There Are No Words

At 4am this morning, I woke from a dream so incredibly detailed, with its own mythology and the like, that I scrambled for my phone and jotted down 1,372 tired words. I’ve read over it just now, having woken later in the morning, and have left it unedited and untouched, save for some spelling mistakes and sentences that didn’t make sense. What you will read is something I’ve written while not entirely awake, my hand pulled along by forces beyond this world.

I know some of you enjoy looking into the mind of the process or the writer or even ME, so I hope this intrigues you at the very least.

I can remember her taking my face in her hands, and looking at me with those deep blue eyes. My god, how deep and blue and expansive they are. How kind and thoughtful they are. Oceans. They are the sea.

I see her eyes flicker but before I can contemplate what that means, she’s leaning in to kiss me deeply.

Christ, her lips are so soft. They seem to sink right into my own lips. As if merging together.

I can feel my heart leap in my chest.

As she holds the kiss, as I hold the kiss, I suddenly see everything. I see her ass, lily white and gorgeous, I see her free of the shackles of her past life. I see her freedom. And it makes my heart pound in my chest.

When she pulls away, I feel like I know her more through that kiss. As if, through the act, a bond was created – and we fused.

She has to wipe the dark curl of hair from her eyes. Or I do.

I want to but I can’t look away from those deep, mesmerising eyes. I feel like I know her more now, know her better.

She kisses me again suddenly, deeper, harder. My stomach flips in excitement – or is that her excitement I feel, now that we are bonded. Now that my emotion is shared through the bond and hers is shared in my mind.

A sense of understanding. That’s what it is.

I can feel her soft hands on my face, cradling me, as if she wanted this for a while.

I want to tell her to be free, like I know she wants to be. There’s a side to her that I can sense. I want to scream it at her beautiful blue eyes, even as I wipe her dark curls out of her face.

Do what you want, what you must, for the freedom of your soul, for your health, but I know the truth. She senses it too now, my weirdness. My indulgence. I’m encroaching on something.

The other women around me don’t seem to mind our shared kiss. They wait patiently in silence, or do they observe? And if they observe, what do they see? Did I get it all wrong, terribly wrong? But that can’t be! She kissed me. I sense her. I sense her so strongly.

One by one hand, their hands lower me down to the cool metal table. How many women are there? Well, there’s the vampire – I know that. Blonde hair, ice blue eyes. There’s the girl in the hoody with the kind eyes. There’s the fiery redhead in the singlet with the rosy cheeks.

Somehow I know they’re actually all vampires. Except me and her. She who regards me with her deep blue eyes as big as the moon.

Does he know how lucky he is to have her?Where is he anyway?

As if on cue, he wanders into the small room, eyes ablaze. There’s fury.

In a heartbeat, before he can see, she tears her hands away from mine – somewhere along my counting of how many women there are around me, she took my hands in hers.

I didn’t even finish counting anyway. There’s more than three. They’re all gathered around me in a circle, her included.

I can feel her through the bond, I can tell she wants to undress and be naked. I can tell that’s how she likes to be. It comes in a flash in my mind, and I can see her walking along her natural habitat – a forest – completely nude, grass crunching beneath her feet.

“For a little extra you can become a vampire.” A woman at the end of the table says. She’s looking at me with tired eyes that seem to sag in their sockets. She’s dressed all in black, even with a black robe. The tattooist.

I shake my head. “No, thank you, just the tattoo. Like hers.”

I point to the woman with the kind eyes. She’s watching me closely, a smile across her ruby red lips. Out of all the women that have taken up residence in my home since my partner left, this one has spent the most time talking to me.

On her chest, above her breasts, she has a tattoo of a symbol that’s foreign to me. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I only know I want it on my chest.

And it just so happens one of the women in this wonderful, warm tribe, is an artist of the tattooing kind.

When did I get so lucky, to have this support from all these beautiful women around me? All these endlessly kind beings? I’d tip my hat if I wore one. I’m afraid the only thing I wear is my heart on my sleeve ever since she left me. Five years gone and cheated on me the past few months for some bloke with dark features, same as me. What did I have that he didn’t? Why did that draw the attention of a tribe of men and women into my home and why do they support me endlessly in this relationship breakdown?

May the party live forever.

I know she senses my thoughts because she frowns to herself. That or it’s because he’s circling her, his eyes on her as he joins her to her right, where he perches like a bird or a ghost or a bodyguard. I can’t decide which. I’m sure he didn’t think about this possibility when he, too, came into my home. I certainly didn’t expect to spark her interest. I’m not even sure she would talk to me if I didn’t talk to her first. The only thing I know about her is that she’s not a vampire like the others and that her wonderful eyes are as big as the moon.

