A Death in Aurora Borealis

It is June...and her clit is worthy of a little rain. The tiptoe of raindrops sliding down Tuesday's window, jockeying for position, wanting to get inside...Her velvet room only has room for shadows that bow to her feet, closing burgundy eyelids and mouths. The labor of synthetic chains falling to the floor, kicking and screaming to be thrown in the closet...her breasts, held hostage by metal, feel the breeze of another day's liberation, bounce with glee to the promise of freedom, standing firm like soldiers, willing to take orders from a leader with visions of pleasure that roam from psyche to fingertip.

Turning off her cell, her Cleopatra stark naked in a trance to bump thoughts and glasses of her favorite libation, looking for a warm lap on the bed to sit. Her colored toenails, glistening like rock candy, waiting to be eaten by her imagination, rest softly on pillows of air, the invisible gentlemen inside her ice cream parlor. Red lights and tasty parables...the sounds of Marvin and Al Green pimping her earlobes, running game down her spine...she dissects the Black and Tan, licking her lips and the blunt...feelin' the rain pressed up against the window, tapping the glass...laying on her back, she spreads her legs, releasing the colors of her essence into the air...glittered dust that tickles the hairs of her nose, filling the room with the smell of her chanel flower garden...a trail of slavery's past, wet with eager thoughts of Jesus and javelins. Her curves, absorbing anticipation and water...teasing layer upon layer of skin...aching for that feeling of those summer rays toasting her almond colored yesterdays...men and muscato. on her mind, priorities that keep her nipples from jumping off cliffs of madness. She wants to play with that crème filling she was feelin’...her ooze, flowing thru her with volcanic precision, her trigger finger, itching.

Tight curves of heaven have made their way up her legs, teasing the monkey to do tricks...amongst other things. Her greedy ass is in need of Stretch Armstrong dick, but for now...her fingers will do. She pulls out her bag of plastic and rubber friends, now inhaling her intentions and are waiting their turns to play...

Another hit of the blunt...a longer pull to awaken her Mahalia, now moaning in a gospel rhythm...sliding in and out of dreams...flirting with threesomes locked away in her closet, opening her legs and mouth with dick like bow cutters, sinking into the fabric of submissive positions that will separate her from God...even if only for a little while. Thoughts racing thru her like a boa constrictor, getting fucked with Amazon trees and steel, her blood rushing to absorb the blows...no wonder pussy and rainy days mix so well...eating her alive...she is a volley of movement...winning and losing to herself, no more home court advantage...moment after moment...she is the order of the day, the after hour whore, swimming in an ocean of her own juices...deep sea...gurgling to get her strength...if only for a little while.

© David T. Hunt 2011. All Rights Reserved.