As Always My Goddess

Author Notes: This is actually one of my first erotic stories ever written. It's something I came up with when my last girlfriend asked me why I don't write romantic poetry for her. Since I suck at poetry, this is what she got. (Yes, I have her permission to post it here.) That said, this story is actually quite sappy and there's a ton of flowery language that I don't ordinarily use. Otherwise, I'm happy with how it turned out and it's a nice change of pace from my usual writings.

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Sunlight streams in through the window, striking my face and rousing me from blissful slumber. My eyes open slowly at first, reluctant to leave the embrace of Somnus, but they gradually part with increasing wakefulness. What first meets my gaze is the image of infinitesimal dust motes, invisible in all by this softest of dawn light, dancing in the air. Sheets of light play across my face and the wall as the sun slips between Venetian blinds, wavering slightly as if touched by an unseen wind. There is no perceptible breeze, but the air is cool and fresh. A symphony of bird calls signal the start of a new day.

There is a movement beneath the almond-hued bed sheets, a motion so slight that I wouldn't have noticed it had the subject in question not been sleeping in my arms. My eyes are immediately drawn to you, my love. When it seems I cannot worship you any greater, a new facet of your beauty is revealed to me. In the morning sun, your visage is that of a goddess. Sparkles of chestnut glitter in your lashes as they flutter against cheeks touched with rosiness. Surely you are deep in sweet dreams, but I find it difficult to believe that any dream could be sweeter than beholding your angelic face in this moment of perfect tranquility.

Sadly, the call of nature beckons me away. I feel as if my heart is rending; it is so painful for me to be apart from you, at this moment and all others. I would desire nothing more than to feel the all-encompassing warmth of your nude body against mine. Our clothesless state, free of even the tiniest of nocturnal vestments, is not so much an indicator of a previous night's coupling than a testament to the deep trust and liberating comfort between us. My gaze does not break away from your classical form for an instant as I gently extricate myself from your embrace so as not to wake you and make my way across the room. The need to purge my system of a night's buildup of bodily poisons is an urge I cannot resist, but even as I relieve myself, I can't help but watch you through the open portal between the adjacent rooms.

My eyes leave you for nary a minute as I finalize the cleansing process, but when I return to the bed to renew our affectionate contact, I see that my goddess has been disturbed by my short absence. You now lie on your back, sheets tossed aside fitfully and your long ebon tresses are splayed out across the pillows. The room has taken on an ethereal atmosphere in the soft dawn radiance. Your body, supple and perfect in my loving eyes, seems to glow like a persistent ember in the color of rich cream.

I perch on the edge of the bed, careful as always not to rouse my sleeping goddess prematurely, content to observe the slow rising and falling of your chest as calmness is restored to your rest in with my return. As I sit in silent vigil, an ember ignites in my own body. The sight of you, nay, the mere thought of you is enough to awaken a lust in me that is surpassed only by my devotion to you. Unbidden by more than welcome, a swelling grows in my loins, familiar in its association with you. A hand hovers over the point of increasing arousal and, presented with this awe-inspiring picture of loveliness before me, I struggle not to succumb to manual gratification in the manner that I had consoled myself back in the time when we were apart. It was a maddening period in my existence that seems to have happened a lifetime ago, as if inconceivable now that we are together.

A tiny sigh escapes your heart-shaped lips, soft and sweet like the voice of a cloud, and your legs shift ever so slightly, but it is enough to draw my attention to your own nether regions. An eternity-worth of love made in all manner of positions and styles had eventually convinced you of the knowledge to which I was privy years beforehand: the act of rapture was easier and far more enjoyable when the equipment is shorn of all follicles. Hairless as virgins though we are, a mere look at our respective organs belays the truth that we are experienced in the act of joining together, yet we both still bear the strength and freshness of blossoming youth. As such, the sight of your bare nether regions is enough to drive me mad with desire.

Reining in my basest instincts, I determine that this situation calls for a more subtle, but no less compelling, call to wakefulness. With feline stealthiness, I situate myself on my knees at your feet, a position at which I have prayed many times to my carnal goddess. Should this day's offering please you, the morning aubade would become part of my daily repertoire. My hands come to rest on your knees with no more weight than a mouse and gently, I pry your legs aspread. Tucking my broad shoulders beneath your bent limbs, my elbows press into the mattress on either side of your hips, leaving my face scant inches from the alter of your womanhood. Your slumber is undisturbed by the meticulous positioning and you are thus far ignorant of the pleasure that awaits you this morn.

