Blistered Lips

i love you with all of my hard-on:  the aerodynamics of gilded wings

(a kinda-sorta sonnet)

come to me, he said, my love
come to me and be my heart
my breath, my life, my wise companion
and sail with me on gilded wings
across a sky that knows no shame
into a world that knows no blame

be with me, he said, my love
be with me and be my tart
my bitch, my slut, with wild abandon
fuck my face and fingers, girl-whore
and ride my hard and leaking dick
to leave your cum upon it slick

i heard right, i knew, the first
i heard true and glistened all:
his breath, his life, his jumbled man-tongue
and sailed with him on gilded wings
across a sky that dare not see
into a world that could not be

where my bard was quick undone
his heart but figment’s fancy
and by his lust was held cheap ransom
fuck his face and fingers, did i
and took his shaft with cold constrain
his girl-whore now, mine self-disdain

seed then spent, his deed compleat
nought figment of mine fancy
my flesh did answer this heart undone:
an errant knight was he at best
i’d come to him, believed the lie
that crossed his heart and hoped to die

passion cold, stripped raw, unclothed
in my eyes, his lies struck mute
no chance for sway, he did abandon
this girl who’d sailed on gilded wings
who’d come to him, believed the lie
had crossed her heart, hoped not to cry

deeds of pilfered drupe thus wrought
from this bard, i took my leave
for breath, for life, mine own companion
i sailed away on gilded wings
across the sky that knew his blame
left this world: his loss, his shame

“Don’t kiss me on the neck.”

“Why? I thought you liked it.”

“I do. Just not right now. I just want fucked. Just stick it in.”

“Okay, but don’t bitch at me later.”

“Christ, shut the hell up and stick in it.”

And then he is pushing her over the kitchen sink, sliding her skirt up over her generous, round ass. Surprised to see she is not wearing panties, he thinks better of saying anything; she obviously isn’t in the mood to listen.

As he goes to push her right leg out further with the cap of his bent knee, she moans.

“Hurry up, damn it. Give me that cock.”

And so he presses between her legs, again surprised when the head of his cock glides so easily between her already-moist thighs to bob against her sodden bush. She grunts, wiggling her slit back onto the head. He feels himself slide into her–fast and deep–with hardly any effort.

As he starts moving in and out, he can hear the slick sound of her juices coating his pistoning cock and feel them oozing between the hair on his balls. The smell of her sex wafts up to surround both of them. He moves quicker; her animal need has quickened his pulse, sharpened his need.

She’s curled her fists along the edge of the sink, her white knuckle grasp helping her to push back. Her breaths are fast. She is grunting and groaning, then whimpering.

“I need it. Right there. Yes. There.”

And then she is crying and her cunt is rhythmically spasming around his cock as she begins cumming. The raw quickness of her orgasm pushes him over the edge and he is pumping his load into her, his face buried between her angora-covered shoulder blades.

They stay that way, hunched over the sink like twin embryos as they catch their breath.

And then she stands up straight, his dick sliding out of her and down her thigh–a slug, leaving it’s slime.

“Okay, leave me alone, now. I need to finish these dishes.”

because she must
and the world is not parenthesized
never small at all
and her heart is even bigger
than any of it
or you or me

even yesterday
when she lived in the cup of your hand
with your bantam voice
the tablature of her days
the sway blessing
was upon her

and then this moment
while she sleeps in the cramp of your bruise
god gives you this: that
love is a circle and absolute
and so she binds you
now and always

ever tomorrow
and a thousand tomorrows redeemed
over and over
to lose what we gain, gain what we lose
and so love gives us
all that we are

because she must
because she’s blessed
because she knows
because she loves

there she goes
see her jumping the brilliant rainbow?
little girl in a hurry

….you might as well drop your panties and spread your legs. Because, sooner or later, he is going to have his way with you.

Last night, after a busy day of “much ado about nothing,” I was wired-tired. You’ve been there, right? Feeling all day like your left foot was nailed to the floor as your right one kept running you around in endless circles? Yeah, one of those days. So I was really ready to call it quits. Fresh from a hot bath I was looking forward to calling it a night and had been about the business of doing just that when my muse showed up.

“Not tonight, dear,” I told him. “I have a headache.”

But he was having none of it. Hopping up onto my shoulder, he pulled out his teeny-tiny muse-monkey and began spanking it. Not this time, I thought to myself, determined to ignore his lewd, rhythmic keystrokes—right there, beside my ear.

“You know you want it, Angela,” he whispered.

