Crimson Honey Dripper: The Drizzling

 

Suggested Audio Lube

 

Grace Jones “Pull Up To The Bumper”

 

Drip… drip… like a busted faucet. Drip… drip… what is that incessant pitter patter I hear? Could it be the nectar, the sweet honey drizzles, of a quim awaiting further instruction? The lack of any reply encourages me to believe that it is so, without further ado, I shall assume position. Now, for a change, I’m going to be getting my own jollies during this exercise so it is entirely your choice whether you wish to add your falsetto to my baritone. Just saying…my Monster is about to be unshackled and feeding time is nigh. If you fancy hopping on, then feel free. It will be some rodeo, let me assure you.

I saunter into the boudoir clad only in a hand towel which barely reaches round my waist. It barely ties around me and, if you keep your eyes peeled, you may catch glimpse of my Monster thrashing wildly beyond the veil, licking its lipstick as it prepares to search and destroy. One feisty length of gammon, this beast of 1000 bared teeth paces left and right, awaiting the big reveal. It’s an impatient Monster, never one to tow the line, it chooses instead to spit at authority and takes orders from nobody… including Keeper. Right now it’s famished, having not had a meal in days, and wishes only to prey.

Full-length mirrors are a truly marvelous design, don’t you think? I have massage oil at the ready and it would be foolhardy of me to apply it anywhere else than where I can watch the fragranced nectar slip slide down my chest and collect in a delicious moat around my naval. If I slap on a little more it will continue its descent through my pubic clearing and down one side of my ravenous cock, nestling into my testicles and causing them to start their salacious masquerade.

My pelt is rather smooth for one approaching his forties and already having succumbed to mid-life inquisitiveness… shall we say. Peachy to the touch, it is covered with erogenous zones, virtually my entire shell is littered with feeling. The insides of my arms and wrists are particularly sensitive so feel free to run your nails and/or incisors suggestively around these areas, and your reward will be vast let me tell you. “Whatever you put in, you get back tenfold” best describes my motto. Scratch my back enough to draw blood and I will damned well scratch yours too.

It is time to run my digit beneath the loose knot of my towel and allow it to drop at my feet. I come out swinging like a middleweight, Monster giving lustful licks to the air wisping around it. I run one palm down my groin and clasp it, balls too… give it a gentle squeeze of suggestion and feel that familiar twinge of sensuality synonymous with such action. Why waste a free hand? It’s not like I’m doddering around Croft Manor with a silver serving tray searching for Lara, I have five free fingers and just hate to be wasteful.

I commence with light tugs of both nipples, all the while wrestling my Kraken sub-aqua. Light nails down my side make me quiver with dangerous desire and cause my asshole to clench as, after all, it’s more fun if you put up a fight right? Collecting the slick as I take rectal in-road, I slide one less predominant digit inside myself and hone in on the money shot. Still gently pressing my genitals into my sopping palm, I feel them gathering stature. The Monster rears with a gruff growl and the Nut Bag Brothers snarl behind like the back wheels of a savage chariot.

Straight to the tip, I ignore my shaft as it is strangely the least erogenous part of my entire body and focus in on the summit, thumb and forefinger delicately pestering and beginning to spin that release valve. As quick as this transpires, I push it all back down and perpetuate this process for as long as I desire. Right now, as I insert second digit into my throbbing knot, we’ve only just got started. No pudding until we’ve let our food go down.

I love to be naked, do it as often as possible, and have been known to give Mother Earth an exclusive lap-dance on rare occasion. It feels right, doesn’t it? Join me now, in the skin you were born with, and shut everything else out for just these few moments. The human body is made up of more nerve endings than you could shake a stick at. You know what feels good, where feels good… explore those places now and I shall do the same.

We are such beautiful creatures… all of us. Our bodies house a collection of scars and transmogrification which we spend our whole lifetimes collecting. We are imperfect… and that’s just perfect. As I stand here milking my prostate gland and teasing my cock bell as it bubbles creamy ferociousness in the pit of its appetite, I consider what I would change about myself, had I three wishes at my disposal. Right now, for the first time since I played nude in a paddling pool, I would change not a fucking thing.

Time now to seal this deal, and it would now take a tranquilizer dart to floor my Monster as the honey has begun to coagulate, preparing for launch. I am wary that over-feeding one’s Monster can have dire consequence so, with same two digits, I gently apply choke hold and return him to his lair. It’s too late to stem the high tide as it guzzles out into my open palm and seeps through each finger. Choosing now only to marinade, I slide beneath the crimson sheets and turn off the light…

 

Click here to read The Gushing

 

Never not sinning,

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014