Boudoir

The overall image of my room is erotic. To call it a bedroom would really be an insult. It is a boudoir, decorated in rich cherry furniture. With the focus on a sleigh bed that holds a soft feather mattress, and black semi-transparent mosquito netting cascading down from the high ceiling, which ends draping delicately over the headboard and then down to the floor. A black and cherry colored ceiling fan circles lazily over the middle of the bed.

The window coverings are made from translucent cloth in a rich eggplant color, to match the bedspread, with a matching valance draped across the top of the window, falling to the floor in a puddle of fabric, with sun blocking accordion shades underneath. Even at high noon, the room is blanketed in a gentle darkness unless artificial light is added.

There are nude paintings and art objects everywhere your gaze lingers, a variable anthology of erotica. Included in the décor are dozens of candles, feathers, honey dust, bottles holding body chocolate, handcuffs, a complete tie-down set and a blindfold. The room is a habitual playground for Eros.

After completing my nightly female rituals, and lighting a bedside candle, I climb into the softness the feather mattress affords my naked body. Music is softly undulating across the room, and the flow of air stirred by the revolving fan creates shadows from the candlelight, and makes them dance sinuously across the vaulted ceiling.

Lying on my back, becoming mesmerized by the spinning fan above me, I take the long feather on my nightstand and begin to run it up and down, back and forth, all around my body, and tiny goose bumps chase the feather across my exposed form. Sinking further into the soft feather mattress underneath me, I hug the pillow my lover last used, and breath in his lingering masculine scent. Reaching up, I pull the ends of the netting around me, enclosing my pleasant reverie in privacy.

Desire for my absent lover overwhelms me causing an ache deep in my loins. He is the quietest lover I have ever had. No sound except his excited breath ever escapes him. Yet he causes me to moan and cry out in exquisite pleasure from his sensual administrations.

My memory of him is so vivid, I can picture him perfectly in my mind, and I remember his long hard body feels so good lying next to me; his exploring hands are so strong, yet tender and full of pleasure. His taste is sweet, like fruit that has been vine ripened slowly over long summer days, it incites my sensuality.

It is his eyes that capture my rapt attention, twin pools of marine green that reflect golden sparks of candlelight in their depths. He hides the secret passion he carries there from most behind dark glasses, but reveals it to me unbidden when locked in the throes of our matching ardor. Remembering the intent look in his eyes each time he masterfully caresses me, judging my reaction to the physical pleasure he is giving me, my hand begins to trace the path of his fiery kisses…

…He begins by circling my lips with his hot, wet tongue, and then probes deeply into my mouth. His soft, but strong hands are busy caressing my breasts, gently pinching the rock hard twin peaks atop of them. Seizing both my wrists in one of his powerful hands, he stretches my arms above my head and pins them there while he begins a downward path with his busy tongue, flicking over my bare skin until he captures one of my nipples in his teeth, biting and then sucking on it. Leaving one breast, he gives equal attention to the other. My muscles begin to quiver uncontrollably in anticipation as the other hand steals down to cup the mound between my legs. Moving his hand in a slow circular motion, his hand continues to caress it while his tongue is busy blazing a trail of fire down towards it.

When his tongue finally reaches the center of the fire he has created in me, my breath is taken away by the storm of sensations his velvet tongue creates brushing back and forth across my swollen clit. Releasing my arms, he positions himself between my legs and continues his sweet torture. Grabbing the hair on the back of his head, I raise my hips and begin to undulate against his face, moaning loudly from the intense pleasure he is giving me.

He reaches under me with one hand and cups the cheeks of my ass, raising me further off the bed. One of his fingers from his other hand finds its way deep inside me, and he begins to finger me in rhythm to his fast moving tongue. My orgasm is instantaneous and all consuming; my juices soak us both and saturates the bed beneath us. He offers one of his juice soaked fingers for me to lick. I suck it gently into my mouth, savoring the taste of myself on him.

He sits up on his knees and lifts my legs straight up to either side of his head, one on each shoulder. His thick, hard member penetrates me in one swift thrust of his hips. Holding me by the ankles, he begins to plunge deeper and deeper, into the very core of my being. Faster and faster, in and out, building, holding back, until finally, we are both unable to wait any longer, and simultaneously we explode into intense, long lasting orgasms. He finally collapses onto me breathless, but satiated….

…As my breathing slowly returns to normal, outside sounds begin to permeate my consciousness again. I can again hear the stereo softly playing, and I am able to finally identify a low buzzing sound as my forgotten vibrator, buried beneath the covers and the pillow I am still clutching tightly against my nude body. Retrieving it, I turn it off, blow out the still burning candle and drift off, alone in my bed, searching for my elusive lover yet again in my dreams.