“No. No I don’t, Muse. Please go away.”

I looked longingly at the just-poured glass of merlot sitting on the kitchen countertop only a few steps away. I imagined the beautifully-bound anniversary edition of To Kill a Mockingbird awaiting me just down the hall—perched atop the pillows I’d just fluffed. I thought of the bedside lamp, its amber nimbus waiting to surround me in the sweetest of solitudes as I sank into my pillow to sip my wine and read a page or two of Harper Lee’s masterpiece before drifting off to higher ground.

“Go to your keyboard, Angela.”

Muse’s voice had taken on that sexy growl, the seductive tenor that always makes my little slut-digits quiver. I whimpered. He chuckled—that familiar sleazy snarl of a chuckle. Oh, how I hate you, you insatiable bastard. As if he could read my thoughts, Muse grunted, spit a gob of ink on his little quill and stroked faster. We both watched the jetty fluid oozing from between his pumping fingers, smearing across his knuckles.

I was getting hot—hot to trot right over to my keyboard and writhe, I mean write. The raunchy little raconteur inside me began to tremble. I wanted Muse’s hot jizz to conjugate and punctuate and catenate me. And his grizzled sneer told me Muse knew it.

“Nouns, adverbs, adjectives.”

“Muse, please stop. You know that sentence is incomplete.”

“Then fix it, Angela. You know you can’t resist.” His breath, smelling of parchment and indigo, blew across my fevered face. “Get your panties off and get your horny fingers over to that fucking computer and diddle with that fragment.”

“But…”

“I know, baby. I’ll make it good. Remember the old days? When we did it on everything? Index cards, notebooks, legal pads, steno pads and even napkins. Remember how you liked being bent over that Underwood you found at the yard sale?”

“Okay, Muse. Damn it, you’re right. Do me. Bend me like a bitch over that keyboard and make me your whore. Shove that fragment in front of my face and have your way with me. Use me like the pencil-pushing slut (virgule) strumpet (virgule) tramp (virgule) harlot that I am.”

“I knew you’d give it up,” Muse sniggered as he positioned me in front of the computer. “Now, you filthy little ink-slinging Pandora, listen to this.”

Hunched over the keyboard I opened wide as he started pumping it into me: “Participles, linking verbs, superlative adjectives… You want more?”

“Give it to me, Muse. Give it to me fast and hard and dirty.”

“Grammar, punctuation, conjunctions, interjections, gerunds…”

“Oh, yes! That’s it. Do me. Pound it in to me.”

“Factitive verbs, predicate nominatives, indefinite pronouns, past participles, appositive phrases …”

Muse had me where he wanted me. He knew the dirty truth about the both of us: That I am his whore and he is my whoremonger. It’s been that way since I first picked up a pen. And so I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Until his profane solicitations became the rhythmic movement of my sticky little fingers across the keyboard and once again, as he always does, the Muse had his way with me.

You’ve come to ask me why I am sitting here for well over an hour now and if there is anything you can do for me. You are so young. What, eighteen? Nineteen? And yet you are so kind.

Dear beautiful girl, there is nothing anyone can do for me. And I cannot leave this bench, because Diana expects that I stay here until she is done. Diana is my wife, you see; and I must never disobey her. Even when she is doing what I know she is doing in the hotel behind me, I do what she tells me to do.

Ahh. I see that you understand what is going on up there–that she is betraying me even as I sit here talking with you. Don’t look so shocked; or is that sadness I see? If so, there is no need to pity me. Sit here beside me and I will tell you more. Go ahead, I don’t bite. Hell, I don’t even bark. Although sometimes I whimper. That is what my Diana would tell you and she would be right.

Sit with me and I will share this bread with you, so that we can both feed the birds gathered at our feet. They know me now, and are here every Thursday. Every Thursday it’s the same: Me on this bench, the birds at my feet, and my wife in room 418.

Dear girl, even though you are too young to know of such things yet, your sweetness is appreciated. And so I will tell you. Diana would tell you that I am “pussy whipped.” She tells me so every day–every single day. She is right, of course. I was struck dumb by her beauty the first time I saw her and have been her captive ever since.

After three months of dating, I begged her to marry me. She was blunt. You cannot satisfy me. That is what she said. I told her that I loved her, that I would learn, that she could show me. Because, quite honestly, I knew she was none too pleased with our intimacies. She smiled then, gently taking my hand and looking deep into my eyes. I am fond of you and could easily love you. And I will marry you. But only if you agree to my terms.

