Monday, August 29, 2011

Story Tiiiime again!! Ok

Ok, all the BTS BS is done, let's get some naughty time in, shall we? I've been feeling particularly horny now that the ultra-stressful chore of getting everyone back to their routine is over with... let's have a little story, hmm? Part one. Part two comes tomorrow! So CUM BACK TOMORROW! I will also be on the phones... so read it and if it turns you on, giveme a ring and we can finish it together!! XOXO ~ Jen

  My muse, lying so still on the quilted sheets, stripped nude and waiting for my attentions. Her skin so soft and white, so ready to be my story, so wanting the words. Her breath is short and excited. She doesn't know what is to come tonight. She will be so much more when I am done, she will be eternal.

    I place the pile a quills and the bottle of ink on the night stand next to me and draw out my short knife, razor sharp for stripping the quills as needed. I take the first quill and slice, enjoying the feel of the blade cutting it so easily. Two strokes of the knife later and the quill is ready, razor sharp and ready to scribe my tale into her flesh.

    She waits for me. My perfect muse . . . she waits to become under my hand. I lean forward and dip the quill into the ink and watch with great excitement as I pull it free of the jar and tap off the excess, the midnight black ink so perfect for the task at hand. So dark and decadent and rich in color. I turn back to her and she understands, she tilts her head back and I am ready to begin.

    The quill tip on her throat is painful, I know this because I intend it to be that way. Dangerous and yet controlled in my hand, what better tool for the expression of passion. I write "Once upon a time. . ." on her bare throat and the story begins. Upon that alabaster neck do I scribe the beginning of the tale, the solicitations and introductions needed for the debauchery to come. Her, a wanton nubile virgin, ripe for deflowering and willing to discover. Him, a lecherous man with dark intentions of taking her flower.

    To the collar bone I write these things with great descriptions of her flesh and his wants. Then upon the collar bone, this succulent point of her body do I begin to describe the meeting between the two. It is by chance, as they always are in these tales. Eyes locking, thoughts raging, they are meant for passions and they know it. Across her shoulders do I write of the banter between them so as not to create a vulgarity, I will encapsulate their sex within the guise of literary trappings. They decorate her shoulders like the facade of decency hangs from my story.

    I throw the first quill away and grab another. Her breathing is much more excited now. Sharpening the quill with quick strikes I return to my work. She squeals as the tip once again etches into her skin and the noise arouses me more. Working down the breasts I am telling of their escape to privacy and intimate speech. Flirtations and innuendo give way to overt desire and wanton lust.

    Around the sensitive nipples I apply extra zeal and she moans for me my precious muse, the sharp pain making the nipples stand up for greater length to my tale. Circling them with text I write of clothing ripped and shredded, rough throws to the bed and the sound of shredding silk. The feel of lace ripping away and with it any hope of virginity. And I write of passions unable to be contained any longer.

    Tossing my quill away I grab another and with great care slice it to a pin point tip. Leaning in close I make sure to etch each nipple with the vulgarities of hard passionate kisses and licks. Each stiff nipple now telling of the tale and part of it. The very tip of them I save and then with great delight add the punctuation, a sharp period for each stinging into them.

    Blowing my ink dry I wait a moment. . .allowing her to regain herself. Then I flip her upon her belly and begin once again on the shoulders, but more excited now, the story having fired my blood. With great slashing handwriting I scribe across her shoulders and down her back. An excited text of rough feels and squeezes. Groping and touching and pinching down her spine as the sweat gathers on my brow, the story is fevered now in temperament.

    Across the small of her back I pause and allow a tender moment. Mouth to nipple for the first gentle suck as lips wrap around the sensitive virgin flesh. Then the moment grows almost to tears as he gives her also her first bite, hard and delicious on her flesh. I write of her squeals and begging for more. This virgin is more slut I am thinking but I love her all the more.


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