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Poem of the Month: "Galveston in September" by Courtney ? 2024

Read About the Poet Read her poem High Tide Read her poem The Eagle and the Dove Read her poem Senseless Thoughts Read her poem Sleeping With A Stranger Contact Courtney personally.

Galveston in September A ball of fire rests upon the ocean. The air begins to cool as night pours in. His hand upon my breast defrosts my heart. His lips upon my neck, they chill my skin. He knows the time it takes to make me boil My eyes reflect the burning thoughts I hold. He shelters me from hard autumnal winds His body melts with mine, against the cold. He takes my hand and leads me to the shore. We ease into the waters with desire. He pulls me in and knows the frosted air Will fade away in our created fire. -Courtney

Story of the Month: "Rhapsody" by Bella Bliss ? 2024

Read About the Writer Contact Bella Bliss personally.

Rhapsody The music rushed over me; string melodies tugging at my heart offset by a sensual Latin beat that pounded in my blood. It flooded my soul and held me captive in it's power. Images of raw carnality flashed through my mind. If I closed my eyes, I could see myself on horseback, racing through the dark of night in a time of decadence long past, to the manor on the hill. A candle would be lit in the corner room at the end of the second floor. "Excuse me," whispered the rough male voice. I turned my head to glance over my shoulder at the man that had interrupted my musings, fanciful as they were. His eyes were alight with deviltry and the smile that played about his mouth was nothing less than wicked. It seemed that I had been caught; my thoughts somehow detected even in the cloaked darkness of the concert hall. I raised my eyebrows in question. "Are you alright?" I tried to play the innocent. I tried to pretend that I didn't know what he was talking about. I failed. He chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent another rush of heat through me, this time though having nothing to do with the music. "You're blushing. Even with only stage lights to assist me, I can see that. You're restless. And have been for the last two pieces. Your breathing has changed slightly. Are you certain that you're alright?" His voice whispered in my ear, loud enough to be heard over the music, but not by anyone other than me. It was an understated voice, kind and pleasant, but there was a hint of fire, an only slightly veiled boldness and authority. In my mind, I could hear that voice speaking with blushing crudity when in heat. I nodded my head in response and turned my eyes back to the stage. The four young women that dominated the building played with passion and with love crystal clear. The music spoke to them on levels that could only be communicated through their instruments. Mere words would never fully convey the meaning. Their bodies writhed to and fro, trembling in bliss. Long slender limbs clothed in elegance, danced seductively, taunting and teasing, daring the captive audience into fantasy. Warm breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of my neck and strong, sure fingers found the clips in my hair with ease, tugging them loose. I was so deeply lost in the music that I could form no protest to the advances of the man behind me. The spell that surrounded me was thick and so heavy laden with sensuality that my body and mind ceased to register the full concert hall, transporting me instead to a massive four-poster bed and a sexy stranger with a voice that set my soul on fire. The heat of his hand massaging my scalp flowed through my body, melting me. There was tenderness in his touch. There was coaxing in his persistent attention. I closed my eyes and let myself fall deeper into my own imaginings, my own desires. I slipped deeper into him. My ears heard and registered the raw sexuality of the music and my soul transferred it into arousal, keen and sharp. His lips whispered against my shoulder, the side of my neck. His voice breathed itself into my ear. "Come with me." He didn't give me time to think about it, just tugged lightly on my hair and urged me up out of my seat. Making my way to the aisle, I followed him, not daring to think of what I was doing, only letting myself get lost in the moment, feeling every sensation, every prickle of heat that flowed over my sensitized skin. He slowed to a near stop, but only long enough to reach back for my hand, twining his fingers through my own. At the back of the theatre, there were a series of curtained alcoves, lit inside by candlelight sconces. He stopped beside one of these and pulled the curtain, ushering me inside. There was only a moment to glimpse his face before his mouth covered mine, drawing forth such pleasure that my eyes closed in blinding lust. His tongue flicked out to lick the seam of my lips before slipping inside as if a phantom. His arms stole around me and pulled me flush against his body. He was taller than I, broad and solid against my soft roundness. His tongue danced inside my mouth, sliding against my own, coaxing it between his lips for a gentle but insistent suckling. His hands bunched up the back of my gown, baring my buttocks to the heat and strength of his palms. He pulled my groin tight against his own. I felt his hardness through the soft and warm fabric of woolen trousers. He rubbed against me, insistent, hungry. I barely heard his murmured wickedness. His lips lingered, then pulled softly away. He turned me towards the wall, placing my hands against the polished wood, bending me slightly forward. Fingers, deft and knowing found their way between my thighs, sliding through slick, pouty lips. I never once protested. I had waited my whole life for a moment such as this: for a man to want me so much that the where and when ceased to be of consequence. The music that echoed through the hall was that of a sultan's harem, of slaves performing elaborate dances of sex for guests of their lord and master. He was inside me before I could ask, before I could beg and plead for him to fill me. His lips whispered against my neck, his tongue danced along leaving a moist heated trail in its wake. One arm held me tight about the waist, pressing my lower body back into his pumping hips. His other arm wrapped across my chest, his palm cupping my breast through the velvet of my gown. "Fuck me," he whispered into the hollow of my ear. I writhed against him. His hips stopped moving, giving me room and motive to undulate my own, pulling on his cock, sucking his shaft with the heated mouth between my legs. I heard him groan and his teeth bit into the tender skin of my shoulder. With eyes closed and my soul lost in the music, my body sought its release, its completion. "Please." The whimper resounded in the small alcove as the tears of stolen moments streaked down my cheeks. "Legs closer together. Hold me tighter inside. Yes, that's it. Tighter, love." His arms crushed me against his hardness. His knees and thighs slid against the back of my own as he thrust up inside of me. Bending me closer to the wall, his hips angled forward. He was deeper, touching me everywhere. He danced with me to the music that filled the theatre. Our bodies melting into one another, the crescendo was almost deafening. My heart picked up speed, beating in time with the tempo on stage. I clawed at the wood. I bit my lip and tossed my head back. I felt him empty inside of me. The pressure and pulse of his cock pumping semen into my womb and my own orgasm shivered through me moments later. Glittering. Breathtaking. I hung limply in his arms as he whispered words in a language that I couldn't understand. His shaft slipped out of me and he pulled back to fasten his trousers. The skirt of my dress, hopelessly crushed, fell across my hips and once again brushed the floor. The concert was nearly over. His hand slid up my arm, back down again until his fingers clasped my own, raising it to his lips to kiss over my shoulder. I shivered at his sweet gesture. The enchanting moment would soon be over. I wanted to hold onto it forever. "I must go, sweet," he said, stroking my hair. I nodded my acceptance, unable to speak. His essence slid down my thigh. "Remember me. We will meet again." He was gone before I could turn around, leaving me with an ache for more of him and a smile of hope for fantasies yet to be fulfilled.

