arielsgoddess
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jul 22, 2009
- Posts
- 458
This is the deal: Each person picks a handful of things at random, specifies a short list of words/concepts your piece must contain, and the next person has to write an erotic scenario or short story that incorporates everything on the list. I'm not going to limit the number or nature of what you put on the list for the next challenger, but it would be best of everyone would balance creative choices with a list that is not too long to use, so that we can keep the thread going. I will go first: chair, chakra, charcoal, stained glass, topless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
("Collaboration", to my favorite artist)
In the early morning hours, you come in quietly and are restless, so you take out your pastels and set up the easel as noiselessly as possible. Many images come to mind, and you fruitlessly begin several shapes, only to scratch them and try to begin something new. Your frustration is reaching such a peak that you do not hear me stepping behind you. Startling are my warm, bare breasts against your tense shoulders, soft and hot are my lips on the cool, tight cords of your neck. Your hand reaches onto mine, as I gently wrap my right arm around your ribs, smearing me with pastel. You grumble about this, even, and fumble for something to clean it off, as I take the back of your neck inside in my teeth, and bite firmly, cutting into the tense fibers, stopping the flow of tension with the dam of my teeth, which floods your cerebral cortex with endorphins, and causes you to roll your head back wards. Lessening the bite, I begin sucking on the skin. My left hand wraps around from the other side, up under your shirt, until both palms lock onto your chest. Gently carving fingers down the front and sides of your ribs, I release your neck and begin painting it in broad strokes of my tongue. Your hands cover mine, no longer worried about the myriad traces of chalk-like smudges, as you begin to stroke up and down my arms. I pull you strongly, rocking you back in the chair, so that your head is braced in my breasts, but the chair is balanced on its back legs. Nervously you laugh, wondering what I am going to do with you so precarious. Kissing you deeply, upside-down, I use my hands to begin pulling your shirt up & off of you. As the shirt hits your shoulders, I tip the chair and you slowly back upright. Taking you by the hand, I pull you gently out of the chair.
Now we are both bare-chested, me wearing the thin black skirt of a slip trimmed with lace, and you still in your khakis. Leaning to wards you, I encourage you to take hold of my head and kiss me, as I undo your pants and scoop them smoothly off your hips and ass with my hands, where they fall onto the floor. The quilt that had been wrapped around me is piled just behind my feet. I bend to gather one side of its corners, as you stand alert to the swaying of my pendulous breasts as I do so, and flick the quilt open on the floor. Taking you by the hand again, as you resume kissing me, I step you the few paces onto the quilt. Pulling you down on top of it, and yet pushing my body over yours so that you understand to lay down. I kiss you hard, and then turn back for the box of pastels.
First with the purple, I trace a fine line around the edge of your face, from your hairline to your chin--the first chakra ring. Indigo comes next. circling around your throat, ending above your breastplate; green around your sternum and ribs, yellow from there to just above your navel, orange walling your abs to the top of your pubic hair, and then slowly, so slowly I trace around the edge of the pubic hair. Carving circularly around your balls, the edges of the tops of your thighs, back inside the other side of your groin, to close the circle. You have been holding as still as possible in anticipation and fascination as to just what I am up to.
I come to sit now on the side of your ribs, and kiss you very slowly and deeply, my cool breast resting against your bicep, the nipple scraping hard but gently against your ribs. Before you can reach for me, my breast, my hair loosely sweeping your shoulder--I pull back. Leaning very carefully over you on one arm, I raise up, so that my tongue begins at your chin, and traces ever so slowly the first circle I have drawn, all around the edges of your face. Then I shift slightly, my tongue carving in a little more deeply as it traces the ring around your throat. Now my tongue outlines your sternum, as my fingertips brush one of your nipples, and your hand touches, gently twining in my hair, on the back of my head. I continue to the lower rings, going more slowly and carving more seriously around your navel, as my fingertips brush and knead gently down your ribs. Excruciating number of moments later, my body shifts, and I descend, sliding my supportive arm down along your hip, to the top of your thigh. My head hovers above the last circle, starting slowly just above your pubis, tickling the edges of the forest, dancing lightly where the circle arcs deep into the groin-hip area. That is when my tongue sweeps painfully slow, turning onto its side for a broader, deeper stroke, as I roll it underneath your balls. My gaze slides up to yours, full of mischief, as my tongue curls back up on the other side of you, wiggling deeply in the scoop of your groin, just to make you squirm and bite back various noises. Starting again with the base of your shaft, I ride the ridge, my tongue rippling all the way. I draw a line that runs right off the plank of your head, up the center of your abs and navel, back up the center of your ribs, wrapping hard up the center of your throat, to your mouth which snaps shut around mine. Possessively you kiss me, losing control for a moment, and interrupting my path. Wrangling back from you, as the fingers of both your hands are tangled in my hair, I see that your tongue is quite muddy. You say mine is too, and we laugh at the bitter chalk and the mess we are making.
