Thursday, February 5, 2009

Jardonn's Hugs and Hickies

I know we've built a reputation for writing bondage and torture into our erotica, but Jasper and I can write love scenes as well. Write... er, right, Jasper? Allow me to post some examples:

From Jasper's Maggie Pie --

She journeyed with him to their beginning -- their second beginning, the night he showed up on her porch, his porch, the night of his confrontation with three men outside a Holyoke tavern. He appeared before her near midnight as a weathered alley cat, the hair on his head matted with dried sweat. His shirt waved in the breeze, overlapping his jeans, its buttons unbuttoned, most buttons missing. The matted hair of his chest and belly centered his open shirt, splotches of red dotted his knuckles, the backs of his hands. He told her of his deed, of his manhandling of her husband, his pummeling of her husband’s two friends, not knowing how she would respond, not knowing if she would be pleased or displeased. He surrendered to her, desperate for her acceptance.

She took his scarred hand, led him directly into the grey-shrouded turret, near this same bed in this same room. She stripped him of his tattered clothing, guided him to lay flat on her mattress, exhibited for him her newly-found skills, unknown even to her until executed. With her mouth she praised him, with her tongue she painted him, and with her throat she controlled him.

Bud had no choice but to reach for the bedposts. His reach was involuntary, but of his own doing. The overwhelming ecstasy of her touch stripped him of all notions that he was the dominant partner. The power of her touch weakened him, sapped his strength, erased his ability to defy her. He stretched himself, demanding to be punished. Then as now, she punished him with denial. Their first session, a session of discovery, of secret desires learned in silence by movements and responses, sealed their reunion, rekindled their passion, while leaving their pain a distant memory. She controlled him, and her domination allowed him to exonerate himself from all guilt. With Julie in control, Bud’s demons were extracted, taken from him, no longer his responsibility, no longer his problem. With Julie in control, Forrest Richter was dead, buried and forgotten.


Now as then, she became weary. She laid atop him where she had begun, keeping his penis imprisoned, crushed to the depths of her vaginal walls. Her head fell next to his, between his cheek and the crook of his shoulder. Her fingers encircled his triceps and biceps. Julie drifted into sleep.


And now from my Thomas Coleman Full Nelson, from the book Hard Working Men --


Thomas basked in my praise. Sprawling before me with eyes closed, he snored off and on, moaned and groaned off and on as I licked and kissed and manipulated muscle with my hands. With no regard for his sore ribs or anything else, I saturated his body with my spit, buried my face into his untreated armpits and glossed over their bushy blackness. My lips clamped his biceps, my jaw opening wide to engulf their thick and hard power. My face inhaled his belly, so soft at its surface, so concrete beneath. His perfectly-matched nuts were assaulted with tongue and lips, their cropped hairs tugged with teeth, their sperm-bulging skin nibbled with mouth and twisted with fingers. His feet, his sturdy, size ten, fur-topped feet were painted with my spit, each toe sucked, each sole and each ball joint massaged with fingers and licked with tongue. And his tits, so firm, so tiny and so hidden with his arms down, now were wide open with his arms up. Little nickels with little tips became little dimes with rising tips, hardening tips, as I sucked and licked and slurped and finger-pinched. My baby's baby bottle nipples were treated as such without mercy, because my eyes were locked onto his frantically bouncing cock. My assault upon his tits produced a phallic ballet of involuntary clenches. The contractions of his scrotum were my doing, not his. His mighty cock bobbed and weaved with power and grace. He spit silky, pre-orgasmic lubrication, strands of the stuff glistening in window-filtered moonlight and tethering his cock head to his belly. Overflow of his manly syrup sugar-coated his ready-to-explode mushroom, its bulging sheen inviting my mouth to taste. All of my beautiful Thomas joined his scrotum in convulsing, as he arched his back, sucked in his belly, thrust his tits deeper into my mouth and fingers.

Oh, how he suffered, how he writhed in uncontrolled ecstasy, flexing and posing and thrusting and groaning like a heroic, chained muscle-stud. And when I could no longer bear to watch him struggle through my cruel extension of our nine years of frustration, I finished him.


See? No chains or ropes, simply two people upon a mattress making love. You and I are true romantics, Jasper.

Jardonn

12 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oh, those are beautiful, Jardonn, but I wouldn't exactly call either excerpt making love... more like one person having their way with a drunk and nearly passed out partner.

A turn-on, regardless.

Jasper

Anonymous said...

Well, geez, mister know-it-all. If you're such an expert maybe you should find some better examples and post them.

Jardonn

Anonymous said...

All right, maybe I am better suited to find passion in our words. I am aware your real-life experiences are mostly over in about fifteen minutes with partners never seen again.

Jasper

Anonymous said...

Yes, you and your artistic and lingering bedroom abilities have served you well. Is that how you got your high school girlfriend pregnant? Put you behind the eight ball for eighteen years paying child support? Brilliant strategy, pussy poker. At least I knew at an early age my sexual leanings. Never got myself into such awkward and financially-draining situations.

Jardonn

Anonymous said...

Yeah, well, too bad you weren't clever enough to find yourself a sugar daddy when you were a young and handsome stud. Too late now. Hair's leaving you. What's left is turning white. Wrinkles taking over... around the eyes... on your receding-hairline forehead. Now, your supposed to be the sugar daddy, but you can't be because you're broke on your ass. Did you ever hear of budgets? Financial planning? Savings accounts? What did you do, skip economics class every day? Busy screwing your boyfriends in the back seat of your car? Have you considered what it'll be like sitting in a wheel chair all by your lonesome with nobody to love you or take care of you? Because that is exactly where you're headed.

Jasper

Anonymous said...

You should talk, you bald-headed, crotchety old fart. You're already there. Pains my eyes to look at you, all that grotesque gorilla fur turning grey and falling out. How do you keep your bathtub's drain open? Speaking of... when are you going to scrub out all that dead skin stuck to the porcelain? Are you aware of the disgusting odors inhabiting your house? Brings tears.

Jardonn

Anonymous said...

Never smelled that way until after the time you lived with me. And that's your skin on my tub, which you promised to clean out and never did.

And by the way, who told you I had a kid out there somewhere?

Jasper

Anonymous said...

Ha. My mother. Guess I shouldn't have blurted that one out, since I promised her I'd never tell. Well, too late. At least you did the right thing and took care of your obligation. I am proud of you for that.

Jardonn

Anonymous said...
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Anonymous said...

Yes, we must pay and learn from such mistakes. It's the only way to keep from repeating them.

Anyway, you're still a pretty good looker, much younger than you actually are. And I know you were smart enough to live what you are, rather than trying to be a phony like the Ted Haggards of the world. So, good for you, Jardonn. Keep on the same path. You're doing all right by me.

Jasper

Anonymous said...

You, too, Jasper. I've always looked up to you. Just don't know how to say it sometimes.

Keep on doing what you do and I'll always love you for it.

Jardonn

Anonymous said...

Ugh... mush... reciprocated with reluctance.

Jasper