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Write a poem or short story about a reunited couple.
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

Remaining Embers

"So, how have you been?"

Beth's query to me was barely heard over the pounding of my heart. After all of this time living very separate lives, engaging in separate loves, she has me stirred up as if things never ended poorly. It was as if she swooped back into my life, blew on the remaining embers left of us, and set me aflame once more. I hated feeling this way. I loved feeling this way. She looked almost the same, she smelled the same, sans that she gave up smoking somewhere along the way. 

"Life has been a whirlwind of ups and downs, honestly. Ginny's cancer and death the lowest point. How about you? How have things been for you?"

"Same as you I suppose, a few loves, one marriage. All lost. But, not all of it bad," She smiled at that, the same soft warm smile that hooked me way back when. It had a bit more wisdom behind it now, replacing the bit of carefree whimsy of yesteryear. It was beautiful, all the same.

"So, honestly, why..."

"...contact you, after all of this time? Do I have to answer honestly?" Beth laughed, her honey rich laugh. It actually sounded a bit cleaner than back when when she was still smoking, "Because, beyond everything else, I never fully stopped missing you. I never fully escaped how the memory of you haunted me. I never...stopped comparing others to you on all things..."

She left the rest unsaid. She didn't have to answer. A small part of me wanted to ask why she ended it before, but it seemed a pointless question now. I ended up loving after Beth. Getting married to the love of my live, Ginny. We were content and happy and passionate. I did love hard again after Beth. The only thing that ended it was a battle with cancer. It devastated me. If Beth reached out to me a year sooner, I would have probably ignored the call. She always had an amazing insight into me though, when to give me space and when to break down the door, even without knowing directly what was going on in life.

"And Danny, I know it is long overdue, but I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for leaving. I do not regret much of that decision, but I always regretted the hurt it was to cause."

"It is so far removed, it doesn't matter anymore. I had many wonderful moments since, that would have never happened. So perhaps I should thank you for letting me go."

She smiled at that, reached over to caress my cheek as she use to a thousand times before. I got the same jolt I always had from her. I hated that it came back so easily, but I loved it as well. "Oh, my sage, I see your old soul is still getting older."

I smiled at that. She always made me feel warm when she referred to me in such a way. 

She looked at me a bit more seriously and then asked, "Can we get out of here, and take a walk?"

"Sure."

~~~

Beth broke protocol and pretense and took my hand in hers five minutes into out walk, as if the last fifteen years of life never happened. It was both a reflex and a need for the comfort.

"Danny, this has been nice, but. Well, I want a chance to start over. I have been wanting to call you forever, but it never felt like the right time. Now, I don't want any more time to slip away, or at least, without giving us a chance again."

She was fumbling at her words. All of the normal confidence she displayed in the bistro was now gone. She was vulnerable and unsure. It made my heart lurch.

"Of course we can start over. We never completely stopped being friends, so it would be more like continuing, but I know what you mean. We can take it slow, give us time to get reacquainted."

She smiled her honeyed smile and I watched a tear begin to form. Without thinking, I reached up and wiped it away. It was a reflex and a need to comfort her.

~~~

I woke with a start, as if from a wonderful dream, yet Beth was curled up into me, both of us as naked as the first time we made love. So much for taking it slow. The walk built up the tension between us. All of the resistances slowly melted away to leave us with the needs we use to always have.

The love-making was a desperate thing. It was new, yet we were already familiar with each other and how we danced. The passion was the same but the experience was deeper. We loved, we fucked, and we did damn near everything in between.

I watched her sleep on my chest. I studied how effortlessly her form pressed into mine. I hoped this was not a fleeting thing but truly a restart into our lives.

For now, I was content and perhaps was the first time since losing Ginny that I tasted happiness unblemished again.

I could hear her ghost whisper to me, when we were newly engaged, "You know, she was a fool to let you go. I almost feel I need to thank her."

I thought to myself, "But, I would have never had the chance to love you, and I was meant to understand what that love was to be."

I am surprised I didn't feel any guilt. The moment just was. A new chapter of life reintroducing old characters, with no harm toward those we've left behind.

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Write a poem or short story about a reunited couple.
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
Remaining Embers
"So, how have you been?"

Beth's query to me was barely heard over the pounding of my heart. After all of this time living very separate lives, engaging in separate loves, she has me stirred up as if things never ended poorly. It was as if she swooped back into my life, blew on the remaining embers left of us, and set me aflame once more. I hated feeling this way. I loved feeling this way. She looked almost the same, she smelled the same, sans that she gave up smoking somewhere along the way. 

"Life has been a whirlwind of ups and downs, honestly. Ginny's cancer and death the lowest point. How about you? How have things been for you?"

"Same as you I suppose, a few loves, one marriage. All lost. But, not all of it bad," She smiled at that, the same soft warm smile that hooked me way back when. It had a bit more wisdom behind it now, replacing the bit of carefree whimsy of yesteryear. It was beautiful, all the same.

"So, honestly, why..."

"...contact you, after all of this time? Do I have to answer honestly?" Beth laughed, her honey rich laugh. It actually sounded a bit cleaner than back when when she was still smoking, "Because, beyond everything else, I never fully stopped missing you. I never fully escaped how the memory of you haunted me. I never...stopped comparing others to you on all things..."

She left the rest unsaid. She didn't have to answer. A small part of me wanted to ask why she ended it before, but it seemed a pointless question now. I ended up loving after Beth. Getting married to the love of my live, Ginny. We were content and happy and passionate. I did love hard again after Beth. The only thing that ended it was a battle with cancer. It devastated me. If Beth reached out to me a year sooner, I would have probably ignored the call. She always had an amazing insight into me though, when to give me space and when to break down the door, even without knowing directly what was going on in life.

"And Danny, I know it is long overdue, but I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for leaving. I do not regret much of that decision, but I always regretted the hurt it was to cause."

"It is so far removed, it doesn't matter anymore. I had many wonderful moments since, that would have never happened. So perhaps I should thank you for letting me go."

She smiled at that, reached over to caress my cheek as she use to a thousand times before. I got the same jolt I always had from her. I hated that it came back so easily, but I loved it as well. "Oh, my sage, I see your old soul is still getting older."

I smiled at that. She always made me feel warm when she referred to me in such a way. 

She looked at me a bit more seriously and then asked, "Can we get out of here, and take a walk?"

"Sure."

~~~

Beth broke protocol and pretense and took my hand in hers five minutes into out walk, as if the last fifteen years of life never happened. It was both a reflex and a need for the comfort.

"Danny, this has been nice, but. Well, I want a chance to start over. I have been wanting to call you forever, but it never felt like the right time. Now, I don't want any more time to slip away, or at least, without giving us a chance again."

She was fumbling at her words. All of the normal confidence she displayed in the bistro was now gone. She was vulnerable and unsure. It made my heart lurch.

"Of course we can start over. We never completely stopped being friends, so it would be more like continuing, but I know what you mean. We can take it slow, give us time to get reacquainted."

She smiled her honeyed smile and I watched a tear begin to form. Without thinking, I reached up and wiped it away. It was a reflex and a need to comfort her.

~~~

I woke with a start, as if from a wonderful dream, yet Beth was curled up into me, both of us as naked as the first time we made love. So much for taking it slow. The walk built up the tension between us. All of the resistances slowly melted away to leave us with the needs we use to always have.

The love-making was a desperate thing. It was new, yet we were already familiar with each other and how we danced. The passion was the same but the experience was deeper. We loved, we fucked, and we did damn near everything in between.

I watched her sleep on my chest. I studied how effortlessly her form pressed into mine. I hoped this was not a fleeting thing but truly a restart into our lives.