Can you guess her terms? Surely your young mind has not yet comprehended such things, and so I will tell you. My beautiful Diana revealed to me that she’d been regularly seeing and having sexual relations with a variety of men throughout the three months we’d dated. You see, she told me, there are stud men and then there are husbands. If I agree to this marriage, you will be a husband. I will get my sex from my stud men. Because, quite frankly, I do not care to have intercourse with you ever again. Of course I was devastated. Like any man would, I told her those terms were unacceptable. She just smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

We continued seeing each other, but the dynamics had changed. No longer was I permitted to have sex with her. Needless to say, I was perpetually aroused, totally obsessed with her. It wasn’t long before she began freely admitting to her various ongoing dalliances. On more than one occasion–when we were at dinner or a movie–she’d point to a man she’d slept with the night before or recently.

While much of what then transpired from that point on is quite embarrassing, I promised to tell you. And so I will.

My obsession became everything. She was Laura to my Franceso. At first I followed her, needing to know who these men were, jealous that she would give to them what she would not give to me. But then I had to know what they were doing with her. I began hiding in the bushes, watching through Diana’s bedroom window as they took their pleasure with her beautiful, perfect body.

Of course, it was agony. But there was also a new kind of hunger–a voracious appetite that I could no longer deny. Because I was becoming aroused watching these men molest her body, taking her roughly, spilling their seed into her womb. There came a night when, disgusted with myself–but unable to stop–I unzipped my fly and grabbed my stiff member.

I see that you are blushing. Have I said too much? Do you want me to continue?

Ah, then, I will. Thank you. They say that confession is good for the soul; perhaps that is why I feel this deep need to tell you our story. Here, have some more bread. If you hold a piece down here–like this–some of the birds will come right up to your fingers. There you go.

As I was saying, I grabbed my own erect penis, right there outside of her window as I watched Diana on her on hands and knees with this man–this brute–pummeling her from behind. I watched the biggest penis I’d ever seen sliding in and out of her; and Diana loved it. She was screaming at him to do it even harder and deeper. Her flesh had taken on a pink glow, and a mist of sweat covered her bouncing breasts. Then her eyes rolled up, and she began grunting and screaming. Her body twitched and jerked. That she was having an orgasm with that huge organ inside of her small orifice drove me wild. Quite frankly, I’d never been so turned on.

I began stroking myself. One…two…three… And that is as far as I got. I began ejaculating into the bushes just as the man pulled out his penis–slimy and dripping with the evidence of my beloved’s orgasm–and began shooting his discharge all over her exquisite heart-shaped buttocks.

I was crouched behind the bush, catching my breath and wondering how I could creep away without being discovered, when Diana’s “stud man” quite abruptly emerged through the front door, tucking in his shirt. As I watched him getting into his car, he stopped and–looking back at the house–yelled an obsenity. I sent him away and he’s not too happy. It was Diana’s voice right above my head. I looked up to see her smiling down at me from the window.

Of course, I was mortified. It turned you on, didn’t it? I was so embarrassed, so confused–my sickened heart thudding against my chest–all I could do was stutter. Diana told me to come inside. Shaking, not knowing what was going to happen next, I went around to the front of the house. The door was still ajar from her lover’s quick departure, so I let myself in, going straight to Diana’s bedroom where I found her still naked, the overwhelming and pungent smell of sex filling the room.

So, you get one more chance to ask me to marry you. Just one more. And let me warn you, before you ask for my hand. Oh her smile was so confident when she said that. It will be just like tonight. And the other nights you were outside my window. I will have lovers, many lovers. You may watch or listen or wait. But you, yourself, will not have sex with me. The only thing that will be different is that you won’t have to hide behind a bush.

The rest of the story is obvious, my dear. I married her, agreeing to her harsh terms. It’s been seven years now. And while I sleep in the same bed with Diana every night–watching the rise and fall of her breasts, smelling the perfume of her shampooed hair, seeing the flair of her blanketed hips–I am never permitted to have intercourse with her. I cannot even count the number of men who’ve had sex with Diana.

Sometimes Diana and her “stud man” will let me stand with my face to the corner, listening and masturbating. Other times they might have me help them in the actual act–by positioning her or holding her open for him. Sometimes I must stay behind the closet door or under the bed.

But this is Thursday, Bench Warming Day, as Diana calls it. It’s been going on now for about three months. Look up there where the blind in the window is half open. That is room 418, and that is my cue. It tells me that they have had their fill. Five men have had sex with my wife. Five men have abused her body and used it for their pleasure. They have used and filled every opening.

