It's that time again....time for the Seattle Erotic Festival (SEAF)! We've had a lot of fun submitting photos and erotic writing to this festival over the past few years. Here's the call for art! http://seattleerotic.org/2011/12/16/2012call/
We added to the SEAF offerings today, after a little trip to the "Winter Market" where we found eager veggies just waiting to strip down & pose for the camera. They were happy to be let in from the cold.
What's hanging around in your "crisper drawer"?
The piece below was selected in 2009 as a literary contribution to SEAF. It was read onstage by the Naked Girls Reading troupe, but it's never been "published." I guess I should get off my arse & do something about that, eh?
Silver fish in the crystal pool
Later, he would tell me that he thought about that scene, planned it, choreographed it to the smallest detail. He knew when I would whimper, when I would beg, when I would twist against the bark and spread my quivering legs. Later, he would grin and lick his lips and tell me how beautiful I looked in the sunshine, how when I collapsed backwards against the ropes, then forwards into his arms, I made an ethereal, animal sound like an angel being fucked by the devil.
But right now, it’s happening and so intense, so immediate, so raw that I can barely express what it feels like. We’re out in the weeds and the trees on the dry side of the mountain. Ponderosa country. The air is hot and dry and smells of branches and dust, the vanilla of ponderosa sap, the bitter salt of sweat, cum, pheromones, and thick, sweet musk rising.
The tree has my name on it, Alec said, grinning like a boy and looking it up and down, giving it a loving pat on the belly, tapping me gently on the ass.
“This is a perfect tree for the tree whore.”
My tree is sturdy and rough. The bark is warm against my skin. I can smell the pine oil in my tree’s exhalations. My tree. My lover. My ropes and buckles and straps.
My lover knows what I want and why I want it. He knows that the sun on my flesh is like food, that his lips against my blinded face and muted mouth are like fire that stokes my soul into believing that all things are possible. He knows that pain is pleasure and that my need to walk on the steep edge of it is marrow deep. Alec strips me naked in the sunshine and begins teasing my flesh. Our skin begins to melt in the heat and our bodies become indistinguishable from one another.
Before Alec wraps the scarf around my eyes, he buckles the thick vinyl cuffs around my wrists. The sound of metal and vinyl, the smell of it heating up in the sun and against my damp skin makes me weak. I can feel my clit pulsing in the warm breeze. I can smell the molten core of my earth, bark and moss and spore, as it is lifted gently by the wind in the trees.
A creek gurgles in the distance, “let go, let go, let go, let go.”
Next, my lover binds my torso and legs, the bark hot and harsh against my naked ass and back. He can’t stop grinning. He knows. He knows I have lived every day of my life for these few moments.
The blindfold is next. Suddenly, summertime is gone and I am left to dangle there in the wind and birdsong and creek babble, a feeling like floating and being tied to the tracks all at once. I hear a gentle rattle and feel a sharp pain on my nipples as soft fingers clamp them between a heavy metal chain. Then, a sharp pain between my legs as he clamps rubber-tipped clamps onto my swollen labia. My head swings sideways, hair clinging to the bark. The disembodied “he” is ready with a strip of tape that he presses firmly across my mouth with his large hands, then tugs on the chain as he moves the whip handle between my legs.
The whip doesn’t strike, it strokes. At first. The soft-as-silk elk hide fringes feather across my skin like a thousand butterfly kisses. The darkened sky is comforting as he brushes my ears and neck with his lips and whispers, dirty, dirty words that make my nipples burn.
The next puff of wind catches a drop of wetness winding down my thigh. The sensation of it traveling across my skin – this tiny but significant offering to the sex gods, makes my legs begin to shake.
The whip comes down hard on my belly, my breasts, my thighs, my pussy. The sting and scent of leather, skin, and my own excitement cause a chemical reaction and my blood is replaced with surging electrical currents.
I jolt against the ropes. I am moaning into the tape. And then everything stops. Silence, except for the sound of air rushing in and out of my nose, the wind in the branches, a twig underfoot. Minutes go by and nothing. I am dripping into the pine duff, every sense on alert for the next electric zap, whip strike, kiss. The next sensation is the whip handle sliding between my legs. Suddenly, swiftly, the tape is off my mouth and the taste of me is on my tongue, the leather handle wet with my juice and pressed against my lips, hard and wet. Very wet. He pulls it back and forth across my mouth. The drop of wetness on my thigh is now a rivulet, a cool little river of cum leading from the mountains to the ocean.
And then, the world stands still with this one whispered sentence, the sentence that flays me more harshly than any whip or clamp or hand. His fingers flutter against me when he says it, reaching deep inside and…..”You’re not wet lover. Why aren’t you wet?” The breeze catches the river of juice streaming down my thighs and my mind is tumbling. “I am so wet,” I stutter, my lips now unbound but clumsy. “I am so wet.”
“No, no you’re not baby. Don’t you like this? Doesn’t this feel good?”
“Oh, I moaned, it feels so good, so good.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not wet.”
“Do you want to come, baby? Do you? Well, you can’t come until you’re wet. Don’t I make you wet?”
My heart is racing as Alec flogs my thighs, pulls my head sideways by my ponytail and inflicts small, sharp bites on my neck and breasts. A woodpecker knocks wood in a nearby tree. Something, probably a pinecone, falls and bounces in a stinging glance off my bare shoulder. He tugs at the labia clamps and pushes me to my knees, shoving his cock deep into my throat. “Maybe this is what you need,” he growls, his the voice the red hot interior of a rumbling volcano.
My brain, a lightning storm of desire, is consumed by the length of him, smooth and warm, stretching my lips. My knees are grinding in the pine needle duff as he pushes himself deeper and deeper, pulling out just long though to allow me a drooling, gasping breath. I strain at the cuffs, wanting to wrap my arms around his muscular ass, feel the heat rippling across his skin.
He shoves his cock in deep and hold it there against the song of my throat for an eternity. Juice is streaming down my legs. Wet, so fucking wet.
He is tugging on the nipple clamps. I am straining into the cuffs. My desire is as big as the sky. I am upside down. Not wet? Not wet? Lips on my neck. Hands between my legs. Nipples taught and burning. Not wet?
Alec fingers my clit again, pulls on the labia chain, bites at my nipples. I fall forward against his chest and scream against the ropes. Pain and pleasure flash in the sweat-soaked wilderness of my mind.
“Mmmm,” he says, slapping my ass and smacking his lips, shoving his pussy-soaked hand into my mouth. “That’s more like it. About time you got excited. About time you got wet. About time you got ready for me.”
Orgasm hardly matters anymore as shadow figures, voices, chants, growls, whispers, chains, slaps, leather sting and the thrust of silicone cock and vibration of thick, smooth plastic take over my body. But I come, oh I do. I come and come and come again, in my mind, in my mouth, my clit, my cunt, my heart, my head and he is in me now, sending me spinning from the inside out, master and mind, body and brain. I am spinning through space, the owl at dusk, the deer bounding in and out of dawn, the silver fish spinning in the crystal pool.
At last, I collapsed against the ropes and screamed so loud I didn’t recognize the sound of my own ecstasy.
As soon as Alex released me from my binds, I reached between my legs to feel it for myself, the quenched thirst of a thousand sunflowers blooming in the desert. My fingers emerged, glistening from my own pussy. I wiped myself across his temple and swatted at his ass. “You!” I exclaimed. “You are so bad…not wet.”
Later he would chuckle and nibble at my ear. “Sure had you going.”
“You sure did,” I would reply, a dark, damp spot spreading into my jeans at the steakhouse after work. “You sure did.”