For now, I was content and perhaps was the first time since losing Ginny that I tasted happiness unblemished again.

I could hear her ghost whisper to me, when we were newly engaged, "You know, she was a fool to let you go. I almost feel I need to thank her."

I thought to myself, "But, I would have never had the chance to love you, and I was meant to understand what that love was to be."

I am surprised I didn't feel any guilt. The moment just was. A new chapter of life reintroducing old characters, with no harm toward those we've left behind.

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Capture a moment
Written by fantastical

Four Friends

Four good friends, shared many a wonderful moments. Some moments contained laughter, some contained love. But, there was one particular time, that the moment that was shared was so profoundly special, that they each tried to capture it.

Amy pulled out her camera and tried to capture it in black and white. She loved seeing the contrasts in that particular moment and all of the shades of gray in between. That was how she would always remember it, many years from now, looking at that photo, framed and always kept on the main wall of all of her future dwellings.

Brenda always carried her pencils and charcoals on hand for moments just like this. She put the moment to paper. A moment like this deserved the paper of the finest sort. She wept when she was finished, she not only captured the moment perfectly, she captured perhaps the most perfect moment of her life.

Carly's form of choice was to distill the moment down to its purest poetic form. As the feelings of the moment translated into verse, she found that she captured the moment into a sonnet. A sonnet had never come together so quickly and beautifully before. She knew down to the core of her being, she would never compose a sonnet so effortlessly again.

Doug took in the moment in his mind, and took in his very best friends as they went to capture the moment before it fled. He took in how Amy studied the moment to get the perfect shot; she was so beautiful when she held that seriousness. He took in Brenda as she whirled her pencils over the paper; her wilds were always set free when she was drawing anything. He took in Carly penning her sonnet; she always seemed more alluring when she was lost in capturing verse. Doug wanted to capture it in a different way, but for him, the moment contained his friends trying to capture it perfectly as much as the part of the moment being captured by them. So he instead tucked it into his heart, the entirety of the moment and what followed after.

Four friends captured a special moment shared, each in their own way. Four friends marveled as to each other's technique of capturing the moment. Four friends continued to live and laugh and love, another special moment cementing their friendship further.

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Capture a moment
Written by fantastical
Four Friends
Four good friends, shared many a wonderful moments. Some moments contained laughter, some contained love. But, there was one particular time, that the moment that was shared was so profoundly special, that they each tried to capture it.

Amy pulled out her camera and tried to capture it in black and white. She loved seeing the contrasts in that particular moment and all of the shades of gray in between. That was how she would always remember it, many years from now, looking at that photo, framed and always kept on the main wall of all of her future dwellings.

Brenda always carried her pencils and charcoals on hand for moments just like this. She put the moment to paper. A moment like this deserved the paper of the finest sort. She wept when she was finished, she not only captured the moment perfectly, she captured perhaps the most perfect moment of her life.

Carly's form of choice was to distill the moment down to its purest poetic form. As the feelings of the moment translated into verse, she found that she captured the moment into a sonnet. A sonnet had never come together so quickly and beautifully before. She knew down to the core of her being, she would never compose a sonnet so effortlessly again.

Doug took in the moment in his mind, and took in his very best friends as they went to capture the moment before it fled. He took in how Amy studied the moment to get the perfect shot; she was so beautiful when she held that seriousness. He took in Brenda as she whirled her pencils over the paper; her wilds were always set free when she was drawing anything. He took in Carly penning her sonnet; she always seemed more alluring when she was lost in capturing verse. Doug wanted to capture it in a different way, but for him, the moment contained his friends trying to capture it perfectly as much as the part of the moment being captured by them. So he instead tucked it into his heart, the entirety of the moment and what followed after.

Four friends captured a special moment shared, each in their own way. Four friends marveled as to each other's technique of capturing the moment. Four friends continued to live and laugh and love, another special moment cementing their friendship further.
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Write a creative 'Roses are Red' poem. Change it up, make it funny, sad, romantic, scary, etc.! :)
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Roses are Red Except...

Roses are Red,

[We interrupt this poem for an important legal announcement...

I am a lawyer from Botanical, Flora, & Muir and I am currently representing all roses of non-red hues (to be referred to as NoRRAs henceforth) in a class action lawsuit against red roses and all poets that assume that red roses hold the monopoly of color description in their poems.

Our vast number of clients take offense to the marketing campaign that imply 'Roses are [only] Red'. This form of vast discrimination must come to an end.

[End interruption...]

Violets are Blue,

[We interrupt this poem for an important legal announcement...]

I am a lawyer from Botanical, Flora, & Muir and I am currently representing all violets that are derogatorily referred to as being blue...

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Write a creative 'Roses are Red' poem. Change it up, make it funny, sad, romantic, scary, etc.! :)
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Roses are Red Except...
Roses are Red,

[We interrupt this poem for an important legal announcement...

I am a lawyer from Botanical, Flora, & Muir and I am currently representing all roses of non-red hues (to be referred to as NoRRAs henceforth) in a class action lawsuit against red roses and all poets that assume that red roses hold the monopoly of color description in their poems.

Our vast number of clients take offense to the marketing campaign that imply 'Roses are [only] Red'. This form of vast discrimination must come to an end.

[End interruption...]
Violets are Blue,

[We interrupt this poem for an important legal announcement...]
I am a lawyer from Botanical, Flora, & Muir and I am currently representing all violets that are derogatorily referred to as being blue...



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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Sea of Red

Drowning in a sea of red

Yet, that isn't quite true

The lipstick on the mirror

Hinted at a deeper hue

The lipstick on her lips

Masks the shade a bit truer

The merlot, dark and rich

Hovered on an evening's maroon

The binding, in crushed velvet

Containing the truest read

The crimson second skin

Hiding the flush below

Heels held up by blades

Bleeding their desires raw

A smile parted wide

As the story draws closed

A smile parted wide

As the sun sets scarlet

A sea of red gives way to night

And the burn-in shapes

Of endless possibilities

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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Sea of Red
Drowning in a sea of red
Yet, that isn't quite true
The lipstick on the mirror
Hinted at a deeper hue
The lipstick on her lips
Masks the shade a bit truer
The merlot, dark and rich
Hovered on an evening's maroon
The binding, in crushed velvet
Containing the truest read
The crimson second skin
Hiding the flush below
Heels held up by blades
Bleeding their desires raw
A smile parted wide
As the story draws closed
A smile parted wide
As the sun sets scarlet
A sea of red gives way to night
And the burn-in shapes
Of endless possibilities
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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Gifts

A thirst of such depth

That wine can't quite reach

A whisper parted softly

That the wind slowly frays

A look with many meanings

That has just one solution

A song of haunted feelings

That lingers within dreaming

These gifts are given

And taken at will

These gifts are devoured

Yet consume just as well

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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Gifts
A thirst of such depth
That wine can't quite reach
A whisper parted softly
That the wind slowly frays
A look with many meanings
That has just one solution
A song of haunted feelings
That lingers within dreaming

These gifts are given
And taken at will
These gifts are devoured
Yet consume just as well
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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

A Thousand Times

I walk a path

I've walked

A thousand times

Before

Expecting a certain

Familiarity

Yet, grace with

Change

My steps suddenly

Cautious

Yet, in my wariness

For danger

I discover

A certain form of

Splendor

In the newness

I've overlooked

Walking this path

I've walked

A thousand times

Before...