Do I regret the kiss? I’m not sure, to be entirely honest. My heart and mind and very soul still rages at the recent betrayal of my ex. I mean, after she came clean about the affair, she still wanted to suckle on my cock while the others finger fucked her into a delirious state.

We all knew she did it to pass the time – her family was picking her up, her bags were packed – but we still did this. We all did this.

So there’s rage behind my willingness, that I’ll admit, but when she placed my face in her hands and kissed me that first time, I wasn’t just hypnotised, I was mesmerised. Because I could feel her thoughts. I could sense that she wanted to silence my pain as much she wanted to silence hers.

Does that make me a bad person?

There’s no fear in me when the women hold my legs down and apart. I trust these new friends of mine. They did offer me vampirism after all. They even wanted to charge me! But no, this was about the tattoo. The tattoo that would mark my pain and hurt forever, the tattoo that would bond me to these traveling nomads, friends for life.

Some of them, like her, had boyfriends. They were grouped in one room of the house watching tv and drinking. Eventually they would retire to their rooms and sleep, snoring softly.

The circle of women talk amongst themselves. Some of them banter. It makes me smile. They must’ve been traveling together for so long they’ve made friendships for life. Is this what this tattoo is? Am I part of the tribe?

I feel her soft hand on my arm and meet her eyes. There’s something else there now. A wound of sorts flickers behind her eyes. But who would wound the moon? Who?

Despite this, it’s a shy smile she gives me and it makes my heart race. I close my eyes and feel her warmth rising through the bond. It makes me smile too.

12 Days of Kinkmas 2018 – Day #1: ‘Olives’

blindfolded

There are volumes unspoken when she asks if he can place the olive into her mouth himself.

Outside the boundaries of their existence, wind howls and rain lashes at the windows. Inside, the only noise comes from her wet lips as she parts them gently. Otherwise, if there were other forces, other creatures occupying the same space, they were not stirring like these two.

He didn’t like olives at all – the texture, the taste – the horrid salty bitter taste that seemed to evolve in his mouth after taking it in.
What even was that change in taste that crept up on you?
So when he ordered the pizza – Joe’s Special – without the olives, lo and behold, maybe to spite him, maybe because it was late on a Friday, maybe because it was close to Christmas, business was booming and the maker was exhausted, the olives were here after all. Mocking him, as they lay scattered across the topping.
When she said she’d have them, he started peeling them off and placing them on a clean plate.
No, she had said, turning to him, looking at him with her green eyes that seemed to come alive and deepen, feed them to me.

He hesitated, looking at her, a lock of sandy blonde hair covering her left eye, a mischievous grin spreading across her face like light streaming in slowly through a window. She stood so close to him he could smell her – not the ghost of her perfume from work – no, her. Her scent.

Suddenly he became aware of more – the outline of her nipples through her grey singlet, the shape of her breasts as she leaned inward to him, looking at him with the intensely lit green eyes.

And her lips…

When he placed the first olive into her mouth, he did so timidly. She giggled, and it was like the old cliché – like music to his ears. When he placed the second olive into her mouth, he noticed her tongue dart out ever so smoothly to pull the olive into her mouth.
He watched her, curious, as she swallowed and look back at him, waiting patiently.
What was behind her eyes, he wondered. There was mischief, yes, that much was in her smile, in the way her eyes focused up on him from where she stood. There was something else though. A seed planted.

Suddenly he wasn’t standing before her in their kitchen anymore, suddenly he was in some darkened corner of space-time where she was taking his cock into her mouth – and he could feel her. Her wet lips coating his shaft with her own saliva, he could feel her moan vibrate around him as she took his length in. He could hear her lips smack – in eagerness? In catching a breath? – As he pulled out of her. He could see it in her eyes that she wanted it again – hungrily, breathlessly, desperately.

Yet he was standing in the kitchen, her opposite him, her mouth parted gently, waiting for the next olive, her eyes glossy, mischievous, wondering – in space-time? Perhaps.

 

A Sleepy Sexy Something

Who is the girl that wilfully stands to attention, head bent, back straight, like he showed her how?

Watch her face come alive with the light of the universe as she is granted permission to kneel before him.

Watch this girl’s child-like wonder as she runs her hands over his cock, like a toy. Like her very own brand new toy on Christmas, delivered deliciously by a devilish Santa himself.