So I must be going. Diana needs me. She will be depleted and tired. I will tenderly bathe her, and then dress her. Then carry her to the car. I will take her home and tuck her into bed. Because I love her. I love her so very much.

“Enforced chastity is no easy thing, let me tell you.”

“I never said it would be easy. Did you ever hear those words from my mouth?”

“But, Sarah, you never said for three months at a time.”

“No I didn’t. But I did say if you really wanted me to move in with you, you would have to follow my rules. ”

He moans and looks down at the chastity cage around his groin. When he’d agreed to this, he never knew just how good she was, how determined to have her way. She knows him well and uses his every weakness, every fetish, to tighten her control.

“You were pussy-whipped before I moved in. How many times did I fuck you during the eight months we dated. Three times? Maybe four? ”

“But, Sarah! From June until September?”

“Don’t be such a whiner. I do let you play with it once in a while, don’t I?

“Yeah, with a cock ring on so I can’t cum. It’s torture.”

“Well then, we’ll make it easier on you. I won’t let you play with it anymore. Would that be better?”

“Honestly, I really think it would.”

Sarah smiles, reaching down to graze her nails across the cool, smooth surface of the Houdini, then taps it with her fingernails. One month into his Cum Restriction Program, as Sarah has so aptly named it, he feels every little percussion as it vibrates down the length of his shaft and into the base of his balls. “Christ,” he rasps, “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t play with it.”

“Fuck! I want pussy, damn it!”

“Well, darling, why didn’t you just say so,” Sarah simpers as she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. “Your wish is my command, as they say.” Giggling, she pushes him into the Naughty Chair. Before he can protest, she’s locked his hands into handcuffs behind his back. “That’s because you don’t want to play with that demanding cock of yours anymore, so you won’t be needing those hands.” She is in front of him, beaming. “But guess what, honey? I want to play with it. I’ll be right back.”

“What?”

But she is gone. As he sits waiting, wondering what she is up to, he hears her moving about in her dressing room–his home office until she’d moved in–rustling clothes, opening drawers, rattling hangers. What in the hell? What kind of trouble am I into now. I should have kept my stupid mouth shut. She’s too damned good at this.

And then he hears the click of high heels.

Stifling a sob, he feels his cock twitch and strain against it’s unyielding bulwark. Jesus-fucking-Christ, how am I going to stand two more months of this? If Sarah is putting on heels, she intends to show him no mercy. “Damn, please, no…” he mutters as Sarah walks into the room.

“So you want pussy, huh?”

“Please, Sarah.”

But he can’t take his eyes off of her. She stands before him in the navy satin stilettos he’d bought her after she’d fucked him the first time. Those, a cobalt lacy garter belt and a pair of taupe stockings. Nothing else. Her smooth mound and perfectly shaped coral pussy lips are right in front of his face.

” Oh God, Sarah. Please.”

“You want pussy?”

She bends her right knee, placing the heel of her stiletto against the back of his neck. Her moist slit open like an O’Keefe flower. “Here’s your pussy. Now suck. Suck like the cum-denied, pussy-whipped boy you are.” Then she is pressing against him, her moist muskiness engulfing his face.

“After you make me cum–and you will make me cum…”

Sarah stops, grabbing his hair and pulling his wet face up to look at her.

“After you make me cum, pussy boy, I’m going to put you in your cock ring. Then I am going to take all that lovely cunt cum and massage it into your dick. And I am not taking off the ring.”

She shoves his face back between her legs and begins a slow grind. “Do you understand,” she asks, her voice breathy. Sucking and licking and groaning, he moves his head up and down. Yes, yes, he understands. He loves eating her and she knows it. Just like she knows that stilettos and stockings always drive him wild.

“There will be no cumming for you, my love. This is just the beginning.”

Grabbing the back of his head she starts fucking his face.

“It’s going to be…”

She starts pumping harder and faster.

“a very long…”

A series of gasps now puncuate every word.

“very hard…”

And then she is screaming and cumming all over his face.

“……..summerrrrrr.”

i dream of you
i dream of you and wake to you

i wake to your mysterious sweetness
a thick confection of dark enchantment
i wake to you: my dark lord singing
my savior complete in faceless armor

so close now: i can hear your mouth move
so close now: i feel your breath
deep in my belly

intoning metered, delicious seduction
you unfold me
you unravel me
you stretch my chaste limbs
horizon to horizon

you whisper, you murmur
you speak in tongues
your mouth is music
your mouth is prayer
electric canticles for celibate flesh

this is bethlehem, sweet lover
this is calvary, my darling

and my body, now liquid, forgets its slumber
my voice, now full, forgets its silence

and

i genuflect in glory and cry amen

First, show me your body; take off all your clothes. I want to see your naked flesh.