Confessions of a Mistress Series: by Gwen Masters ? 2024 New Stories From Gwen Masters Monthly

Read Part V of Confessions Tour Bus Rendezvous Read Part IV of Confessions Untethered Read Part III of Confessions Delights in Defiance Read Part II of Confessions Wishing on Embers Read Part I of Confessions Better Judgment Read About the Writer Contact Gwen Masters personally.

Confessions of a Mistress (Part VI):
The Soft Recliner
by Gwen Masters

The thick carpet snuggled up to my toes. The wide pottery mug was warm in my hands. Outside, snow fell to cover the beauty of Tennessee. There in my home, a fire roared in a rarely used fireplace. Cashmere and satin felt luxurious and sexy against my smooth and scented skin. The house was in less than perfect order, comfortable and with the signs of obvious living, not a home designed to impress. It suited me well.

His car was almost silent as it pulled into the drive. Headlights washed across my handmade curtains, joined briefly the light of the candles in the room, and then quickly disappeared. The closing of the garage door was followed by silence that made me smile, but I didn't move from where I stood. I stared at the crackling fire and sampled the cocoa. It had been five days since I had last seen him. Five days to contemplate and think. Now I smiled at the sound of his footfalls across the porch. He knew he was always welcome here.

His key turned the lock, and the sight of him made me catch my breath. He looked strange in my home, more formidable than I had ever thought him to be. The perspective of comfortable had just changed in an instant, and the shift was a good one. It made me smile.

And he smiled back, more relaxed than I had seen him in a long time. Two long days awaited us. The door lock clicked behind him, and I vowed it would not open until he had to leave me for that long blue tour bus. His hair was tangled and his clothes were rumpled, but he smelled heavenly, and looked even better. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as he stepped in front of me. Only his breath touched me as he leaned in close to my ear.

"I like knowing that you are waiting for me," he whispered.

"Good, because I like waiting for you."

His gentle laugh stirred the ringlets around my neck. He moved around me, not touching me, just letting the scent of his cologne and his low laugh settle around me. A slow shiver ran down my spine and my body tingled. It was going to be a good two days.

His breath touched the back of my neck, then was gone. I turned to watch him walk through the abode that was mine, the space that I knew so well. He trailed his fingers over the back of the long davenport and stopped to study the painting on the wall above it. Thick canvas was the home for a guitar painted of the finest black oils, the instrument resting on a chair awaiting the return of its owner. A cowboy hat in equal shades of black graced the headstock. On the floor of the painting, sheet music fell in hurried disarray.

"It's beautiful. Simple," he said quietly.

"So is the life of a songwriter," I noted.

