Crimson Honey Dripper: The Gorging

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Ladytron Tomorrow

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Hello boys and girls and welcome to Story Time with Keeper. Make yourselves comfortable, kick off your shoes and socks and let me get a look at those lovely painted toes. This dusk I am wearing my Honey Dripper hat which means any parched quimms out there are about to become rather refreshed. This is what the Crimson Honey Dripper does, you see. He makes you clench, runs his prose all over your naked pelts and incites moistening at the jewel in your crowns. Just so happens you’ve caught me as I strip to my jockeys and recline so it seems fitting on this occasion that we enjoy one of Keeper’s delicious Grim Fairytales. Here, let me tuck you in.

Lilith’s Folly

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Once upon a time a young girl wandered deep into the forest for a secret liaison with her first true love. She knew this had to be her first true love as he had promised on this night to make a woman of her. She’d been out here for what seemed like hours, braving the conditions in merely her slip as she paced the rendezvous point. Surely she hadn’t misread her coordinates. Under the cherry blossom…where the tree root twists in the shape of a quill. No, she was clearly at the right place but disparagingly her suitor was nowhere to be found. Lilith knew of the fabled mystique within its bark, ethereal quantities capable of granting one their  ‘true’ release. Legend had it that the tears of a menstrual belle would awaken the timber but, as the grim realization began to dawn that Lilith had been cast aside by the object of her affections, it couldn’t have been further from her mind.

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Minutes passed, tears flowed in somber streams and Lilith’s frail heart felt a pain she had never again desired to feel. But then, with her defenses obliterated, something occurred which took the very air from her tiny chest. At first it was glancing appendages, the rustle of leaves in her brunette hair and willowing whispers which fell about her ears like eerie snowflakes. “Lilith…” It was evident that whatever was masquerading behind her soft exposed back was on more than familiar terms and she felt comforted by its dignified tones. “Settle back Lilith, allow us the honor” The voice comprised of a thousand exclamations, some of which were charming and, others, less so. Nevertheless, she quibbled not as her silk night garment was slid off her rosy shoulders, brushing every soft hair on her arms and causing her to quiver faintly as it made its descent to the leaves below her.

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Lilith’s emerald peepers remained shut firmly as she began to fashion a scene within her mind’s sentient eye. She imagined being taken by a gaggle of olive-oiled flesh monsters as her imagination had always been more macabre than her sisters. Every fiber yearned incessantly, causing her mammalia to stiffen like armor-piercing bullets and her malleable font to commence the gorging. Whatever had its boughs all over her aching skin wanted to be inside, in her warm, cloying center. She didn’t have any intention to deny this, moreover her body flat refused such. The nectar had begun to form for pollination at her haunch, sticky sap for the incoming hardwood to marinade in prior to entry. Already she felt fit to burst and the veil of ambiguity only served to heighten every…single…throb.

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Each of her erogenous zones were overflowing with desire, each nerve ending excitable like re-homed puppies, yapping for further exploration. She had always been something of a tree-hugging hippy but this was Lilith’s first shrubbing. Her quim was always well presented, tucked tightly and pre-loaded with layers of blushing lean which were ready to slip slide along the girth staring deep into her eye with intent. Still it teased with its sweet sticky soldier camped directly outside her dense thicket.

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Lilith was caught off guard at the thickness of the member when it broke her seal. She groaned vaguely, biting at her lowermost lip as restraint began to appear far less ostensible. Yes…yes, it was packing, pounding at her barricade relentlessly as it rode her volcano and she glugged the sweetest honey from her trench. Still she invited deeper thrusts and her keeper reciprocated, spilling its surplus with forgotten abandon and painting her canvas with its fine broad brushstrokes. Every muscle in her shell ached with desire, her innermost chamber granting this one illicit wish and kissing the thrusted tip of the honey pilferer. “Take…take it all…every droplet…all”. Lilith lost consciousness at that very moment.

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Lilith Anne Wainwright never left that tree stump. She accepted the gift bequeathed, the cherry tree consumed her honey and took her very lifeforce, splicing it with its own as her earthly body became unified with it perpetually. A hundred years on and the tree still stands, still in bloom all year round. It bears the solitary word Lilith carved into the bark and sap flows freely from its pulp. She is a hundred and eighteen years young, and shall never grow a year older. Even all these years later that willow still weeps.

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I suspect you will not be doing those tree etchings now after all Grueheads. I trust that you gleaned some forbidden moments from that Grim Fairytale and, should you be left still craving more, then fear not. Our parable may well have reached its thorny conclusion but the Crimson Honey Dripper is still by your bedside. It is last light so I must be leaving you soon. But, as I close the story book once again with my left hand, that still leaves the other. Close your eyes tight now, no peeking. Feel it slide beneath the divan. The tips of my digits feel hot against your bare skin and they are heading southward right now towards your forbidden quarry.

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I was gifted at birth with a rare affliction by the name of ‘Swiss army hand’ which allows me to use each of my fingers independently and for all manner of ingenious uses. Right now, all five of them are active, pressing buttons, probing, causing the wetness bunched inside of your tightly clenched labial fortress to threaten overspill. I’m feeling particularly risqué  this dusk so I position at an angle which allows my thumb to be poised about your rectum. What use is a glove if fingerless at the thumb? None whatsoever, so its time to get insular with the final petulant pawn.

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It would be absolutely delightful if you could cum for your Keeper right about now, as my right hand is inside my jockeys as we speak and I wish to trade honey. Who said men can’t multi-task? I love to delight, honey is so damned scrumptious and it pleases me knowing that the crop is coming to harvest as another reads my prose. That’s enough to me, always paying it forward. I must bid you adieu now but do so with a parting kiss and solitary crimson tear. With that I am departed.

Click here to read The Exhibition

Sin with me,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014

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