My prayers begin with a soft kiss on the silky smooth skin of your groin. My loving sermon trails a short path to the very gate of your womanhood. My lips meet yours, which are already full and warm with the caress of arousal. A tentative lick between kisses and I find the taste of your warm flesh to be as delicious as always. My tongue involves itself more eagerly now and for a moment, I forget that those lips that I kiss are not the ones where your own tongue can reach out to meet mine.

A single bead of moisture rolls down the crease of your nether lips and as I catch it in my mouth, I realize that it is not the product of my own lascivious salivating, but the first signs of your liquid arousal. Spurred on by that initial taste of intoxicating nectar, my tongue dips into your moistening petals like a butterfly at his favorite orchid. The interior of your womanly flower is hot and wet, inviting me to plum its depths more fully. My lips press firmly, insistently, to yours, my tongue delving deeper into my goddess of love, drawn further into your folds by the delectable juices contained within.

Now the deity's body shifts as divine sensations goad you into consciousness. Your back arches slightly and your breath comes quicker. Your small, slender hands grasp fistfuls of the bed sheets, as if to anchor your from being swept away by the waves of pleasure that emanate from between your legs. Those long, supple limbs tighten around my head, filling my ears with the pounding cadence of your pulse. Like the drum beat of a tribal ritual, it only serves to motivate me further, to match the frenetic pace with my efforts.

My mouth opens wide to take in as much of you as possible, allowing my tongue to stretch to its utter limits in order to please you better. A direction born of experience guides my tongue to the hidden treasure of your womanhood and the initial contact sends delight coursing through your body like electricity. A sharp gasp sounds above my head and in that instant, your hips rise off the mattress. I expertly insert my hands beneath your body, taking a firm hold on your smooth behind. My fingers knead the warm flesh just as my tongue kneads the moist petals of your flower. Again, I lashe at the sensitive thorn and your hips buck, pressing hard against my face. One of your hands has found its way to the back of my head, as if holding me to my task until it is complete. Not that I would ever risk angering my goddess with such a folly--nor would I have any desire--to stop, taking as much pleasure in performing the act as you receive from it and knowing that I would be reciprocated in kind. Lustful moans fight with the need to catch your breath and your fingers claw in my closely-cropped hair as I mercilessly assault your womanly thorn.

Quite suddenly, your amorous mewing blends into a single note of orgasmic release. Liquid heat rushes into my mouth and I drink it greedily, not allowing a single drop of the delicious nectar to spill. As the tide of pleasure recedes, your slight frame falls back onto the sand-colored bed sheets and I raise my head from between your leg. Your sensuous curves are glistening with sweat, like sea spray clinging to the body of Venus as she is born. Long, ragged breathes try to draw oxygen back into your system to banish the lightheadedness your are surely feeling. You peer at me coyly through your eyelashes, cheeks flush with vermillion, a result the combination of the act committed and the realization of my endeavors to vivify you.

My face splits into a wolfish grin and you smile back, favoring me with a giggle like the tinkling of a crystal chime in a brisk Spring breeze. To me, it sounds like the meal bell sounding after I've already had breakfast. So now, I determine, that it is time for brunch. Crawling over your body, I start a path of small licks and kisses up your stomach. You squirm playfully beneath me, so I wrap my hands around your waist, fingers lightly tracing along your sides. When I come upon the swell of your breasts, I cease the lipservice and raise my hands to cup the pliant globes of flesh. At one time, your hands would come up to intercept mine, inexperience planting the seed of fear that I would mishandle the sensitive mammaries, but now you merely tilt your head back with a sigh of anticipation and stroke my biceps with your tiny hands encouragingly. Once more, I marvel at how my goddess can command me to her service.

My hands knead your breasts as they had your buttocks, working the silky smooth skin beneath my fingers gingerly. I give them a little squeeze and immediately, the small pink aureoles swell with blood. Tracing my thumbs in circles around the swollen skin, I am careful to brush your hardening nipples with only the most ghostly of touches. Even so, the slightest contact elicits a mew of delight from you. Licking my lips, I lower my head reverentially and kiss your left nipple. Your back arches and I wrap one arm around you to hold you close, using my free hand to address the unattended nipple. It is rubbed and rolled and prodded, causing you to grasp and moan once again. Meanwhile, the hard nub in my mouth is pressed between my lips and lashed with my tongue. My mouth opens to take in your nipple in its entirety and roll my tongue over the nub as I suck relentlessly.