But you are not hungry now, trying to reach for and pull at me. Hastily laughing and avoiding your grasp, I skitter back a bit, sitting on the carpet. You pursue me, saying that it's only fair if you get to draw on me too, but I surprise you with my refusal. With a wild gleam in my eye, I make an awkward attempt to rise and dash away. Catching me around my waist and hips (you on your knees, me on my feet, facing each other) you bite me gently through the very thin black skirt. I make a mock attempt to escape, and you leer, looking for the box of pastels, but they are now far behind you. You realize I have swiveled you to the pile of loose papers knocked earlier to the floor, and the sticks of charcoal next to them. With one arm continuing to try to wrestle me back down, you reach your other hand to a stick of charcoal. Slashing me gently, black arcs across my chest, from the top of one breast to the nipple and bottom of the other.
Indignantly I cry out. But I let you pull me against you, my hands resting on your collarbones, pushing my upper body away from you, my back arching my breasts as far from you as possible. You cannot reach them with your face, but the charcoal-weaponed hand returns, drawing a fleur de lis just below the vee of my breasts, almost instantaneously. Impressed by the quickness with which you made the design, I struggle a little less, and atleast hold still a little more, curious as to what you are drawing next. Without much planning, you make scrolls and arcs across the front of me, bits of vine and tribal on my arms, tiger stripes on my ribcage, which makes me giggle for many reasons. With scowling seriousness, you begin to carve tiny lines of flower petals, blooming and falling away, first on one nipple, then reaching for the other, as I lean down and kiss you more seriously, as well. The kiss is deepened and intensified by both of us.
Enjoining with more frenzy, I am sliding down the front of you, flesh-to flesh, with only the skirt barely separating the lower you and lower me. We twist arms around each other, swirling hands and carving fingertips all over. Minutes later, you realize I am now a mess of smears and colors. We are still wrangling in frustrated disagreement over what way we will proceed, as we both lock sight on the pile of papers on the floor, then each others' eyes. Twisting around against you, slowly, until my back is painfully against your stomach and protesting cock, I begin to press my hips and ass against you, as I lean forward, away from you. You raise quickly to your knees again, fingers swirling and carving in the flesh of my stomach and thighs, and running the ridges of my spine, as I stretch before you on all fours, my head dipping to wards the floor, as you slide your palms roughly up both my outer thighs, peeling the skirt up and out of your way. With insistent fingers you carve into me from behind, where I am already tight and wet and crying-out for you in short pleadings. You wrap your fingers deeply into my hips, as your thumbs carve into the pillowed part of my ass.
Entering me, sliding hard from the angle, you ride hard and steady, digging into my hips and pulling me against you stronger with every thrust. Insane with need, I am bending even lower, brushing across the papers, as my agony keeps me from holding myself up as high anymore. You glance smears appearing on the paper, and begin to carve your cock into me deeper, making me slap my breasts onto the paper with every stroke. My nipples are carving crazy designs as you pull back and twist the angles around in me. Making me buck backward into you with ass and hips, my chest scrapes and slaps more dramatically on the paper canvas below me. Unable to take your delays anymore, I yell at you, and lean low. Frantic, you seize my hips and practically vibrate within me, speeding us both over the welcome cliff of wet release.
