Crimson Honey Dripper: The Exhibition



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Where are you at this precise moment? Humor me please as there is a method to my madness. Are you reading this at your office desk at work? Maybe you’re in a bustling mall surrounded my unfamiliar faces? Or perhaps you’re soaking yourself in the tub? Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, stop for a moment and partake in a little experiment for a few minutes with me. It won’t take up much of your time but it will invigorate you, of that you can rest assured. We have a sole aim and that is to get every last one of us off, myself inclusive. We’re all in this together now after all. Clearly a little application of common sense would be favorable; if you’re a sixty year old man in a subway late at night I’m not suggesting you give the old lady on platform two the fright of her life by performing some lewd act of debauchery for her eyes only. There are laws against such things. Discretion is the name of the game here, you must pull this off with nobody any the wiser.


Exhibitionism is something most of us dabble in from time to time. The reason for this couldn’t be more clear; it feels delightfully naughty. Some of us use a subtle approach to feeding our inquisitive sexual natures whereas others are a little more blatant. I’ve written entire pieces of literature without a stitch on in rural surroundings and can honestly say that, outside of the gnat bites and faint hypothermia, it was a somewhat life-enriching experience. Admittedly I wasn’t there to drip honey, the piece of writing I was wrestling just kinda necessitated it. As any true artiste will attest one must shed all inhibition to truly reach the pinnacle of their art. Look at Joe Satriani; losing his locks made him a better guitarist through the liberation of shedding any head gear and fessing up. There’s no shame in the game other than that which you bring upon yourself.


It just feels good sometimes to channel whatever emotion is swirling around your cortex into pure adrenaline. Danger brings with it its own inimitable benefits. Why else would folk step out of planes at altitudes of 10,000 feet? If I go round to Mrs Wifflebotham’s every Tuesday evening for harpsichord lessons who is to say that it would be unjust for me to wear my cut-off denim shorts and let one of the plums drop from the orchard? She’s nearly eighty and as blind as a bat for fuck sake. We do it because we can and also because we’re fully aware that we shouldn’t. That’s it right there; instant shot to the arm. Peril is hot as hell fires and its application can bring the most intense remuneration.


Ladies I wish for you to warm up one hand whichever way is least troublesome. Sit on it, wave it, blow on it, whatever it takes to get those feelers fiery. Now remove your chosen hand from plain sight. If you are wearing garments, and I would recommend concealment for starters, then slide that hand in until it is cupping your quim. Feel its warmth, glowing against your center and just hold it there for momentarily. This first stage is all about finding your bearings; you never see The A Team rushing in without one of Hannibal’s harebrained plans so steady your thoroughbreds and bear with me. It’s like a bank job; we get in, grab the loot, then get out. Simple. If we’re swift, and the getaway car doesn’t get its back tires shot out, then we’ll be supping White Russians in no time. Move too slow however and there may be a little explaining to do. Then you’re on your own I’m afraid. High risk equates to lofty reward.


I’m always mindful of my readership so if anyone isn’t comfortable with where we’re heading y’all shall not be judged. For the rest of us, which a quick head count confirms is all of us, we are ready to crank things up a notch. Middle digits at the ready and it is time to grab some nectar from the font. Retrieve that honey and take it to your hub, it is time to lubricate the gears. I’m by your side remember and my monster is standing sentient as we speak. Let’s take any comfort from numbers. Flick that pulp at whichever tempo suits. Mix it up, variety is spice and it’s ever so nice but keep your attentions firmly placed on this singular point. You just let out a vague quiver didn’t you? Me too, I can feel the honey rising with every word I lay down affectionately. Embrace that and let it spur you. You may have pleasured yourselves a million times over but, should we all take the opportunity in front of us, then possibly never like this.


There are four more fingers chomping at the clit and it would be a shame to leave anyone out. Get creative, they all have some reach so see where they lead you. Remember there is always the other hand if you’re feeling feisty. I am; both hands on deck right now, ’tis some storm brewing I tell you. If our plan is coming together then nobody should be any the wiser and we remain incognito. Perfect; you’re cuming on leaps and bounds. One in the bum? No harm done. Wherever tickles your fancy. I would assume percolation is imminent so don’t forget that I have your hand. Actually both mine are grasping my stiff prick but we’re linking arms, how’s that? Let’s take it to the bridge. I’m gonna be shuffling away like JB post-encore after this is all said and done. It is time for the honey to gush. The cat should be well in the cradle so keep those angles acute, touch each spark and set it off into the night. Don’t marry the night; I’ve never heard a more ridiculous suggestion, just a rendezvous shall do.


Excuse the potty mouth in advance but I’m a randy mare when so close to bursting a faucet. Your cunts should be sopping right now, there I said it. Fling back those locks and mimic a roar if that helps you feel this fire I’m stoking. I’ll do the same thing of course; currently I’m a snow leopard if that helps. It doesn’t? Okay, scrap that. My point is that you can scream without scratching up your voice box, let your pelt shriek instead. Every nerve, every fucking ventricle; commit it to getting yourself off as you damn well deserve it. There’s a little Pat Bateman in all of us so if you need to slap your thigh then no judgments shall be made here. We all cum together. Milk, knead, tweak, whatever it takes as the finish line is within our periphery. It’s cuming, oh fucking Christ it’s cuming; ride this final wave with me now. Release.

favo d emel C: Abril Imagens

I don’t know about y’all but I needs me a smoke. This exhibitionism lark sure does take it out of you. I shall be the consummate English gentleman of course and tuck you in tight as we have just shared something intimate together and I’m not the type to leave a thorny rose on your pillow case. Hopefully we’re all in the same place right now. Alive. Rejuvenated. I sincerely hope this is the case as life needs you to scream but you just need to know when to choose your battles. I watch horror films because they make me scream inside and it falls under precisely the same umbrella when you think about it logically. It’s all release; life can be a suffocating venture if you don’t find a frequency, I know as I spent a hefty chunk of mine gagged. I just learned the significance of release; took me two decades so I’m evidently not the sharpest needle in the sewing kit. But I got there in the end in true Honey Dripper style. Sweet dreams.



Click here to read The Surging



Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,


Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014



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