Wr1tt3n0ne

Bunches and bunches
2021-08-05 13:35:38 (UTC)

Hot and Heavy

Kismet and Leaf loom large in Mr. Curved Line's and my social calendar. The hope in the talking and subsequent meeting was that a friendship with sexual freedom might be realized, the most benefitted of platonic relationships would manifest. That has now come to pass. There is a easy rhythm to our exploration. Though it is more linear and coupled than I would hope, it is very comfortable. The certain type of heat it exudes is pleasing and slips on like a robe. The jarring juxtaposition of lust near friendship dwells not within this relationship. And without undue effort, nor endless rules and structure we seem to have landed at this untroubled place. Typically you pay for effortless ease with sexual heat, the latter demanding something both more complex and opaque to rage against.

Leaf's body is heavy and snug against mine, easy to be wrapped by without falling off the edge of anything. His manner is clear and warm without the sensitivity that often complicates otherwise simple relationships. I could talk with him for hours and often our physicality is bookended by more cerebral wanderings. I find myself wet and moved but far from overtaken and it allows me an intelligible attitude on the whole of it. He is gracious in the sack and I do so enjoy being respected and politely toured. Certainly I enjoy the vigorous and he is very handy with feeling out my wants in that regard. A man with a perpetual smile curving his lips, I immensely enjoy his approach as well as his fascinating content. He can be quite experimental and that can be distracting from time to time, it also is interesting. I do abhor a bore in bed. I find his personality congenial.

Kismet is something of a masochistic lithe fairy, stretched out along the vertical axis and smoothed by her art and her flawless form. Her awkwardness worn only in her visage and her mannerisms. It is beyond delightful to see the honesty that personifies. I have no disdain for beauty, but I have little use for solely the perfection of form. I prefer to see the flaws and what they combine to make. What the world supposes are flaws are the virtues of man to me. The electric fidget of the neurotic and the wavering shyness of the unpresuming intrigue me and lend shadow to the flat surface of rote beauty. A smile of the gorgeous ones is hardly worth my efforts, I wish to see the half smile of the quiet ones tickled delicately into being. Her interest to me burns like a mystery. Her lines are sleek and sweet, mine voluptuous by comparison and near Rubenesque. I love the tight pressure of her inner space, how generous her interest and restrained her impassioned cries. Her smells and tastes wisp away as soon as I consume them, mild and plentiful. I chase her down not out of emotion but rather an abiding interest moves me to her exploration and use.

There is missing an earthiness to her touch, but I find a certain intensity to her ministrations that makes my teeth find my lips. It makes me bear down on her mouth relentlessly. She sparks a little bit of the Mistress in me, I want to viscerally take her, use her for my pleasure, hard. There is a synergy I get with such people, a dog eat dog sort of ambiance where I want them in a physical fashion. I like the art within her hands, it strums in my mind as my eyes play over her works. The imagination in her works is sublime. She is so articulate and friendly in the sort of way a turtle's head emerges suddenly and purposefully. Her marks, blackened fingertip impressions, belie a hunger in her I would feel lucky to fan. Perched on her mouth, I feel free to enjoy myself. No, completely unencumbered by worry at all. Free, my dear readers.

And mmmm, that's a feeling I would come back for again and again.




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