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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
A Thousand Times
I walk a path
I've walked
A thousand times
Before
Expecting a certain
Familiarity
Yet, grace with
Change
My steps suddenly
Cautious
Yet, in my wariness
For danger
I discover
A certain form of
Splendor
In the newness
I've overlooked
Walking this path
I've walked
A thousand times
Before...
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Written by fantastical in portal Haiku

Chimera

The Chimera twists

Three forms, nearly separate

Becomes butterflies

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Written by fantastical in portal Haiku
Chimera
The Chimera twists
Three forms, nearly separate
Becomes butterflies
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Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

The View - A Continuation

This is a sequel of sorts to the following story: https://theprose.com/post/74256/the-view

It is more explicit than the first part, as a warning to those that do not like erotica.

~~~~

The room was clean again. The air was fresh, yet it could not fully rid itself of the scent that the room held in its history. The polished wood trapped that history like secrets trapped in amber. The room had a history. Patrons that have come and gone: businessmen, lovers, loners, perhaps even a family or two. The room had a history. The room held the history, almost like a silent film. That is, if you knew how to look at it.

A woman - the current patron of the room - sits in the chair and waits. Waits while she stares out of the leaded window. She is fully naked this night and fevered with illicit thoughts, her fingers already at play, teasing her own skin. She has no patience to wait for what she know is coming. She has extended her stay an extra week upon discovering the secret that the room kept. Just as long as one was sitting in this particular antique chair, at a particular time of evening, staring out the leaded glass window at just the right angle.

She watches as the sunsets paints the walls across the way in yellows, oranges, and reds. Watches again in deep anticipation as twilight sucks the colors dark while she slides her fingers along the wetness gathering on her inner thighs. She makes sure she has the angle to the window just right. The angle was critical. The angle was everything.

She watches until twilight gives way and the leaded glass catches the reflection of the room instead. Watches until she see the man again in the reflection of the window. God, how she has come to lust for the man. Watching how he devours and loves and fucks his lover. She wishes she was her. She had had lovers but none of them have touched her as the man touches his love.

She watches him sitting on the bed, naked, his body and his sex hard. She watches him wait for his love, like he has for the past few nights. Just like before, he doesn’t touch himself, although she wishes he would. Yet, she desires him even more because he waits. She thrills at the fact that the woman has so much power over him that he can be so aroused just by the thought of her. Yet, one more way she envies the woman on the other side of the reflection, for she is certain she has never stirred that level of lust into anyone like that herself.

She drinks him in and touches herself, having no qualms of having to wait. Her desire is so hot tonight that in this moment where it is just her and the man, she imagines walking over to him and climbing into his lap, sliding him into her depths, and riding him like she knows he loves to be ridden. She’s never fucked a man like that and now having watched him be fucked like that by the other woman, his real lover, she hungered for it.

There is a knock at her door, the sound of it pulls her attention away from the window in reflex.

“Shit!” she utters under her breath, her heart racing in sudden panic as she turns back to make sure she has not lost the right angle, and thus the spectacular view. The naked man shimmers back into focus. Her heart starts racing again in a different way, anxiety of what was almost lost being replaced with a lust as free as she has ever had it. She could enjoy it without judgement or shame.

Another knock at the door. Harder this time.

“Go away, I am trying to rest! Can you not read the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the door?”

A quiet voice whispers loud enough through the door to catch her ear, but not so loud to carry far, “I know why you do not wish to be disturbed, Kathreen. Please, I need to speak with you and we both know the timing is short.”

It bothers her that the voice on the other side of the door knows her name. It bothers her that out of all times to come knocking, it has to be now. “Just a minute.” She quickly tosses on her silken robe, sashing it closed as she marches angrily toward the door, not caring how close her stiffened nipples are to tearing the sheer fabric apart.

She opens the door, with the chain lock keeping it from opening it any further. There is a beautiful, although very haggard woman on the other side. The haggard woman asks, “I would like to buy the room from you, right now. I am even willing to pay for your entire stay. I am even willing…”

“Not interested, good-b…”

“Wait! I know why you don’t want to leave. I have seen her too. I need to see her again. Please! I had this room reserved. It was suppose to be mine. They had some mix up when you extended your stay, please.”

“I am sorry, that is not my fault. Now please leave, I really want to go back to resting.”

The haggard woman laughs, and she says in a slightly louder voice, “You mean you want to go back and start fingering yourself again.”

Kathleen starts to blush, “Shush! Someone might hear you.”

“Give me the room then. Or at least, let me share it for the next hour.”

“If you know the room, then you know there is only one chair and you can only see what is there to be seen if the angle is just right.”

The haggard lady smiles a wicked and wanton smile. A smile that held a secret, “If you truly knew the room, you would know there are more than just the one view, and some of them are much more...enticing than others. We are wasting precious time.”

The mere idea that there were other views in the room never dawned on Kathleen. The fact that some of them might be somehow better than the one she knew about excited her senses to a tipping point. “What is one of the other ways?”

“Let me in!”

“Tell me another way to see them.”

“We are wasting time.”

“I have this room for another six days, I am willing to sacrifice tonight, are you?”

The haggard woman has a manic and beaten look to her. “Fine. If you sit right on the edge of the pillow on the bed, looking out the window, you get...a much different experience. Please, just let me in. I need...I need to watch her again. Please?”

Kathleen sighs, she has no desire to share the room, she enjoys the freedom of being able to touch herself alone, without judgement. The last time she masturbated in the company of other women, were her college roommates, and they teased her endlessly for it. But, if what the woman said was true, it might be worth watching without touching.

Kathleen shuts the door enough to undo the chain lock, opens the door, “Can you at least give me your name before you join me?”

The haggard woman smiles a bright smile, “Joan, but my friends call me Joanie.”

Kathleen closes and locks the door as Joan flows into the room, shedding her attire with each frantically quick step, until she is completely naked on the antique chair. A hungry smile comes to her lips and she whispers, “Wow, look at him. I cannot wait to see what she does to this patron.”

Kathleen walks slowly to the bed, hoping that Joan has not made up a tale about other views at other angles, “Patron? He is there every night with his lover.”

Joan looks at her, “Really? I have never seen him before. For me, it always has started with a woman sitting on the bed waiting.”

Kathleen sits on the edge of the bed, against the pillow, “No, it is always him, followed by his lover. Every night since I’ve been here.” She adjusts and looks toward the window, she can see Joan in the reflection, but nothing else.

“Move a bit closer to the pillow, so your resting just barely against it and look more to the right in the window, so I am just in your periphery.”

Kathleen suddenly sees him again, the man of her dreams. The man that has taken over all of her lustful thoughts. He is a bit more faded from this angle. She feels cheated.

“You said…”

“I said some of the angles were more enticing. I didn’t say how. Close your eyes and listen. Close your eyes and smell.”

Kathleen did not want to lose the view, but does as she is told. She listens and she can suddenly hear the faint breath of a man waiting, waiting with a pent up lust. She takes a breath and she can smell a faint scent of a musky cologne. Her heart races.

Joan laughs and says, “The view is a bit more muted from that angle, but the other senses are enhanced.”

Kathleen suddenly hears a door open from far away in the past, followed by a whiff of floral purfume, followed by a sultry whisper of a woman’s voice, “You are still here.”

Joan whispers in a different timber, “She is here! Open your bloody eyes.”

Kathleen opens her eyes and sees the man’s lover, standing in front of him with her lovely smile, slinking out of her dress. Kathleen can see Joan finger herself at the sight of the woman. The lover is who she was eager to see. She knows the lover intimately by the way she takes her in.

The man whispers back to his lover, “Yes, I am. Seems I still cannot leave.”

The lover smiles, and replies, “Or perhaps you do not want to.” The lover then kneels and takes him into her mouth, keeping her hands to her sides. He moans and rocks back and forth. Kathleen can feel the slight motion of the bed. In the reflection in the glass, she can see herself sitting next to him, with his lover between his legs, sucking away on him, looking up with tenderness. Kathleen can see Joan both in the reflection and in the room proper, molesting herself without a care that Kathleen can see.

Kathleen is torn. She wants to join in. She is on fire with want. Her lust for this man. Her enjoyment of voyeuring him and his lover and their endless conquering of each other. She can hear the laughter of her roommates as she starts to come. The sound of it still haunts her, still shames her. She looks at Joan and sees a woman too lost in her own lust. Joan is panting and whimpering like a bitch in heat. She has no care that Kathleen is there watching her. Joan is sex-crazed. It was in her eyes when Kathleen first opened the door, and it was on full display now. Joan was addicted to what the room offered. She craved it like a drug.

Kathleen tries to block out the laughter from her past and lets her robe slip open. She starts to let her fingers try to calm the heat on her flesh, or perhaps try to stir it higher. Joan responds to her, or the lover, or the man by sitting on the edge of the chair, fingering herself deep and hard and fast. Joan’s pantings mix with the grunts of the man, and the moans of his lover sucking harder on his cock. Kathleen slides her hungry fingers along her slit, and almost weeps at the heat, the sheer wetness, and the pleasure of it all.

The room is suddenly amix with rivaling perfumes, and sweats, and bodily musks. The sounds of the four lovers are suddenly sharper, as if the room only gives the distant sounds to willing participants of pleasure. She can feel the bed rock and the man starts to lose his control and begins to thrust back into his lovers mouth, fingers locked in her hair. She watches her lover reach for him and stroke him over the edge while sucking away. Kathleen swears the lover is smiling around his cock. She dreams of doing the same. Her fingers dip eagerly inside herself.

Joanie screams and comes. Kathleen watches her in fascination as the woman sharing her room orgasms so violently. She jerks her own fingers in response. She swears that the lovers in the reflection somehow sense it too. The man comes harder than Kathleen has ever seen him, but his lover doesn’t stop. She never stops. This is one of their routines. One of her appetizers. Only when he is finished does she let his erection slip from her mouth, a pearled stream connecting her luscious, smiling lips to him.

Kathleen heart races. She loves the moment when the tables turn. She watches the lover stand and climb into his lap. Watches her still stroke him and watches him tremble at the overwhelming pleasure of it. Watches her impale herself on him. Watches her kiss him full on the mouth, hungrily. And ride him, hard, as if her life depended on it. As if there wasn’t enough time to wait.

But this time, she also heard every sound the two lovers made, could smell all of the scents of sex filling the room. Kathleen is so close to her edge, she can taste it. She can almost taste him on her own lips, she barely care what Joanie might think about how she is touching herself. The lust at watching the lovers play their game is so deep, she is barely aware Joanie is still there lost in her own, semi-private bliss watching the lovers, and herself.

“Holy fuck!” Joanie cries out as the lover pushes the man back on the bed, her hands braced on his chest as she rides him hard, screaming in bliss.

Kathleen cannot even register what sounds she is making herself, as she tries to match her fingering to the shaking she can feel in the bed, by lovers that were once there.

Kathleen comes and closes her eyes when the lover screams out and comes. She pulls her fingers from her cunt and attacks her clit, and she shudders as the pleasure hits her in waves. She shudders as she can almost imagine the man’s cock sliding in and out of her. She bounces on the bed to mimic how the lover is still riding the man. She squeezes her breasts as she knows the man is probably squeezing his lovers. Kathleen opens her eyes to see him doing exactly that as he comes again, deep inside of her. Kathleen can almost feel his warmth filling her too.

Kathleen suddenly jolts as Joan’s tongue licks her cunt. Kathleen looks down at Joan’s ravenous smile right before Joan licks her again. Kathleen gasps as the pleasure floods her. No one has ever licked her with more than just a curiosity touch, and never a woman. Joan’s tongue attacks in a knowing way, a lusting and lovely way. Kathleen melts into it, letting her fingers get lost in Joanie’s auburn hair. Her friend’s call her Joanie, right. What a silly thought to cling to in the moment.

Kathleen looks toward the window again and swears the man and his lover is watching her now. To see there lust-filled stares toward her is too much, she buckles and orgasms. Joanie slips her tongue deeper. The only thought Kathleen can hold is that Joanie better damn share this room with her, and every other secret this room contains.