Mmmm. Your cock is getting hard. You like me watching, don’t you?

Now brush your fingertips under your balls, then cup them. Does that feel nice? Are they getting tighter? Because I want your nuts real full and tight for me. Do you understand?

Take just the tips of your finger and thumb and run them, very slowly, up and down the sides of your cock. Very slowly, I said. That’s it. Up and down. Up and down. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Slowly, slowly.

Look: there’s already a drop of precum on the tip. Milk the head just a little bit and get a nice, gooey gob of it on your fingers. There you go. So nice and creamy. Now, just with your fingertips, massage that precum into the shaft. Do it very gently and ever so slowly. Make that fat dick glisten for me.

Does it feel good? You want to grab it, don’t you? Be a good boy and just wait. Just wait a little bit and I’ll let you hammer away at it. Then you can blow your load for me, okay?

I’m going to sit down here, right across from you. And spread my legs. You start a nice slow stroke all the way up to the head of your dick and back down. I want you to look between my legs. Keep stroking. One, two. One two. That’s it. Look right up under my skirt while you are jerking that dick for me. One, two. One two. You see those little black lace panties, don’t you? You’d like to get to the pussy underneath, wouldn’t you?

But not today. Today you are beating off for me. You can look, but no touching me or my sweet little pussy.

Now make a tight fist around that stiff prick. Squeeze it for me. Make that precum bubble out and drip down the side. Yes, just like that. Pull your dick up a little bit; I want to see those balls. Oh my! Your balls are as hard as your dick now. Does it feel good? Move that hand up and down a little faster now. That’s it. Look at those veins popping out.

Slow down. Listen to me. Do what I say. That’s a good boy.

Now I want you to hold your hand around the shaft. Keep those eyes on my hot little crotch. Stop stoking and hold your dick. Very nice. Now, fuck your hand for me; just pump those hips and shove that cock in and out of your grip. Not so fast; slow down.

What? You want to cum? You want your hard dick to cum for me?

Come here.

Get down here in front of me. Point your dick right at my panties. Now stroke it fast and hard. Do it. That’s it. You ready? You ready to show me what a dirty boy you are? Okay, baby. Do it now! Spray that spunk all over this lace crotch.

Oh yeah! That’s it; shoot that cream. Keep jerking; I want every bit of it. Good boy!

Now somebody is going to have to clean these panties. I wonder who.

I wonder who and how?

the scent of her
is on you like a tattoo
marking your greedy mouth
for the servant that it is

your greedy cock
will snivel and bob and strain
but cunt is your drug
and you are her marked man

her claret blood
stains your bloated lips
and cunt is your drug
and you are her scarlet secret

your rigid prick
will bargain and weep and thrum
but cunt is your drug
and you are her clay pigeon

her flaxen piss
seasons your obedient tongue
and cunt is your drug
and you are her golden boy

your diligent meat
will mewl and seize and shiver
but cunt is your drug
and you are her wicked bitch

her butter liqueur
bridles your debauched face
and cunt is your drug
and you are her candy man

the smell of her
is on you like a birthmark
annotating your avocation
previewing your impediment
bookmarking your bewitchment

because cunt is your drug
and she feeds you well

Why? Because it’s not good for you. That’s why, asshole. You get around snatch and lose your grip, become a babbling, sniveling, whining, ridiculous, piece-of-shit excuse for a man.

You do stupid things, too. Your dick gets hard when there’s even a hint of pussy–the scent of perfume, the click of high heels, a glimpse of panties. Then you spend your money, buy presents, lend her your car…whatever it takes to keep her close. Yet all for naught; after the frenzy there you are: Alone and slapping your salami.

And we won’t even talk about your porn addiction, that you sit in front of your computer for hours, jerking it to pictures of girls who wouldn’t give you the time of day. It’s all you think about, all your stupid little mind can conjure. Even though you never get any, which seems to me a waste of time and makes you a waste of space.

Jerk it, stroke it, rub it, and eventually make the little bastard squirt. All by yourself, because…ewwe…I certainly don’t want your skankie pecker- pus anywhere around me. And then start all over again.

BUT….no pussy for you. No pussy…NOT EVER!