold of it at my hips.

I sink back against the mattress, spreading my thighs wide and sighing, I grasp the now sodden material and push it against the aching need between my legs. I groan and balling the teeshirt, push a section deep within me, the swollen, needy folds sucking it eagerly, grasping, wanting something hard and long and hot.

I push more in, with fingers slippery with my own fluids and opening my eyes, I glance down and find the sight of his shirt pushed into me immensely arousing. Pushing my ass against the bed, I lever myself up slightly, the angle now allowing me to shove up more. I can feel the heavy fullness now in the front of my cunt, the pressing urgency of need coupled with a strong urge to pee.

My breath is harsh now, fast and shallow, my body throbbing and heated in the cooling breath of the room, the thrumming of fan and hum of air conditioner seeming to match the throb of body and blood coursing hot now through veins, turgid and aroused.

I look between my spread thighs, the sodden shirt spilling from me, the feel of its balled, soft material harsh, delicious in the yearning center of my being. My hand goes to the swollen bud which peaks now between the furled lips of my cunt. Spreading my fingers, pulling around it but not directly on it, I push and I pull, tilting my hips, pushing the material up against me.

I feel the building need, the almost uncomfortable pressure, my breath catches, I stop for a minute, breathing then sighing, release, moaning as pale, clear liquid spills out of me in rhythmic contractions, soaking the already damp material, wetting the bed beneath, providing a delicious relief. My hand works frantically between my thighs, taut now and trembling with effort, slipping and sliding as the hot fragrant fluid pours out of me, soaking me, my thighs glistening in the muted light of the room. A ribbon of sunlight licks at the pale flesh, reflecting a rainbow of colour for a moment as the hot fluid gushes out in a rhythmic stream and watching, feeling, I welcome it and it comes crashing and I grunt, gutturally, harshly as my world explodes and the contractions take me and I spill into the roaring river which sweeps me into its crashing embrace and tumbles me and pummels me and brings me slowly, eventually into a muttering, quiet estuary, peaceful, quiet.

I lie in the muted light of a waning afternoon and blink sleepily as the air conditioner hums and the fan sweeps cool air against my heated body, throbbing still but slowly quietening, calming…

My buttocks contract as the air cools and I shiver in the wet mess between my thighs. Sighing, I pull myself to sitting and gingerly grasping the sodden mess of his shirt, pull. Reluctantly, my body releases its prize, and my skin ripples and shivers as my still sensitive folds resonate as the material trails across their swollen red expanse. I pull myself with some effort to my feet and head to the cupboard to get fresh sheets. Pausing, I bring the shirt to my nose and breathe deep its warm, damp scent, mingled now with secretions of my own body and miss him with an aching need …

3 comments:

Max said...

A steamy and intimate moment of dripping wet passion, made quite alive through your wonderful penmanship. Thank you...

Buffalo said...

Well done, Selkie.

Anonymous said...

Ah-h-h-h, yes!

D.O.M.