~~~

I stroke Charlotte’s thigh as we both recover from our couplings, or at least recover enough to continue. She sighs and I let my fingers get closer to her sex. There is something magical about Charlotte. There was always something magical about her. Even when I was in the other time watching her through the reflection of the rooms window.

But, my lust never stays sated for long while I am with her, and perhaps she is right. It is not that I haven’t found a way to return to where or when I came from, but perhaps I do not desire to really leave.

My fingers tease her, as hers slowly brings my sore cock back to life. Just then, there is a shimmer in the window, and I swear I catch the blurry reflection of a naked woman sitting on the edge of the bed next to us, being devoured by her lover.

The image is blurred, as if it were raining, but no less erotic. I point it out to Charlotte, she turns to look, “Pity, I don’t see it.” Then she turns to me and gives me a hungry smile, she crawls over my body, sliding her breasts along my face, her belly, her sex. I lick her, tasting how sweet we taste together, but she doesn’t linger, she continues to crawl over me, until she is behind me.

I turn and climb onto the bed behind her.

“Fuck me,” she says softly. It is a perfect blend of a plea and a command.

I kneel behind her as she raises herself higher, I side in and moan as I have only moaned with her, I look at the reflection, and the lovers are still there, now crystal clear. Two women. And with every thrust into Charlotte, I can hear the one moan, counter to Charlotte’s.

“Fuck me, I think I can hear who you can see!”

Charlotte has an appetite for the erotic. All I know is she comes to this room to exercise it. All I know is that I have somehow become entangled into her life. I have this sense that if I do not leave soon, I might never be able too. Like Charlotte keeps telling me though, perhaps I don’t really want to.

“Tell me what they are doing, as you...Fuck me…”

I try to tell Charlotte that the women have switch positions. I try to describe their unique beauties. But, my words start to become grunts and moans.

“I wish...they were here...with us...ugh.”

I see the woman in the reflection shudder. I grip Charlotte’s hip harder, pounding harder…

“Yes! Fuck me. I hear her...coming...she sounds so sweet.”

I explode against all of the sensations. I fill my lover as I have now countless times before in the days I’ve been here. The feeling of Charlotte all around me. The scent of our sex in the air. The view of two women intertwined on this very bed on the other side of the reflection of the window, and the deep lust dripping from Charlotte’s wanton lips. She is a siren pulling me deeper into her keep, into her game. I wonder if she actually pulled me to this place. She denies it, but I still wonder.

We collapse as my orgasm ends and Charlotte’s begins. Her pleasure bleeds into me. I try to savor it all. I know she will eventually leave in the early morning. Leaving me to fumble in this foreign world alone for yet another day. Until tomorrow night, when we will repeat our tryst. Unless I figure out a way to return, assuming I even want to.

I stare at the reflection in the glass, and it is only me now staring back. I barely recognize myself. I’ve changed. Charlotte has shaped me to exist better in this place. But, that might not mean for the better.

