The Artist

He painted her warm, glinting eyes
upon the cold, dim-lit face
of another.

He painted her sugared, strawberry lips,
grimacing at the bland, unsweetened mouth
of a stranger.

He painted her fragrant, pulsing neck,
his cheek startled by the less-rhythmic breath
of this night’s companion.

He painted her deft, gentle fingers,
recoiling from the awkward, rough hands
of the bar pick-up.

He painted her soft, gleaming hair,
groin itching in irritation as newly-found, coarse locks
fall upon him.

He painted her made-for-his-suckling breasts,
angrily ravaging the imperfect, mahogany buds
of this friend of a friend.

He painted her firm, bronze thighs,
discontented with these ill-fitting limbs,
now wrapped about his flanks.

He painted her delicious woman’s entrance,
nose wrinkling at the off-putting tang
of this woman’s scent.

In final, accepting anguish,
he painted her heart
with the blood that emerged
from his own.

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SHORT BITS (story tweets)

He feels the mattress sink for her. Again, the shock of cold skin against his cock. Cold showers make him shrink. Why not her chilling ass?
Reaching beneath the bed, ass exposed to her lover, “I can’t find them and he’ll be here soon!” Dangling from his hand, “Do you mean these?”
She stiltedly voices, “The moon looks so lovely tonight.” “Not so lovely as the one halved before me.” he manages to voice, between thrusts.
The knock wasn’t quite familiar. Maybe it sounded different because her ears were full of love’s rush. She should not have gone to the door.
This had required much waiting and personal attention. His fingers run across her warm mound. The warmth won’t last. He withdraws the blade.

I’m not sure these qualify as a full story idea. They require you to fill in some details as you read.

Your thoughts? Thanks. C. Dreamer

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Sometimes Any Place Can Be Hot – Part Four

Yolande makes her way to the stairs leading to the kitchen. She hears the slight ping of the other door latch. She doesn’t turn to investigate the sound. It’s often quirky and slow to completely catch.

It’s not until she’s on the fourth step that she notices the footsteps. Thinking it’s Garth with another to-do for her list, she again doesn’t look behind her. But it doesn’t quite sound like his tread.

She glances back as she realizes it’s not Garth, catching a toe against the next step. In two quick strides Thomas is there to prevent her fall. She gasps and swallows audibly as she realizes whose arms are holding her. Holding her for minutes longer than necessary.

“Thomas,” she shakily begins, “I’m fine. Thank you for being my hero though, I think you can let go now.”

He cups her chin in the web of thumb and forefinger, looks into her eyes. Eyes that hold a shimmer of soon-to-be-shed tears.

“Do you really want me to?” He asks with unhidden need. “I know it’s been years since we’ve been together, but, I also know I’m not over the feelings I had for you. Can you truthfully say that you are over what we had?”

She tries to bring down the intensity of the moment, asking, “Why were you close enough to save me, or at least keep me from breaking a bone, just now?”

“Garth thought you might need some help with the coffee.” Thomas snorts derisively, “Of course he was too busy to help you himself.”

Yolande is startled by how Thomas had quoted, word for word, her exact thought. A tear escapes her left eye. His lips drink it off her cheekbone. Another from the right eye is taken by his tongue.

She shudders, inhales memories of their past. If he were not still embracing her, she knows she’d be back down on the steps. Her ears are thrumming. She’d not be aware of their approaching footsteps should Garth or Josh decide to use the stairs. A quick look downward tells her the stairway door is still open. This discovery only adds to her unease.

“Never mind the why, just be glad there was a reason for me to be here for you. Now, tell me, are you where you want to be right now?”

“Thomas, yes, if you mean here in your arms.” she answers as she reaches to brush his lower lip with two finger tips, sliding them to the corner of his mouth. He can feel her hand tremble, taste the salt as it emerges from her pores.