Where does this sudden innocence, this transformation into a child come from? O watch as she smiles crookedly, sweetly, stupidly as she takes her first licks, her tongue rolling up the length of his cock, coating it with her own saliva, marking it as her own. Watch her blue eyes expand, seem larger than life, seem full of life, as she is right where she wants to be.

She’s utterly devoted to his pleasure. Her own comes from the satisfaction knowing she has pleased him, comes from hearing his moans, from tasting his cock.

It will come from taking his Cock into her mouth as far as she can. She would take it till she choked, she loves it so, but he never lets her. He stops her when she tries, telling her with that commanding voice she can’t betray.

Instead she will adapt to the rhythm of his soft moans, exploring taste and pace. Who is this girl that was so eager to kneel, to taste, to want so badly to taste him that she stops and begs him to come in her mouth just this once because she’s been good, oh so good.

Who is the girl?

I must’ve been grinding my cock in my sleep again…


I remember being half awake and gliding the full length of my shaft against the sheets, drawing out the sensation of the grind.In my dreams, a recurring thought came back to me: Who wants to lick my shaven cock? Or nibble on my balls?

I remember being in a dream – in a deserted cabin in the middle of the Amazon. I needed to come so desperately that every part of my body ached. I could even feel that building within me – the orgasm.

 And as I write this I can feel it now. Lingering. Throbbing. Screaming for a touch, for a mouth to run its wet tongue along the length of it.

God help me. I’ve lost my mind. 

How are your dreams?

Animalistic

tumblr_mhaw68M7YI1rudhgwo1_400

Today, I thought I’d test myself as a writer. I’ve done erotica before, that was fun. I’ve done girl-on-girl pieces, which is a typical male fantasy so even easier. But I realised in order to challenge myself, I needed to write outside of my usual forms of interests. I wanted to see if I could operate as a writer outside of what I personally enjoy. So this one is for fans of my work. Let me know how I did

– TD&D

I stand fully naked before him, my cock enlarged.
He is kneeling just inches away from me, his eyes big and mystified at what he sees.
The anticipation is driving me wild myself. I can feel my cock pulsating and begging to be worshipped.
I grip his hair, he howls in pain but I don’t give a fuck.
“Take me. “ I say lowly. “Take me, you fucker”
His mouth slides over my cock, I feel the wetness of his tongue. It is exhilarating.
I can’t help it – a moan escapes my lips. I pull him further into me. He gags but I don’t give a fuck, I’m thrusting into his mouth.
A thought hits me in that second: something someone said in a TV show…or was it a book? Everyone is capable of being bisexual. I guess this is true, for here is this man, hands stroking my thighs, working my cock..ooh…the slightest flick of his tongue around my shaft..fuck.
My hips are swaying into his face and then his hands wander to my ass, he grips it and gags a little more.
I find myself moaning, getting dizzy, frantic, pounding his face into submission, getting a rhythm down pat.
He stops to take a breath. I let him, fuck it. He kisses down my thigh, taking my balls into his mouth and suckling softly. I moan louder.
He goes to grip his own cock but I smack him away.
“No. Don’t you fucking dare”
I’m close, who gives a fuck about him. I force his mouth to my cock once and work him again – faster, harder. I feel it building, it’s rising, his wet mouth is heaven, fucking heaven.
Then it hits, blinding pleasure. A grunt comes out of me and I pull out and blow my load all over his sweet, eager mouth. I don’t give a fuck where my cum lands.

The Backseat

truckfuck

She let out a sigh. Her breath was warm against my cheek.
Suddenly, the inside of the car was growing warmer. My skin felt like it was on fire.
She started kissing down my neck, her fingers dragging their way down my chest.
“Please” she mumbled in a hushed moan. “I need to”
By this point, my cock was tenting in my pants. The ache not only throbbed, it pulsated through my entire body. I needed to tear it free. But that was already on her mind. 
She unzipped my pants and freed my cock. The relief came in an instant. Having my cock free satisfied that ache that was threatening to drive me insane.
That was when she wiggled down onto her knees. How she managed to wiggle into the tight space that was the mystified me — but by that point, she had gripped my cock firmly and let out a delightful moan. Gripping me must’ve been as satisfying as letting my cock free from my pants was for me.
She looked up at me, flashed that wide and dazzling smile – then lowered her mouth upon my cock. 
Sensations came to mind – wet. Warm. I held back a moan as her mouth slid up and down over my cock. She giggled in between sucking me. Pleased at finally getting what she wanted all afternoon.
“You taste so good” She whispered to me from below.
That was when my sister lowered her mouth on my cock once more.