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Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
The View - A Continuation
This is a sequel of sorts to the following story: https://theprose.com/post/74256/the-view
It is more explicit than the first part, as a warning to those that do not like erotica.

~~~~

The room was clean again. The air was fresh, yet it could not fully rid itself of the scent that the room held in its history. The polished wood trapped that history like secrets trapped in amber. The room had a history. Patrons that have come and gone: businessmen, lovers, loners, perhaps even a family or two. The room had a history. The room held the history, almost like a silent film. That is, if you knew how to look at it.

A woman - the current patron of the room - sits in the chair and waits. Waits while she stares out of the leaded window. She is fully naked this night and fevered with illicit thoughts, her fingers already at play, teasing her own skin. She has no patience to wait for what she know is coming. She has extended her stay an extra week upon discovering the secret that the room kept. Just as long as one was sitting in this particular antique chair, at a particular time of evening, staring out the leaded glass window at just the right angle.

She watches as the sunsets paints the walls across the way in yellows, oranges, and reds. Watches again in deep anticipation as twilight sucks the colors dark while she slides her fingers along the wetness gathering on her inner thighs. She makes sure she has the angle to the window just right. The angle was critical. The angle was everything.

She watches until twilight gives way and the leaded glass catches the reflection of the room instead. Watches until she see the man again in the reflection of the window. God, how she has come to lust for the man. Watching how he devours and loves and fucks his lover. She wishes she was her. She had had lovers but none of them have touched her as the man touches his love.

She watches him sitting on the bed, naked, his body and his sex hard. She watches him wait for his love, like he has for the past few nights. Just like before, he doesn’t touch himself, although she wishes he would. Yet, she desires him even more because he waits. She thrills at the fact that the woman has so much power over him that he can be so aroused just by the thought of her. Yet, one more way she envies the woman on the other side of the reflection, for she is certain she has never stirred that level of lust into anyone like that herself.

She drinks him in and touches herself, having no qualms of having to wait. Her desire is so hot tonight that in this moment where it is just her and the man, she imagines walking over to him and climbing into his lap, sliding him into her depths, and riding him like she knows he loves to be ridden. She’s never fucked a man like that and now having watched him be fucked like that by the other woman, his real lover, she hungered for it.

There is a knock at her door, the sound of it pulls her attention away from the window in reflex.

“Shit!” she utters under her breath, her heart racing in sudden panic as she turns back to make sure she has not lost the right angle, and thus the spectacular view. The naked man shimmers back into focus. Her heart starts racing again in a different way, anxiety of what was almost lost being replaced with a lust as free as she has ever had it. She could enjoy it without judgement or shame.

Another knock at the door. Harder this time.

“Go away, I am trying to rest! Can you not read the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the door?”

A quiet voice whispers loud enough through the door to catch her ear, but not so loud to carry far, “I know why you do not wish to be disturbed, Kathreen. Please, I need to speak with you and we both know the timing is short.”

It bothers her that the voice on the other side of the door knows her name. It bothers her that out of all times to come knocking, it has to be now. “Just a minute.” She quickly tosses on her silken robe, sashing it closed as she marches angrily toward the door, not caring how close her stiffened nipples are to tearing the sheer fabric apart.

She opens the door, with the chain lock keeping it from opening it any further. There is a beautiful, although very haggard woman on the other side. The haggard woman asks, “I would like to buy the room from you, right now. I am even willing to pay for your entire stay. I am even willing…”

“Not interested, good-b…”

“Wait! I know why you don’t want to leave. I have seen her too. I need to see her again. Please! I had this room reserved. It was suppose to be mine. They had some mix up when you extended your stay, please.”

“I am sorry, that is not my fault. Now please leave, I really want to go back to resting.”

The haggard woman laughs, and she says in a slightly louder voice, “You mean you want to go back and start fingering yourself again.”

Kathleen starts to blush, “Shush! Someone might hear you.”

“Give me the room then. Or at least, let me share it for the next hour.”

“If you know the room, then you know there is only one chair and you can only see what is there to be seen if the angle is just right.”

The haggard lady smiles a wicked and wanton smile. A smile that held a secret, “If you truly knew the room, you would know there are more than just the one view, and some of them are much more...enticing than others. We are wasting precious time.”

The mere idea that there were other views in the room never dawned on Kathleen. The fact that some of them might be somehow better than the one she knew about excited her senses to a tipping point. “What is one of the other ways?”

“Let me in!”

“Tell me another way to see them.”

“We are wasting time.”

“I have this room for another six days, I am willing to sacrifice tonight, are you?”

The haggard woman has a manic and beaten look to her. “Fine. If you sit right on the edge of the pillow on the bed, looking out the window, you get...a much different experience. Please, just let me in. I need...I need to watch her again. Please?”

Kathleen sighs, she has no desire to share the room, she enjoys the freedom of being able to touch herself alone, without judgement. The last time she masturbated in the company of other women, were her college roommates, and they teased her endlessly for it. But, if what the woman said was true, it might be worth watching without touching.

Kathleen shuts the door enough to undo the chain lock, opens the door, “Can you at least give me your name before you join me?”

The haggard woman smiles a bright smile, “Joan, but my friends call me Joanie.”

Kathleen closes and locks the door as Joan flows into the room, shedding her attire with each frantically quick step, until she is completely naked on the antique chair. A hungry smile comes to her lips and she whispers, “Wow, look at him. I cannot wait to see what she does to this patron.”

Kathleen walks slowly to the bed, hoping that Joan has not made up a tale about other views at other angles, “Patron? He is there every night with his lover.”

Joan looks at her, “Really? I have never seen him before. For me, it always has started with a woman sitting on the bed waiting.”

Kathleen sits on the edge of the bed, against the pillow, “No, it is always him, followed by his lover. Every night since I’ve been here.” She adjusts and looks toward the window, she can see Joan in the reflection, but nothing else.

“Move a bit closer to the pillow, so your resting just barely against it and look more to the right in the window, so I am just in your periphery.”
Kathleen suddenly sees him again, the man of her dreams. The man that has taken over all of her lustful thoughts. He is a bit more faded from this angle. She feels cheated.

“You said…”

“I said some of the angles were more enticing. I didn’t say how. Close your eyes and listen. Close your eyes and smell.”

Kathleen did not want to lose the view, but does as she is told. She listens and she can suddenly hear the faint breath of a man waiting, waiting with a pent up lust. She takes a breath and she can smell a faint scent of a musky cologne. Her heart races.

Joan laughs and says, “The view is a bit more muted from that angle, but the other senses are enhanced.”

Kathleen suddenly hears a door open from far away in the past, followed by a whiff of floral purfume, followed by a sultry whisper of a woman’s voice, “You are still here.”

Joan whispers in a different timber, “She is here! Open your bloody eyes.”

Kathleen opens her eyes and sees the man’s lover, standing in front of him with her lovely smile, slinking out of her dress. Kathleen can see Joan finger herself at the sight of the woman. The lover is who she was eager to see. She knows the lover intimately by the way she takes her in.

The man whispers back to his lover, “Yes, I am. Seems I still cannot leave.”

The lover smiles, and replies, “Or perhaps you do not want to.” The lover then kneels and takes him into her mouth, keeping her hands to her sides. He moans and rocks back and forth. Kathleen can feel the slight motion of the bed. In the reflection in the glass, she can see herself sitting next to him, with his lover between his legs, sucking away on him, looking up with tenderness. Kathleen can see Joan both in the reflection and in the room proper, molesting herself without a care that Kathleen can see.

Kathleen is torn. She wants to join in. She is on fire with want. Her lust for this man. Her enjoyment of voyeuring him and his lover and their endless conquering of each other. She can hear the laughter of her roommates as she starts to come. The sound of it still haunts her, still shames her. She looks at Joan and sees a woman too lost in her own lust. Joan is panting and whimpering like a bitch in heat. She has no care that Kathleen is there watching her. Joan is sex-crazed. It was in her eyes when Kathleen first opened the door, and it was on full display now. Joan was addicted to what the room offered. She craved it like a drug.

Kathleen tries to block out the laughter from her past and lets her robe slip open. She starts to let her fingers try to calm the heat on her flesh, or perhaps try to stir it higher. Joan responds to her, or the lover, or the man by sitting on the edge of the chair, fingering herself deep and hard and fast. Joan’s pantings mix with the grunts of the man, and the moans of his lover sucking harder on his cock. Kathleen slides her hungry fingers along her slit, and almost weeps at the heat, the sheer wetness, and the pleasure of it all.

The room is suddenly amix with rivaling perfumes, and sweats, and bodily musks. The sounds of the four lovers are suddenly sharper, as if the room only gives the distant sounds to willing participants of pleasure. She can feel the bed rock and the man starts to lose his control and begins to thrust back into his lovers mouth, fingers locked in her hair. She watches her lover reach for him and stroke him over the edge while sucking away. Kathleen swears the lover is smiling around his cock. She dreams of doing the same. Her fingers dip eagerly inside herself.

Joanie screams and comes. Kathleen watches her in fascination as the woman sharing her room orgasms so violently. She jerks her own fingers in response. She swears that the lovers in the reflection somehow sense it too. The man comes harder than Kathleen has ever seen him, but his lover doesn’t stop. She never stops. This is one of their routines. One of her appetizers. Only when he is finished does she let his erection slip from her mouth, a pearled stream connecting her luscious, smiling lips to him.

Kathleen heart races. She loves the moment when the tables turn. She watches the lover stand and climb into his lap. Watches her still stroke him and watches him tremble at the overwhelming pleasure of it. Watches her impale herself on him. Watches her kiss him full on the mouth, hungrily. And ride him, hard, as if her life depended on it. As if there wasn’t enough time to wait.

But this time, she also heard every sound the two lovers made, could smell all of the scents of sex filling the room. Kathleen is so close to her edge, she can taste it. She can almost taste him on her own lips, she barely care what Joanie might think about how she is touching herself. The lust at watching the lovers play their game is so deep, she is barely aware Joanie is still there lost in her own, semi-private bliss watching the lovers, and herself.

“Holy fuck!” Joanie cries out as the lover pushes the man back on the bed, her hands braced on his chest as she rides him hard, screaming in bliss.

Kathleen cannot even register what sounds she is making herself, as she tries to match her fingering to the shaking she can feel in the bed, by lovers that were once there.

Kathleen comes and closes her eyes when the lover screams out and comes. She pulls her fingers from her cunt and attacks her clit, and she shudders as the pleasure hits her in waves. She shudders as she can almost imagine the man’s cock sliding in and out of her. She bounces on the bed to mimic how the lover is still riding the man. She squeezes her breasts as she knows the man is probably squeezing his lovers. Kathleen opens her eyes to see him doing exactly that as he comes again, deep inside of her. Kathleen can almost feel his warmth filling her too.

Kathleen suddenly jolts as Joan’s tongue licks her cunt. Kathleen looks down at Joan’s ravenous smile right before Joan licks her again. Kathleen gasps as the pleasure floods her. No one has ever licked her with more than just a curiosity touch, and never a woman. Joan’s tongue attacks in a knowing way, a lusting and lovely way. Kathleen melts into it, letting her fingers get lost in Joanie’s auburn hair. Her friend’s call her Joanie, right. What a silly thought to cling to in the moment.

Kathleen looks toward the window again and swears the man and his lover is watching her now. To see there lust-filled stares toward her is too much, she buckles and orgasms. Joanie slips her tongue deeper. The only thought Kathleen can hold is that Joanie better damn share this room with her, and every other secret this room contains.

