White-hot Strands

At first, when my time was over with an especially talented man I will never forget -- unusual but certainly rewarding times I spent with the Artist -- I thought it was all my imagination; or maybe a dream. Now, even though I'm still not really sure whether those days and nights were merely dreams or reality, I know it was the truth.

To the best of my recollection, here's how the mystery unraveled:

After much casual time spent with a young man I will only refer to as the Artist, I knew how scent affected this skillful painter, who would eventually and mysteriously somehow become my lover. I knew how strong his passion for taste was, and I was very well aware how much the power of scent had over him.

So, in my hidden desire for him, after weeks of peaking his curiosity about the possibility of actually being with me, having me completely and fully -- experiencing my scent, and how I look and feel as I release my sexuality, just the mere knowledge of me, and all these things, began to haunt him ... and he loved it. He needed the excitement and the curiosity. He needed me.  

"Ginger", my Artist friend told me, "I want to breathe it in -- your scent, you -- as your flower opens and liquefiesÓ.  

He whispered these kinds of things in both of my eager ears, more than once -- much, much more than once he told me of his secrets, and in many different ways. 

I, at last, decided to give in to his need. I tried to hide my desire for him, but he was too smart not to realize how much I trusted him, how much I enjoyed his attention, and his love for eroticism -- which was equal to my own.

Very seldom was I fortunate enough to meet a man who could satisfy me, and leave me wanting more at the same time. I had a feeling this young Artist and his pallet of many mysteries and secrets, could fulfill my curiosity ... and indeed, he did.

He told me he'd been with many women. He swore he'd known so many of them intimately, he felt he understood what drives a woman out of her mind, sexually -- because he watched her.

He watched the chosen woman of his desire, and he waited. He tested ideas. He teased her, and he tried new things; different ways of doing the things he knew she loved. Until at last he would arrive upon her weakness -- the unique weakness of every woman he was with. 

I was proud to be his greatest challenge.

Nevertheless, my pride and stubbornness would eventually cave in to the ever-mystical, erotic knowledge of my Artist, my lover. He was primal, yet he was sophisticated. He was insatiable, but so patient he could drive me to the edge of orgasm, and captivate me there for hours. 

My Artist was also a seductive, elusive story-teller, maddening me with his stories of steamy wet clefts, and cocks as hard as steel rods.  

It's because of this reason, and only this reason, I will tell you about one night of our story, just as he would tell it, if he were here. 

He would begin very simply, reciting to you, the listener, just as he had spoken to me - in a very deeply sensual way. So...here it is...just for you:  
 

"Ginger, now be still. I am goingto tie you to our bed. I will take this soft bit of cloth, cover your eyes with it, and tie a knot in the back - loose, but not too loose. I don't want it falling off and spoiling your surprise. 

"You know, darling, I've always wanted to show you how I paint. That is our plan for the evening. I have some painting to do. Or you may even call it drawing. You can let me know which one is more appropriate, painting or drawing ... when I'm done ... if you're able to talk".  

(To his delight -- as was his way -- he could tell I'd heard the smile in his voice.)

"I bet you don't know why I'm doing this. Well Gin, I will gladly tell you. You are so beautiful, my Princess. I want to see how you respond to the softest, slowest, most intense stimulation I can possibly give you.  

"Have you noticed how our bed is warm, soft, and comfortable -- surrounded with our scent, or how my warm breath is sweeping over you, as though I am all your satiny skin can feel? 

(Oh, how this man deeply disconcerted me!)  

"Gin, are you concentrating? You are allowing your lust to distract you. Listen closely to me. I will tell you what to do and you will do it. If you don't understand an order, ask me, but do not disobey, sweetie. The more obedient you are the greater the erotic magnitude of this experience with me -- for you, the first of it's kind. 

"Ok Ginger, you may now begin imagining my face, my lips, my tongue and teeth an inch from your flesh, moving across you, between all your pleasure points, because this is what I'm doing. Though you can't see me, I know you can feel me, as I watch your pale, delicate skin tremble. 

"Be prepared to change directions now Ginger, even though I know you don't want to.

"Spread those long, lean legs of yours widely for me, sweetie.

"Wider ... wider ... wider ... there you go. I am going to tie your legs to the bed posts as far as part as I can. 

"Yes ... just as I suspected. You're willingly spreading them wider and wider because you want it all, don't you, Princess -- anything I will give you, anything I choose to do to you, because you know my mission is to please you beyond anything you've ever felt or even been able to describe. 

"I am now between your legs, looking at the most tempting, juicy peach of a pussy I believe this Artist has ever seen -- and how it drizzles with your cream!  

"Ah, already, Gin!? So soon? 

"How naughty of you! I am even more tempted now to forget your gift, and center my hard cock deep inside you -- so inviting you are -- lying there, twisting and grinding, your pelvis and hips begging me to come inside. But don't worry. More than likely, I have more control than any man or woman you've ever been with. I am very patient. You will feel as though you can't wait, but you will ... because I will.  

"I'll now begin administering to you that which the most erotic of dreams are made of, Ginger.

"In my hands I have a soft, width - medium sized oil paint brush, made with genuine equine hair, yet with a slight stiffness for control, and tantalizing stimulation, at the lightest touch, the slightest movement.

"Also with me, I have a heated cup of warm scented oil, designed especially for vaginal lubrication. Of course, I can see, feel, touch and sense the lovely scent of your natural lubrication, and it continues to tantalize me, and my cock grows harder and stiffer, this oil is special, and you will love it.