He turned to me with a gleam of appreciation in his dark eyes. He still didn't touch me. The absence of his skin on mine filled the air with a sensual thrill that was as powerful as electricity. He reached out slowly and took the mug from my hands, his fingers only a whisper of suggestion.

He watched me for a long moment, knowing damn well what he was doing to me. Then he turned to again survey the home he had seen before, but never quite like this.

He ran his hand over the mantel, looking down into the fire. I studied him as he stood there. The flames danced only inches from his jeans but he didn't seem to notice. His low cut boots glistened in the flickering light. The gray sweater made his hair look darker than usual, long wavy hair that had lost its red tint with the diminished sunlight of winter. He looked around the room, taking in the homemade curtains, the quilts adorning every corner, the large chessboard on its marble pedestal. My home was meant for comfort and warmth. So was he.

He smiled at me again, and held out his hand. I went just as willingly as ever, cuddling into his side and breathing deeply of his cologne mixed with the light scent of the fire.

"Your home is beautiful. I feel at ease here."

He drank from the cocoa and set the mug on the mantle, right next to a shining glass statuette. The award glistened in the firelight. He studied it for a long moment, then his hand tightened around my waist and the flash of jealousy ran through his eyes. "Is that Aaron's award?"

"Yes." I said nothing else, just watched him look at the proof of success, at the visceral image of the man who had come before him. He touched the cut glass with a reverence that surprised me.

"I envy him," he said suddenly. The irony was not lost on me.

I looked up at him, at the strength of his jaw and the fire snapping in his eyes as if it had jumped from the grate to take up residence within him. He slowly lifted the award from its resting place. The glass shimmered with a life of its own. He ran his fingers over the engraved gold plate that announced my old boyfriend as Songwriter of the Year. The tension in his body surprised me. He gently settled the statuette back on the mantle, drawing back a little to study it.

Then he turned and swept me into his arms, kissing me with a passion that was meant to drive old ghosts far away. His tongue gently probed into my mouth and my knees went weak. My hands came around his shoulders, my nails catching on the little ribs of his sweater, the smell of his cologne heady and addicting already. His lips were soft yet just demanding enough. His hands slipped under my sweater. I moaned against his mouth as he found my breast through the satin and lace of my bra. He knew just how to start the fire within me.

He pushed me gently away and settled himself in the plush recliner. I stood looking at him uncertainly, but with the confidence of a woman who knew she was desired. His voice came low and steady as it blended with the crackling of the fire. "Undress for me."

I waited for a long moment. I took in every shadow, every cast of light across his body. I memorized his hands, lying so quietly on his thighs. I studied him and found that having him in my home was very welcome indeed.

I slowly pulled out the hem of my lounge pants. I pushed them down slowly, feeling them glide over the swell of my hips. My legs were smooth and just long enough to entice. I let him see them, one slow inch at a time. I let my hair fall seductively over my forehead, knowing that his eyes were torn between the red strands he loved so much and the milky white skin he loved to touch. I knelt down and let the pants fall to the floor. He took in a deep breath as I ran my hands up my smooth legs, learning my own body. The emerald green sweater made my skin look even paler than it was, and the black lace panties made him breathe harder.

"I like those," he whispered, and I smiled.

I ran my fingertips around the lace of the panties, enjoying the way they felt around my curves. My little belly almost fit into the palm of my hand, but not quite. When he saw that gentle swell appear from under my sweater, he smiled. I knew he wanted to rest his head there. I pulled the sweater over my head with agonizing slowness, finally taking it off and dropping it gently to the floor. The fabric released my hair with a little flip of curls, and he almost chuckled. He was enjoying what he saw.

I touched the straps of the black and lacy bra. My breasts were ample enough to overflow his hands. The lace held their weight in a way that suddenly seemed sensual. I ran my hands over the lace and satin, watching his eyes and enjoying the feeling until I heard his low, needy moan. I turned away from him then, running my hands down my back. I let my fingertips slip into the panties. I turned as I brought my hand around, facing him again, letting him watch as I caressed the curve of my hip.

"Come here," he whispered.

I walked to him slowly. I reveled in the maturity of my body. I was no longer a child, no longer a teenager, and I enjoyed knowing that I had finally come into my own. My breasts were no longer as rounded, and my body no longer as thin. But those marks of maturity were suddenly the most sensual things a woman could possess. His eyes never left my body, and I was proud of that.

I slowly straddled him. The rough denim against my legs made me want to grind against him, but I kept my composure for the time being. His sweater was warm and so soft against my skin. I felt his breath on my shoulder. I let my fingers delve into his hair. I pulled his head closer, demanding that his lips touch that sensitive spot between my breasts. His hands held my hips lightly. I pushed against him once, then twice, feeling his belt buckle rest against my belly. My fingers dipped into one of his pockets. I pulled out the shiny gold packet that I knew would be there. He moaned as I moved over him.