Shakily I back against you, up into your arms. We tip onto our sides, your arms wrapping tight around my front. You curl deeply into the back of me, and I pull the the quilt over us both. As we recover our breathing, both of us stare hazily at the pastel collage of broken stained glass windows that we have made on the canvases on the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next persons challenge list: floral (flowers, florist, outdoors, etc), hot & cold, leather, silver, tears, train.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
("Collaboration", to my favorite artist)
In the early morning hours, you come in quietly and are restless, so you take out your pastels and set up the easel as noiselessly as possible. Many images come to mind, and you fruitlessly begin several shapes, only to scratch them and try to begin something new. Your frustration is reaching such a peak that you do not hear me stepping behind you. Startling are my warm, bare breasts against your tense shoulders, soft and hot are my lips on the cool, tight cords of your neck. Your hand reaches onto mine, as I gently wrap my right arm around your ribs, smearing me with pastel. You grumble about this, even, and fumble for something to clean it off, as I take the back of your neck inside in my teeth, and bite firmly, cutting into the tense fibers, stopping the flow of tension with the dam of my teeth, which floods your cerebral cortex with endorphins, and causes you to roll your head back wards. Lessening the bite, I begin sucking on the skin. My left hand wraps around from the other side, up under your shirt, until both palms lock onto your chest. Gently carving fingers down the front and sides of your ribs, I release your neck and begin painting it in broad strokes of my tongue. Your hands cover mine, no longer worried about the myriad traces of chalk-like smudges, as you begin to stroke up and down my arms. I pull you strongly, rocking you back in the chair, so that your head is braced in my breasts, but the chair is balanced on its back legs. Nervously you laugh, wondering what I am going to do with you so precarious. Kissing you deeply, upside-down, I use my hands to begin pulling your shirt up & off of you. As the shirt hits your shoulders, I tip the chair and you slowly back upright. Taking you by the hand, I pull you gently out of the chair.
Now we are both bare-chested, me wearing the thin black skirt of a slip trimmed with lace, and you still in your khakis. Leaning to wards you, I encourage you to take hold of my head and kiss me, as I undo your pants and scoop them smoothly off your hips and ass with my hands, where they fall onto the floor. The quilt that had been wrapped around me is piled just behind my feet. I bend to gather one side of its corners, as you stand alert to the swaying of my pendulous breasts as I do so, and flick the quilt open on the floor. Taking you by the hand again, as you resume kissing me, I step you the few paces onto the quilt. Pulling you down on top of it, and yet pushing my body over yours so that you understand to lay down. I kiss you hard, and then turn back for the box of pastels.
First with the purple, I trace a fine line around the edge of your face, from your hairline to your chin--the first chakra ring. Indigo comes next. circling around your throat, ending above your breastplate; green around your sternum and ribs, yellow from there to just above your navel, orange walling your abs to the top of your pubic hair, and then slowly, so slowly I trace around the edge of the pubic hair. Carving circularly around your balls, the edges of the tops of your thighs, back inside the other side of your groin, to close the circle. You have been holding as still as possible in anticipation and fascination as to just what I am up to.
I come to sit now on the side of your ribs, and kiss you very slowly and deeply, my cool breast resting against your bicep, the nipple scraping hard but gently against your ribs. Before you can reach for me, my breast, my hair loosely sweeping your shoulder--I pull back. Leaning very carefully over you on one arm, I raise up, so that my tongue begins at your chin, and traces ever so slowly the first circle I have drawn, all around the edges of your face. Then I shift slightly, my tongue carving in a little more deeply as it traces the ring around your throat. Now my tongue outlines your sternum, as my fingertips brush one of your nipples, and your hand touches, gently twining in my hair, on the back of my head. I continue to the lower rings, going more slowly and carving more seriously around your navel, as my fingertips brush and knead gently down your ribs. Excruciating number of moments later, my body shifts, and I descend, sliding my supportive arm down along your hip, to the top of your thigh. My head hovers above the last circle, starting slowly just above your pubis, tickling the edges of the forest, dancing lightly where the circle arcs deep into the groin-hip area. That is when my tongue sweeps painfully slow, turning onto its side for a broader, deeper stroke, as I roll it underneath your balls. My gaze slides up to yours, full of mischief, as my tongue curls back up on the other side of you, wiggling deeply in the scoop of your groin, just to make you squirm and bite back various noises. Starting again with the base of your shaft, I ride the ridge, my tongue rippling all the way. I draw a line that runs right off the plank of your head, up the center of your abs and navel, back up the center of your ribs, wrapping hard up the center of your throat, to your mouth which snaps shut around mine. Possessively you kiss me, losing control for a moment, and interrupting my path. Wrangling back from you, as the fingers of both your hands are tangled in my hair, I see that your tongue is quite muddy. You say mine is too, and we laugh at the bitter chalk and the mess we are making.
