Epyllion

Dear Mr. Jewels;
(a love letter of pending passion)

Seeing you there, relaxed and untethered from the woes of the world, sends my heart into cartwheels. My mind can no more stray from intoxicating thoughts of breathless, sweaty union than my eyes can tear away from your well endowed form.

After giving it much thought, I've decided to inscribe to you my wanton ways and how, despite the many fans you no doubt have, I could be one to be remembered!

Curling up beside you, I'd mold my body around yours, my head upon your shoulder, lips pressed softly against the tender skin of your neck. Though it's the heat of my breath warming you, I'd let this excite me as my lips brush over you, traveling up to catch your ear and hold there momentarily, the lobe between my teeth. Already I feel such sensations beginning to stir.

How many of the women you've known have been able to draw patterns across your body? How many of them knew how to use their hands like musicians, playing you like a cello, deep and vibrating? My Sweet, I am a woman who knows these things.

As my breasts, so humble and modest, press against your wide expanse of chest, my hands will lay light against your pectorals, feeling each breath as you inhale (are you breathing faster? I believe I can sense your heightened arousal). By now my lips have traveled down to taste your shoulder, your clavicle, the notch in your throat, my tongue flicking against the hollow. And then as I find your mouth, smiling, my hands will glide over each nipple, instigating perkiness. As men enjoy a good firm nipple, so do women, I assure you.

Devouring you with my lips and tongue, my hands will then find the flat of your belly. Oh how I love stomachs! Back and forth, I'll slide my hands, fingers splayed so as to touch as much of you as possible. One hand will run lower, grasping your buttock, running down along your thigh and back up.

I can never resist the urge to travel between the thighs, the inner part of the leg warm and moist from the core of your being. The skin is softer here and so tantalizing!! Cupping your full load into my hand, one finger will rise the length of your manhood, seeking the tip. Rubbing circles over and around, I will engross myself with the pulsing of you. Sleek and strong, you'll writhe beneath my tender yet knowing strokes until the first bead of slipping composure escapes.

Grasping you around the base, I'll hold you momentarily, listening as your breathing intensifies. Oh no, do not grab my hand and try to push it along. I will take my time. From one to the other, I will play with such succulent jewels. Odd, how they attract me, to feel, to explore, to investigate.
As my fingers spiral round within the coarse hair of your pelvis, my body hovers above yours.

Traveling in a straight line, my lips find their way to my hands. No longer holding you in the palm of my hand, I stroke again, rhythmically as my lips first kiss lightly the head of your penis and then with a lick or two, I shall devour every bit of you, stroking in an entirely different manner, all the while, my hands play, lifting, caressing, rubbing, touching until you explode against my palm, my lips wrapped around your base, lovingly reassuring you how much I enjoy our union.

Now, my Sweet, Mr. Jewels. Who is your number one fan?

©dragonpoe
2/26/07