He grasps that hand, her fingers enter his mouth slightly. His tongue glides out to draw those fingers in more deeply. God, he’d like to take her here, now, not paying heed that her husband and brother-in-law are only one room away. Sweat has formed between them, their combined scent joining them in memories of desire still unrequited.

Yolande knows there is no turning back this time. She has denied feelings engendered by teenage love for too long. Her own feelings in her marriage have been denied for too many years as well. She rises to her toes, even as her legs quake, to meet Thomas’ lips as he lowers his mouth to her succulent welcoming surrender.

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Rare to Well-Done (Part 2-a)

Knowing that her body currently needs the incentive of thoughts more than deeds, she begins to wonder if he imagined more of her as he had sketched. Could he have been at all aroused simply because of her being a woman?

Would he have somehow known of her smooth, sun-bronzed shoulders, so petite that her bra straps lay barely two inches inward? Did he envision the breasts within that garment? Did his fingers tingle with longing to lift the soft heft of these toward his mouth? Could he have wet his lips with his curious tongue, the tongue that wanted to taste and also feel the beaded texture of the ruddy-chestnut rounds of her areolae before it drew the more-deeply-browned nipples between his lips?

Might his fingers have desired to firmly grasp one of her breasts as the other was savoured by his mouth, nipple grazed between teeth as his head moved for that purpose? Can she dare to assume that his fingers had reached to undo his pants, to release his cock to his fondling grip?

Yes, these ruminations were definitely not a waste of time. Her cunt was now in a more amenable condition. She could feel her lips glide with ease as she allowed her thighs to close and move together for a moment. Her clit sighed in agreement and anticipation.

Considering her legs, would he have deemed it time well spent had these warm and willing thighs been upon his flanks, her solid calves across his back, linked at the ankles as her heels held his ass firmly to her belly?

Being of the artistic bent, maybe he’d find the texture of her belly aesthetically interesting? However, in this position her stretch marks were hidden, and truthfully she’d be more concerned with his thrusts and grinds, and her grip and swivel as they moved together.

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Rare to Well-Done

It is a calm, warm, moon-lit night. She sits behind the wheel, driving, alone; a rare occurrence. Heck, or as she often felt, Hell!, being alone ever was a fucking rarity.

There was something she usually did when finally left to her own devices. One manual activity that brought her rare but great satisfaction. Digital manipulations of the most personal sort, and Christ! she needed sorting tonight.

OK! She lets out a relieved sigh, an exhalation full of meaning, though unheard by anyone else. Driving alone, cranking up the radio; funny how she so often fusses for quiet but loves loud music in a vehicle.

She considers the situation, listing the positives in her mind:
1. she was alone (yes, I did say that before)
2. on a rural road (low traffic volume)
3. under cover of darkness (low streetlight volume)
4. well-known route (bumps and turns predictable)
5. short dress (low fabric volume)
6. skimpy panties (ditto)
7. wet (her and panties, from a previous encounter)
8. almost an hour from home (ah!, rural life)
and ‘The Clincher’,
9. previous encounter (hadn’t made her cum) (ad nauseam)

The only negative she can come up with is the issue of highway safety.

Fuck that! Decision made.

Reaching downward with her right hand, she’s always been more comfortable steering with her left, luckily, she lightly draws the first two fingers upward from her right knee. Emmm, soft, as he said earlier. She reaches to the other leg, tracing fingertips softly upon that warm thigh. Now, as she nears the crotch of her panties, still wet from his cum and her initial hopes, she notices her southern lips give a slight twitch.

Stretching the narrow elastic edge of the right leg opening she feels his cum leaking from her cunt, catches the scent, alas, more his than hers. (Yeah, alluded to above.) Alright, she’s always enjoyed using that to enable a gratifying rub; her clit only cooperates with a lot of lubrication.

She realizes that for this to be comfortable (and clean) some movement and/or removal of her clothes is necessary. Tucking the front of her dress up under the seatbelt, she snickers somewhat glumly, that, and this horribly confining bra will have to serve as the ‘restraint’ part of this episode.