It's warm, easily accessible without touching you, and it never dries -- even if I were to choose to tease you with it all night. Hmmmm ... what a delicious thought ....

"You've guessed by now, I suppose, that I will be dipping this brush, made just for you in this warm cup of oil, also especially designed for you.

"Your mind is whirling with curious, anxious, but deliciously exciting thoughts wondering what I will do next, isn't it Ginger?

"Well, I'm moving very close to you -- so very close to you. My mouth is so close to you that if I stretched out my tongue, even a little bit, the tip of it would touch you. I'm watching you; looking at you ... admiring your beautiful body ... your gorgeous wet pussy -- drenched only for me, just as I knew you would be.

"My left hand comes down to comfort and stroke one of your soft inner thighs. I feel your pulse there, and though you don't realize it, my hands will be your foundation, helping you, strengthening you and grounding you for the sweet torture to follow.

"I'm dipping the brush-tip into the oil, and touching the outer parts of your sensual core with the brush now, Gin. I am beginning to paint you with tiny lines. You are becoming aware of a small sensation being traced on you. As I am outlining you with this perfect brush and warm, sweet oil, you become more aware of your lower, sexual lips than you ever have. I move slowly, surely, and steadily.

"Listening to only the beginning of your hungry moans, I am silent. But you are still able to feel my warm breath on your tender skin -- because I am still very close to you, wanting to memorize everything about you; each quiver and tremor, and even the shape of you in the midst of your wet, swollen lips -- and tracing you here is the best way to do it.

"When you feel the hot line stop, I am dipping the tip of the brush in the oil, to re-silken it for you so I may continue. The stroking begins again. Slowly ... yes, slower and slower, I finish with your outer lips, resisting touching you with my mouth, salivating ... or my cock, so hot and hard for you now. Instead. I move to your delicious wet inner lips.

"You are pink-red, turning darker as your arousal mounts. The glisten of the brush is soon outdone by the glistening of your throbbing insides, as your natural syrup mixes with the oil.

"I refuse to move any faster, even though your hips are beginning their thrusting, lusty roll -- quite in earnest now. You are pushing yourself forward, hoping to have more than just this maddening contact. You want to be completely filled. Or, maybe, you want the brush tip to move higher, to the apex of you, to your hardening, throbbing clit.

"Completely in control, I continue to resist, even as you are completely under my control. So instead I simply blow lightly, directly on you, as if one would blow to make paint dry. My breath feels hot - like perfect streams of air, as I continue to move the warm, oily paint brush tip over your inner folds. I am coloring you in, Gin. Can you feel the strokes of this painter, this sketch Artist of your lust, now becoming so heavy with desire?

"The brush tip continues to glide over your slick, satiny wet folds, allowing me to observe your pussy, your body, every movement you make. I am learning all about you ... how you move ... how you moisten ... how strong your sweet cunt muscles are, surrounding you -- making up your gripping core. The core I can't resist imagining around the thrust of my cock, and how it would feel, my cock growing fuller and fuller -- and even more, how it would feel to you -- you are already out of your mind with want and need.

"With the inside of you now lovingly anointed in a mix of oil and your creamy wetness, it is time to cover your clitoris. I pause to get fresh lubrication on the tip of the brush, so that it will be even more pleasurable for you.

"With small strokes, I begin from the outside in. Every stroke is pointed toward your hard button, your clit. I then begin to stroke over your throbbing, slick nub, from bottom to top -- catching the part of you at your clitoral hood and pressing it up and away. You feel each swirl, as though nothing else in the world existed. Your hood, as well, I stroke with the softest most feathery whirls of the brush, which is slowly becoming more flat, and less of just a tip-touch, bringing you even more pleasure.

"Under your hood, where you are pure nerve, I take special care. All of your awareness is on this one tiny amazing place. The tip of the special brush, designed just for you, becomes a flame, and within its tiny arc of movement the fire is everywhere at once, completing our orgasmic oil painting, as your hips begin to jerk, to jump out of control.

"Your hands are pulling hard now at their ties. All of you, every muscle begins to tighten. You are begging, over and over ... such a delicious, arousing sound.

"Deciding to at last have mercy on you, I will now use my mouth to finish you, to satisfy your lust, to complete your orgasm, so that I, too, may experience your coming, your orgasm with you, and not only experience the scent of you, but taste your thick, sweet juice.

"First though, I must untie you, and I do ... while also trying to keep you under my control, as my hot mouth, fully open, covers your pussy as warmly and softly as the oil paint brush. I cover you all of you at once -- the full wet heat you need; the richer, smooth solid contact you crave is here upon you now. The fulfilling and pulling suck at you, drawing you into me. I roll your swollen clit and lips around between my lips -- a pulsing ... a taking of your heat. Your powerful sweet essence of sex and sensuality quickens and strengthens as you curl all of yourself you possibly can around my face. Your legs, your torso all curling at once as you come, your orgasm takes hold of you everywhere. I allow you ... encourage you even, to ride out your quakes and trembles. With every after-shock, my mouth remains the epicenter, suddenly swallowing and captivating everything about you ... lost ... lost in an orgasmic work of art ....

"... the white-hot, never-ending strands of you."

So there you are, dear ardent reader. Do you understand why, even now, I wonder if my mysterious lover, the Artist of my lust, and the times I spent with him, are mere strands of a white-hot dream?
 

M. Wyatt