"I want you," he said.

"I know," I teased. His hands came up to my breasts and I caught them there. "No."

He looked at me silently, not quite understanding. I moved back just enough to let my hands find the buckle of his belt. The snap was deceptively loud.

I smiled as he sucked in a deep breath. The snap of his jeans was just as easy to open. The zipper made a sound quite like anticipation. His body began to tremble. I looked into his eyes as I told him exactly what I wanted.

"I've missed you. We have all the time in the world to make love. I want to fuck."

His eyes widened with his deep groan. I yanked his jeans open. I moved back just enough, and he lifted just enough. The jeans slid down just enough. His fingers found the lace of my panties and pulled them aside. One quick motion, then one settling thrust, and I impaled myself on him.

"God, yes," he hissed through clenched teeth. It was unexpected, yet exactly what he expected of me. He quickly found the lever on the side of the chair. The recliner sank gently back, and I ground down harder, taking more of him. When his hands settled on my waist, I took his hands in mine. He let me lift his arms above his head, making it clear what I wanted. He looked into my eyes and smiled.

Then I slammed down hard, making us both groan as he filled me completely. He arched up once and I growled low in my throat, a sound of warning. His smile disappeared before he stopped moving, simply lying back and letting me have my way. And what a way it was.

My hands learned again the softness of his hair, the smoothness of his skin. I slid my nails over his throat and watched him shiver as little red lines appeared. Then my lips settled on the spot, my tongue licking and kissing away the hurt. His body relaxed just enough. I scraped my teeth against his skin, making him gasp and tense again. I smiled. Moving slower, I waited to feel that relaxing motion calm him, to feel the deep breath that said he was melting into nothing more than sensation in the absence of time. Then I bit down again, feeling him tense and his body surge harder inside me. The tease made him chuckle.

"Damn, baby. You know what you do to me, don't you."

I snickered a little and rose, looking into the eyes that were shining with the light of the fire. "Of course I do. You're just easy," I retorted.

"You're just being a bitch," he growled endearingly. Then he laughed, a low and gentle sound. His eyes trailed down my body to where we met, then back up. I let my hands follow the way his eyes had gone. I slid the straps of my little black bra down my shoulders. "Yes, please," he whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please show me."

I moved faster. His breath matched me, but I still didn't show him what he wanted. I braced myself on the chair for more leverage. He bit his lip to keep the moan inside. That wasn't what I wanted at all. His hair twirled seductively around my fingers. I yanked hard, and he groaned aloud. "Don't you dare be quiet. Let it go." I demanded.

Then I moved harder, quicker. My teeth sank into the tender skin just above his collarbone. He let out a shout of pain tempered by passion. His body shook. I sank all the way down. He moaned, then sighed deeply as I began to move without moving, letting my tightness pulse around him with the rhythm I had just abandoned. I squeezed hard with that velvet touch and he suddenly fought for air. A gentle tingling began running through my body.

"Dear God, I'm going to explode," he whimpered.

"Yes, you are," I replied.

His eyes drifted closed. I pulled on his hair, making those dark eyes open again. "Look at me while we explode together," I whispered. He gasped and moved slightly under me. I slid up until he was almost slipping out of my tight passage then I slammed down once more. Again. And again while he cried out. His voice filled every room.

"Yes! Baby, yes." I moved quickly, and he surged inside me one last time. The groan ripped from him as if he were in pain. The throbbing of his release set off one in me. I came hard, my hands clenching in his hair, my hips driving him as deeply as he could go. The pressure was almost pain but not enough to overtake the pleasure. I cried out his name as he answered with mine. The sound entwined into a song of beauty. The cataclysm seemed to never end, the answer of our bodies to almost a week apart.

Finally I fell over him, my heart pounding, my body spent. His arms came down to cradle me against him. The soft cotton of his sweater felt warm and safe against my cheek. I could feel his heartbeat, tripping far too fast, and his breath pulling in and out of his tortured lungs. We held each other as tightly as we could, both of us shaking with the remnants of a passion that always took us by surprise.

A moment later I felt his hand flick across my back. The catch of my bra separated with that one deft motion. I smiled against his chest as I buried my face into his sweater.

"Sit up," he whispered with a little laugh. "I still haven't seen what you teased me with!"

We both dissolved into giggles then. I fought playfully with him, both of us knowing that I didn't want to win the battle. I sat up on his lap and let him pull the lace down just a little before I pulled away and stood up. My knees were a little unsteady, but not bad enough to keep me from backing away from him with a devilish grin. He snapped the recliner upright.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he asked ominously.

I squealed when he reached for me. I ran down the hallway, hearing him curse roundly from the living room.

"You're going to love it when I catch you!" he hollered. His laugh was answered by my own as I dashed into the bedroom. It was going to be a good two days.