Sex Magic
Pleasure is my power.
He gladly is led to the altar to be sacrificed before the might of the female orgasm.
His only worth is giving what can be spent over and over and endlessly until fluid is no longer left and blood is no longer available to engorge her mound.
He can be found kneeling, working, tired, exhausted until his hair is wet with the effort and his beard is scented with her sex.
Muffled moans as her love is poured down her leg and his wrist with his head pressed tight to her breast.
He is teased, bitten, his hair is pulled and he is slapped.
Is this a sin? A sin to feel so good that you threaten to explode.
The head of his cock is pressed into the wetness between silky folds, up and down, back and forth until she reaches her peak. He waits.
He is listening to her vibrate before splitting open. He has heard that she contains an ocean and it can only be reached by sacrificing his pleasure for her pleasure.
Much is to be done to release the Goddess that he so gladly kneels for.
She asks him how he remembers the best moment when they made love.
He answers like a lions roar, a sound mighty but eclipsed by the sound of mountains falling before her, with her, in her. Her orgasm is so much more than the sound of a cat in the night.
It is magic, how many full moons did he last inside of her, pulsing heat and shiny head knocking into her until she was quaking and covered in sweat? Knees burning, back aching, lips sore from choking back screams of agonizing ecstasy.
Pleasure is her power. She teases him all day and tortures him all night.
Denying him an orgasm until she is well spent but still so hungry for sacrifices.
Until she is thirsty for an offering and swallows all that can be had from him.
And he is unraveled as an alms, benefaction before this, her Holiness, this divine sex Goddess trapped in mortality, flesh.
Until he can but only hope to prostrate his self before her. Lie supine on her altar to be mounted and delivered again into her silken, wet, Elysium to sip Ambrosia with the Gods.
He gladly is led to the altar to be sacrificed before the might of the female orgasm.
His only worth is giving what can be spent over and over and endlessly until fluid is no longer left and blood is no longer available to engorge her mound.
He can be found kneeling, working, tired, exhausted until his hair is wet with the effort and his beard is scented with her sex.
Muffled moans as her love is poured down her leg and his wrist with his head pressed tight to her breast.
He is teased, bitten, his hair is pulled and he is slapped.
Is this a sin? A sin to feel so good that you threaten to explode.
The head of his cock is pressed into the wetness between silky folds, up and down, back and forth until she reaches her peak. He waits.
He is listening to her vibrate before splitting open. He has heard that she contains an ocean and it can only be reached by sacrificing his pleasure for her pleasure.
Much is to be done to release the Goddess that he so gladly kneels for.
She asks him how he remembers the best moment when they made love.
He answers like a lions roar, a sound mighty but eclipsed by the sound of mountains falling before her, with her, in her. Her orgasm is so much more than the sound of a cat in the night.
It is magic, how many full moons did he last inside of her, pulsing heat and shiny head knocking into her until she was quaking and covered in sweat? Knees burning, back aching, lips sore from choking back screams of agonizing ecstasy.
Pleasure is her power. She teases him all day and tortures him all night.
Denying him an orgasm until she is well spent but still so hungry for sacrifices.
Until she is thirsty for an offering and swallows all that can be had from him.
And he is unraveled as an alms, benefaction before this, her Holiness, this divine sex Goddess trapped in mortality, flesh.
Until he can but only hope to prostrate his self before her. Lie supine on her altar to be mounted and delivered again into her silken, wet, Elysium to sip Ambrosia with the Gods.
11 years ago