~~~

I stroke Charlotte’s thigh as we both recover from our couplings, or at least recover enough to continue. She sighs and I let my fingers get closer to her sex. There is something magical about Charlotte. There was always something magical about her. Even when I was in the other time watching her through the reflection of the rooms window.

But, my lust never stays sated for long while I am with her, and perhaps she is right. It is not that I haven’t found a way to return to where or when I came from, but perhaps I do not desire to really leave.

My fingers tease her, as hers slowly brings my sore cock back to life. Just then, there is a shimmer in the window, and I swear I catch the blurry reflection of a naked woman sitting on the edge of the bed next to us, being devoured by her lover.

The image is blurred, as if it were raining, but no less erotic. I point it out to Charlotte, she turns to look, “Pity, I don’t see it.” Then she turns to me and gives me a hungry smile, she crawls over my body, sliding her breasts along my face, her belly, her sex. I lick her, tasting how sweet we taste together, but she doesn’t linger, she continues to crawl over me, until she is behind me.

I turn and climb onto the bed behind her.

“Fuck me,” she says softly. It is a perfect blend of a plea and a command.

I kneel behind her as she raises herself higher, I side in and moan as I have only moaned with her, I look at the reflection, and the lovers are still there, now crystal clear. Two women. And with every thrust into Charlotte, I can hear the one moan, counter to Charlotte’s.

“Fuck me, I think I can hear who you can see!”

Charlotte has an appetite for the erotic. All I know is she comes to this room to exercise it. All I know is that I have somehow become entangled into her life. I have this sense that if I do not leave soon, I might never be able too. Like Charlotte keeps telling me though, perhaps I don’t really want to.

“Tell me what they are doing, as you...Fuck me…”

I try to tell Charlotte that the women have switch positions. I try to describe their unique beauties. But, my words start to become grunts and moans.

“I wish...they were here...with us...ugh.”

I see the woman in the reflection shudder. I grip Charlotte’s hip harder, pounding harder…

“Yes! Fuck me. I hear her...coming...she sounds so sweet.”

I explode against all of the sensations. I fill my lover as I have now countless times before in the days I’ve been here. The feeling of Charlotte all around me. The scent of our sex in the air. The view of two women intertwined on this very bed on the other side of the reflection of the window, and the deep lust dripping from Charlotte’s wanton lips. She is a siren pulling me deeper into her keep, into her game. I wonder if she actually pulled me to this place. She denies it, but I still wonder.

We collapse as my orgasm ends and Charlotte’s begins. Her pleasure bleeds into me. I try to savor it all. I know she will eventually leave in the early morning. Leaving me to fumble in this foreign world alone for yet another day. Until tomorrow night, when we will repeat our tryst. Unless I figure out a way to return, assuming I even want to.

I stare at the reflection in the glass, and it is only me now staring back. I barely recognize myself. I’ve changed. Charlotte has shaped me to exist better in this place. But, that might not mean for the better.

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Seduce me - I want a seduction, be it by poem or prose or both. Tease me with your writing - I want the screen to melt from your words!
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

Delicate Hum

There was a hum that is distracting me from falling asleep. On a red-eye flight to New York that was going to last at least five hours and my utter exhausting from a week of conferences, the hum was literally killing me.

It wasn’t the low rumble of the turbines on the wings a few rows ahead of me. It wasn’t from the few computers that people still had on. It was as if I could almost feel it as well as hear it. It haunted me that much.

I go through all of the possible sources and eliminate them. Eliminate them until I am left to my general area. I’ve filtered out all of the other white noise sources, but the hum. It was so faint, that almost in any other mental state, I could filter it out too. But, in its own way, it was like a gong in my head now, it countered all of the other white noise to stand out like a song.

I look toward the lady sitting next to me, sleeping soundly. The hum wasn’t bothering her. I look toward the one person sitting one row ahead of me on the other side of the aisle, snoring miserably. I could filter out that train wreck of noise, but not the hum.