By the quickening of your breath and motions of your body, I can tell you are approaching another, different sort of orgasm. Feeling slightly mischievous, I immediately remove my hands and mouth from your breasts and lean forward to press my lips to yours, this time the kind that adorn your face. I can taste the annoyed groan that leaves your throat as it is caught between our dueling tongues, but I know you are not truly upset by the insistent passion of your embrace. You shove me away playfully and open your mouth to speak, but I silence you once again with a kiss and you accept it, my goddess, like an offering left in the halls of your shrine.

As our tongues dance to the slow cadence of boundless love, your dainty hands run along the muscles of my chest and stomach. Continuing south, they stop short of the swollen organ hanging between my legs. It twitches involuntarily; I hadn't realized until now just how stiff with arousal it has become. My manhood feels like a red hot brand and I yearn to sink it into some flesh, but your firm hands on my hips halt the initial thrust. Our eyes meet and I recognize the impishness behind your gorgeous brown orbs, because they've often reflected that look in mine. This was payback for the previous tease, because you are a tender and just goddess, but also a vengeful one.

The tips of your fingers lightly trace along the thick veins in the engorged flesh of my manhood. I fight to maintain control, because just as my touch can bring orgasmic joy to you, so your touch can for me. A low growl issues from my throat, making me sound like a feral beast, driven by lust and tamed only by your heavenly presence. The generous deity that you are, you relent and wrap your nimble fingers around my member, to which I reply with an appreciative sigh. Your hands stroke the shaft methodically and rub the broad head of my manhood. I bury my face in the crook of your neck, lapping up the small pool of sweat there and reveling in the sensations of your skill. A long, low moan resonates from my throat as one of your hands gently cup the accompanying pouch of my manhood and the other adopts the wrist-twisting stroke you picked up from the many pornographic movies we've watched on those particularly late, dull nights.

I am prepared to climax then and there, but in that omniscient way that you have, you know just what to do to preserve my stamina. Guiding my member with your hands, you welcome me into your womanhood like a beloved guest, bringing relief to my strained organ, relief without climax. Raising your hands to the back of my head, you pull me down into a tender embrace of lips. My hips begin thrusting with no conscious direction, building a steady and familiar rhythm born of endless repetition. The length of my member can push into you far deeper than my tongue will ever be able, a fact which is not lost on you as the blade of my manhood penetrates your womanly flesh up to the hilt. The heat of our organs mingle in this coupling and I know it burns like a furnace within you, judging by the flush and perspiration on your face. A bead of sweat drips off my nose and splashes on your cheek. I expect I look much the same.

Just my sword as destined to find its home in your sheath, our lips are bound together by a shared passion. Your legs lock around my hips as the tempo of my thrusting increases. Our hands scrabble over each other's bodies, groping and caressing sweat-slick skin. As always, when the intensity of our love-making rivals the blazing sun in the morning sky, my manly pouch tightens in anticipation. I can feel the pressure growing around my member, from without and from within. The muscular convulsions of your womanly folds are beyond my control, my beloved. But the growing tide of impending release in my manhood can be held in sway, for a while at least. As always, I seek to hold back the dam and prolong this carnal pleasure with my goddess for as long as possible. And as always, my strength fails in the contest with biology.

Our voices rise in a lustful chorus, fingers intertwined, heralding the climax of our amorous theatrics. Your hot, wet folds constrict around my member and this is the last crack that breaks the self-imposed dam of my willpower. The mounting pressure in my manhood is released in one might burst and the hot seed of this lowly mortal fills the divine womb of my goddess to overflowing, pearly-white cream dribbling out of your womanhood and coating our already wet skin. As always, you accept my offering with a smile and a kiss, just as you accept all my failings. Because you love me as much as I love you, I do everything in my power to please you, and it is always enough.

As we curl up together beneath the bed sheets to recover our strength, the evidence of our coupling soaking the almond-hued linen, the light of the morning sun no longer touches our bodies, and it will not until I open the blinds. But I don't think I will, because we have all day to sleep in and I'm feeling like an extremely pious man today. As always.