Again moving her right hand to her panties, she reaches in the low front just at the plateau of her cozy mound. Moving her fingers over her folds, she notices she is too dry for comfort.

Her fingers find her mouth, she cups them closely to hold some spit. Entering her panties she feeds this to her hungry pussy. Better. She removes her hand then pulls the pantie’s crotch aside, clamping it between her left thigh and her cunt. Needing more lubrication to be content, she once more reaches to her mouth. She tastes herself, her mildness, laced with the salty musk of his cum.

As predicted, hardly any oncoming traffic and no one behind to cause annoying mirror-glare. She’s been lucky enough to hold the speed limit as well, thus far, and to not slip over the pavement’s edge.

But she still feels awkward and decides the panties have to ‘go’, if not off, then down. Down seems fine, there is a lot of stretch to the fabric. God, she wishes she could spread farther and push her cunt skyward. Open and up always feels so good.

She wishes she’d brought water because now she needs more saliva. She manages to eke out another half mouthful and begins to rub it over her hood. Her clit is encouraged but emerges warily. It wonders if it’s really worth the bother, then realizing ‘SHE’ is the only one present, thinks more positively and ventures forth. Sad to say, but ‘HE’ has been a bit of a disappointment – too often! So much so, that even with the circling, the pressure, the need, good results don’t seem a sure bet yet.

Clit: “Woman, you’d best get a hot fantasy brewing there, or I’m going back inside.”

She reaches, though not far back, to thoughts of a man, a very talented man of whom she first became aware through his stories. Damn fine, hot, horny stories! She still reads them. And hopes for more. Then, they had shared some messages, him, so witty, wise and kind also. She, amazed that he’d taken the time for her. Not long after, finding out he’d developed an interest in drawing she’d teasingly asked if, sight unseen, he’d do a sketch of her. She wistfully sighs, warmly remembering his quick response to that request. A fairly accurate rendering gleaned only from written details.

Emmm…this could work. Her cunt twitches in agreement and her clit hasn’t barred the door either.

To be continued, hopefully a bit more raunchily.

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Haiku/Senryu Tweets

Lost eternity
deceit, enemy of grace
my life, chain of lies

Grace I will not get
in deceit is where I hide
eternity lost

Eternity pure
there will never be deceit
grace life with your truth

Love’s grace you give me
Us, secure eternity
deceit will not be

Our table is set
the wine of my love I pour
filling your chalice
(re @_Monocle_’s ‘cup runneth over’ #Draw365)

Moon, your soothing light
hope’s glimmer upon my sea
bringing to me, peace
(for @angelynn)

Outward calm facade
Will desire manifest
lightning heat below?

Below lies the Earth
I desire lightning, Sky
send me your music.

Below crashing sky
I desire your lightning
electric magic

Lying below you
desire reverberates
thunder from lightning

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My eyes
you have come

My lips
meeting your mouth

My neck
‘neath devouring caress

Perspiration surfaces
in favorite creases

Below breast
heavy against your hand

Where leg meets hip
searching fingers enter

Scent released
where thighs warm lips

My hair
Tight in your grasp

Hot rasp
of tongue’s journey to

Knotted nipples
Caught between teeth

Inner-knee dip
teasingly grips the

Head of your shaft
now grazing my belly

Woman’s well filling
to your bid willing

Chest against mine
abrading my skin

Back sweat-slicked
my nails seek purchase

Behind balls
you plunge ever deeper

Woman’s walls
pulse and compress until

Spilling into my cunt
you have come

Our glistening bodies
still clinging lie spent

Your eyes
as you rise to leave

Mouths together
today’s last shared kiss


In defense of a word.

Back in the spring there was mention on the radio that many women are put off by the word ‘moist’. I think the above shows that opinion doesn’t apply to me. I’d like some input from any of you who may read this, gals and guys. Thanks. C. Dreamer

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