The lady next to me lets out the softest of sighs, so I turn to look at her again. Sleeping and nearly still, one of those too-small-to-be-effective airplane blankets draped over her lap. I nearly turn my head to hunt for the hum when the lady gave the slightest of shivers. Her breath was controlled, but not quite relaxed. She was almost still, but not still in a restful way. It was easy to overlook when not really looking. Now that I was looking, however, she had enough tells that she was only appearing to be sleeping that it was impossible not to see it now. Just like it was impossible not to hear the hum.

I couldn’t escape the hum because it was coming from her. I couldn’t escape it because perhaps I could feel it in the most minute of ways. The slight arousal that was building as I realized what the hum was,made it even more impossible to try to forget about, not less.

I took my eyes off of her, yet her restful face seemed burned in my vision. She was pretty, if not beautiful. Soft lips, glowing skin, face framed in a raven black bob. But, it was a face of a woman currently trying to pleasure herself while believing the few around her were unaware.

Now that I was aware, my mind ran away with the thought. What wonderland did her mind take her while her vibrator buzzed away? Did it excite her more or less that someone was sitting right next to her while she was getting away with getting off in public? Did she dream about getting caught or just getting away with it?

My mind played out scenarios faster than I could process them. My blood was pumping hard and burning quick as it rushed faster in my body. My arousal was more intense than was comfortable, knowing I had few possibilities to relieve it.

I closed my eyes and tried to block it out. Instead, my mind weaved a fantasy of the lady being less discreet about how she pleasured herself. Blanket gone, skirt hiked up, fingers dancing. She was wearing a smile watching me watch her.

The more I tried to not think about her, the more explicit she became, the louder the hum seemed to become. As if drawing me deeper into becoming an active partner to the illicit behavior.

With my resolve slowly disintegrating, I allowed myself a moment of utter foolishness, and let me hand fall so it rested between my leg and hers, the top of my hand barely resting against her pathetic blanket. I could feel the hum against her leg.

I heard a slight gasp, but forced my breathing to be a slow, restful rhythm, my eyes softly closed. I wait for her to shift her leg away, but she never does. Did she catch me in my subterfuge? Did she believe me asleep but having the contact, slight as it was, added to the danger? I played out both scenarios and everyone in between in my head, more aroused than I have been for a long time, ensnared because of a haunting hum.

I feel the blanket move my hand, and suddenly feel my hand make direct contact with her warm thigh. In the process of adjusting her blanket, she makes sure my hand is now underneath its warmth, hidden. The jolt of it all was almost too much. My brain racing. Again. Am I caught, or is she adding more danger to increase her own thrill.

My fingers itched to be on the other side of her thigh. My cock quivered in the confines of my pants, currently the worst torture device ever devised.

I think about pulling away and ending the game, but I find I cannot. I think about opening my eyes to see, only to feel her rest her hand against mine. My breath caught and my eyes opened in reflex.

I caught her staring at me, with the softest of smiles. A gentleman, innocent of his crime, would have pulled his hand away, apologetically. She let out a gasp, I felt the smallest of quakes from her. She either caught me or deemed I wasn’t quite the gentleman. She lifted my hand to rest on top of her thigh, and pretended sleep once more. The invitation as clear and the delicate hum.

I closed my eyes as well and let my fingers slowly melt toward the source of the hum. It felt like it took forever to get there, the journey was the most blissful journey ever taken though.

The warmth increased, as did the humidity. The pulse of the hum felt stronger, countered to the pulse of her pulse. My fingers finally reached the hot wetness of her core, and I was struck with so much pent up lust my fingers caused her to hiss through her teeth.

I opened my eyes and saw wanton hunger staring back at me. The lady could have been the ugliest on the planet, and in that moment, she would have been the most gorgeous wearing that hunger.

My fingers fought the vibrator for surface area, the lady didn’t seem to mind. I was slowly forgetting where we were, so was she. The pleasure was giving way to a deeper need of intimate connection. And the power in that the only pleasure that could be directly tapped was hers, mine forced to hover in a strange limbo.

As if reading my mind, she rested her hand on my crotch and squeezed. I grunted and she beamed. In response, I dove my fingers as far down her as our positions allowed. She squirmed and got lost in them. I pressed my palm againsts the small vibrator and it pressed against her clit and then I fucked her just like that, beyond sane, just driven by lustful need.

I felt the warm wash flow over my fingers and she bit into her pathetically small pillow and trembled. I let her ride my hand and let myself enjoy the moment, even in my tortured limbo. It felt like forever, yet it was over way too soon.

Our little world smelled like her. It was intoxicating and maddening. She smiled, the most wicked of smiles. I tried to return it. The speakers suddenly cut into our private moment, “I am sorry passengers, but we are being diverted to Denver because of the weather. The airline is making arrangements for getting you all rooms for the duration.”

The lady smiled as if she won the biggest prize in the world, “It seems like we will be getting rooms for the night?”

“Or, perhaps we could save the airline some money by sharing one?”

“Perhaps…” Her eyes twinkled with all of the promises of a lover desiring to pay back in full.

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Seduce me - I want a seduction, be it by poem or prose or both. Tease me with your writing - I want the screen to melt from your words!
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
Delicate Hum
There was a hum that is distracting me from falling asleep. On a red-eye flight to New York that was going to last at least five hours and my utter exhausting from a week of conferences, the hum was literally killing me.

It wasn’t the low rumble of the turbines on the wings a few rows ahead of me. It wasn’t from the few computers that people still had on. It was as if I could almost feel it as well as hear it. It haunted me that much.

I go through all of the possible sources and eliminate them. Eliminate them until I am left to my general area. I’ve filtered out all of the other white noise sources, but the hum. It was so faint, that almost in any other mental state, I could filter it out too. But, in its own way, it was like a gong in my head now, it countered all of the other white noise to stand out like a song.

I look toward the lady sitting next to me, sleeping soundly. The hum wasn’t bothering her. I look toward the one person sitting one row ahead of me on the other side of the aisle, snoring miserably. I could filter out that train wreck of noise, but not the hum.

The lady next to me lets out the softest of sighs, so I turn to look at her again. Sleeping and nearly still, one of those too-small-to-be-effective airplane blankets draped over her lap. I nearly turn my head to hunt for the hum when the lady gave the slightest of shivers. Her breath was controlled, but not quite relaxed. She was almost still, but not still in a restful way. It was easy to overlook when not really looking. Now that I was looking, however, she had enough tells that she was only appearing to be sleeping that it was impossible not to see it now. Just like it was impossible not to hear the hum.

I couldn’t escape the hum because it was coming from her. I couldn’t escape it because perhaps I could feel it in the most minute of ways. The slight arousal that was building as I realized what the hum was,made it even more impossible to try to forget about, not less.

I took my eyes off of her, yet her restful face seemed burned in my vision. She was pretty, if not beautiful. Soft lips, glowing skin, face framed in a raven black bob. But, it was a face of a woman currently trying to pleasure herself while believing the few around her were unaware.

Now that I was aware, my mind ran away with the thought. What wonderland did her mind take her while her vibrator buzzed away? Did it excite her more or less that someone was sitting right next to her while she was getting away with getting off in public? Did she dream about getting caught or just getting away with it?

My mind played out scenarios faster than I could process them. My blood was pumping hard and burning quick as it rushed faster in my body. My arousal was more intense than was comfortable, knowing I had few possibilities to relieve it.

I closed my eyes and tried to block it out. Instead, my mind weaved a fantasy of the lady being less discreet about how she pleasured herself. Blanket gone, skirt hiked up, fingers dancing. She was wearing a smile watching me watch her.

The more I tried to not think about her, the more explicit she became, the louder the hum seemed to become. As if drawing me deeper into becoming an active partner to the illicit behavior.

With my resolve slowly disintegrating, I allowed myself a moment of utter foolishness, and let me hand fall so it rested between my leg and hers, the top of my hand barely resting against her pathetic blanket. I could feel the hum against her leg.