But you are not hungry now, trying to reach for and pull at me. Hastily laughing and avoiding your grasp, I skitter back a bit, sitting on the carpet. You pursue me, saying that it's only fair if you get to draw on me too, but I surprise you with my refusal. With a wild gleam in my eye, I make an awkward attempt to rise and dash away. Catching me around my waist and hips (you on your knees, me on my feet, facing each other) you bite me gently through the very thin black skirt. I make a mock attempt to escape, and you leer, looking for the box of pastels, but they are now far behind you. You realize I have swiveled you to the pile of loose papers knocked earlier to the floor, and the sticks of charcoal next to them. With one arm continuing to try to wrestle me back down, you reach your other hand to a stick of charcoal. Slashing me gently, black arcs across my chest, from the top of one breast to the nipple and bottom of the other.
Indignantly I cry out. But I let you pull me against you, my hands resting on your collarbones, pushing my upper body away from you, my back arching my breasts as far from you as possible. You cannot reach them with your face, but the charcoal-weaponed hand returns, drawing a fleur de lis just below the vee of my breasts, almost instantaneously. Impressed by the quickness with which you made the design, I struggle a little less, and atleast hold still a little more, curious as to what you are drawing next. Without much planning, you make scrolls and arcs across the front of me, bits of vine and tribal on my arms, tiger stripes on my ribcage, which makes me giggle for many reasons. With scowling seriousness, you begin to carve tiny lines of flower petals, blooming and falling away, first on one nipple, then reaching for the other, as I lean down and kiss you more seriously, as well. The kiss is deepened and intensified by both of us.
Enjoining with more frenzy, I am sliding down the front of you, flesh-to flesh, with only the skirt barely separating the lower you and lower me. We twist arms around each other, swirling hands and carving fingertips all over. Minutes later, you realize I am now a mess of smears and colors. We are still wrangling in frustrated disagreement over what way we will proceed, as we both lock sight on the pile of papers on the floor, then each others' eyes. Twisting around against you, slowly, until my back is painfully against your stomach and protesting cock, I begin to press my hips and ass against you, as I lean forward, away from you. You raise quickly to your knees again, fingers swirling and carving in the flesh of my stomach and thighs, and running the ridges of my spine, as I stretch before you on all fours, my head dipping to wards the floor, as you slide your palms roughly up both my outer thighs, peeling the skirt up and out of your way. With insistent fingers you carve into me from behind, where I am already tight and wet and crying-out for you in short pleadings. You wrap your fingers deeply into my hips, as your thumbs carve into the pillowed part of my ass.
Entering me, sliding hard from the angle, you ride hard and steady, digging into my hips and pulling me against you stronger with every thrust. Insane with need, I am bending even lower, brushing across the papers, as my agony keeps me from holding myself up as high anymore. You glance smears appearing on the paper, and begin to carve your cock into me deeper, making me slap my breasts onto the paper with every stroke. My nipples are carving crazy designs as you pull back and twist the angles around in me. Making me buck backward into you with ass and hips, my chest scrapes and slaps more dramatically on the paper canvas below me. Unable to take your delays anymore, I yell at you, and lean low. Frantic, you seize my hips and practically vibrate within me, speeding us both over the welcome cliff of wet release.
Shakily I back against you, up into your arms. We tip onto our sides, your arms wrapping tight around my front. You curl deeply into the back of me, and I pull the the quilt over us both. As we recover our breathing, both of us stare hazily at the pastel collage of broken stained glass windows that we have made on the canvases on the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next persons challenge list: floral (flowers, florist, outdoors, etc), hot & cold, leather, silver, tears, train.
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