I heard a slight gasp, but forced my breathing to be a slow, restful rhythm, my eyes softly closed. I wait for her to shift her leg away, but she never does. Did she catch me in my subterfuge? Did she believe me asleep but having the contact, slight as it was, added to the danger? I played out both scenarios and everyone in between in my head, more aroused than I have been for a long time, ensnared because of a haunting hum.

I feel the blanket move my hand, and suddenly feel my hand make direct contact with her warm thigh. In the process of adjusting her blanket, she makes sure my hand is now underneath its warmth, hidden. The jolt of it all was almost too much. My brain racing. Again. Am I caught, or is she adding more danger to increase her own thrill.

My fingers itched to be on the other side of her thigh. My cock quivered in the confines of my pants, currently the worst torture device ever devised.

I think about pulling away and ending the game, but I find I cannot. I think about opening my eyes to see, only to feel her rest her hand against mine. My breath caught and my eyes opened in reflex.

I caught her staring at me, with the softest of smiles. A gentleman, innocent of his crime, would have pulled his hand away, apologetically. She let out a gasp, I felt the smallest of quakes from her. She either caught me or deemed I wasn’t quite the gentleman. She lifted my hand to rest on top of her thigh, and pretended sleep once more. The invitation as clear and the delicate hum.

I closed my eyes as well and let my fingers slowly melt toward the source of the hum. It felt like it took forever to get there, the journey was the most blissful journey ever taken though.

The warmth increased, as did the humidity. The pulse of the hum felt stronger, countered to the pulse of her pulse. My fingers finally reached the hot wetness of her core, and I was struck with so much pent up lust my fingers caused her to hiss through her teeth.

I opened my eyes and saw wanton hunger staring back at me. The lady could have been the ugliest on the planet, and in that moment, she would have been the most gorgeous wearing that hunger.

My fingers fought the vibrator for surface area, the lady didn’t seem to mind. I was slowly forgetting where we were, so was she. The pleasure was giving way to a deeper need of intimate connection. And the power in that the only pleasure that could be directly tapped was hers, mine forced to hover in a strange limbo.

As if reading my mind, she rested her hand on my crotch and squeezed. I grunted and she beamed. In response, I dove my fingers as far down her as our positions allowed. She squirmed and got lost in them. I pressed my palm againsts the small vibrator and it pressed against her clit and then I fucked her just like that, beyond sane, just driven by lustful need.

I felt the warm wash flow over my fingers and she bit into her pathetically small pillow and trembled. I let her ride my hand and let myself enjoy the moment, even in my tortured limbo. It felt like forever, yet it was over way too soon.

Our little world smelled like her. It was intoxicating and maddening. She smiled, the most wicked of smiles. I tried to return it. The speakers suddenly cut into our private moment, “I am sorry passengers, but we are being diverted to Denver because of the weather. The airline is making arrangements for getting you all rooms for the duration.”

The lady smiled as if she won the biggest prize in the world, “It seems like we will be getting rooms for the night?”

“Or, perhaps we could save the airline some money by sharing one?”

“Perhaps…” Her eyes twinkled with all of the promises of a lover desiring to pay back in full.

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Continuing studies show that when asked 94% of people self-report as being above average. As this is statistically impossible, explain this phenomena. No rhyming.
Written by fantastical

How 94% Are Above Average

"Hello Kind Sir/Madame. Question? Do you feel you are above average? Yes or No, please?"

If asked just like that, it is easy to see how 94% answer this question 'yes'. Because it is a completely open question, the answer will be easily be interpretive in a very subjective way. 

"Hello Kind Sir/Madame. On a scale of 1-10, what would you rank yourself in general?"

A little different, but depending on the mood of the person, most (probably 94%) will probably say 6 or more.

Over the broad scope of a person's skills and abilities, most people will believe they are above average on most general scales.

Are you an above average student? (Carried good grades, got a degree, sure.)

Are you an above average cook? (No one has died from eating my food, sure.)

Are you an above average writer? (You are reading this, right?)

Are you an above average reader? (I was able to read what I wrote, right?)

Even those, will be answered with a subjective bias based on a person's experience and real-world internal sampling.

Take the question, 'above average cook'? I compare myself to everyone that has ever cooked for me. I may honestly say I am worse than let's say Gordon Ramsey, but I am not answering 'one of the best', I am answering simply, 'above average'. Considering a large percentage of people don't even cook, just by being able to cook scrambled eggs with any skill probably puts you 'above average'.

Again, we process the general 'above average' question to all of our skills, and we decide we are 'above average' (unless you are pragmatic or depressed, then you fall into the other 6%)

Now, as you start to give the people asked a more random survey of things to be 'above-average in', for example:

Cooking, playing football, building an engine, playing poker, winning the lottery, gardening, looks, etc.

Now, you are going to start getting a deeper mix of yes and no answers, and the aggregate percentage will start getting lower.

Take a sample of 100 students. They take a test of 100 questions. The worst student scores 49/100. The rest score 90/100. Against the questions themselves, 99% of the students had a way-above-average understanding of the material. Even against the average score, (89.59/100) The 99 students are still, technically above average because they all have a score of 90.

With just the general question, there is too much wiggle room. Everyone will wiggle upward.

It is not a statistical impossibility, it is a statistically useless question. A trick of the mind and the sample set. A perfect example of how you can use statistics to tell whatever story you want to.

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Continuing studies show that when asked 94% of people self-report as being above average. As this is statistically impossible, explain this phenomena. No rhyming.
Written by fantastical
How 94% Are Above Average
"Hello Kind Sir/Madame. Question? Do you feel you are above average? Yes or No, please?"

If asked just like that, it is easy to see how 94% answer this question 'yes'. Because it is a completely open question, the answer will be easily be interpretive in a very subjective way. 

"Hello Kind Sir/Madame. On a scale of 1-10, what would you rank yourself in general?"

A little different, but depending on the mood of the person, most (probably 94%) will probably say 6 or more.

Over the broad scope of a person's skills and abilities, most people will believe they are above average on most general scales.

Are you an above average student? (Carried good grades, got a degree, sure.)
Are you an above average cook? (No one has died from eating my food, sure.)
Are you an above average writer? (You are reading this, right?)
Are you an above average reader? (I was able to read what I wrote, right?)

Even those, will be answered with a subjective bias based on a person's experience and real-world internal sampling.

Take the question, 'above average cook'? I compare myself to everyone that has ever cooked for me. I may honestly say I am worse than let's say Gordon Ramsey, but I am not answering 'one of the best', I am answering simply, 'above average'. Considering a large percentage of people don't even cook, just by being able to cook scrambled eggs with any skill probably puts you 'above average'.

Again, we process the general 'above average' question to all of our skills, and we decide we are 'above average' (unless you are pragmatic or depressed, then you fall into the other 6%)

Now, as you start to give the people asked a more random survey of things to be 'above-average in', for example:

Cooking, playing football, building an engine, playing poker, winning the lottery, gardening, looks, etc.

Now, you are going to start getting a deeper mix of yes and no answers, and the aggregate percentage will start getting lower.

Take a sample of 100 students. They take a test of 100 questions. The worst student scores 49/100. The rest score 90/100. Against the questions themselves, 99% of the students had a way-above-average understanding of the material. Even against the average score, (89.59/100) The 99 students are still, technically above average because they all have a score of 90.

With just the general question, there is too much wiggle room. Everyone will wiggle upward.

It is not a statistical impossibility, it is a statistically useless question. A trick of the mind and the sample set. A perfect example of how you can use statistics to tell whatever story you want to.












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