The Pen and The Wind

The writings and musings of a windswept soul.
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Posts tagged "sex"

Sap the poison from my veins,
With tender yet forceful passion,
 Take hold of my very reins, 
And show me loving in a beastly fashion.

For we are nothing if not beasts,
So let us show each other beastial savagery.
Drain my human poison in your carnal feast,
Remake me with your passionate artistry. 

La petite mort,
That’s what the French called it, 
Named so because it was thought that they had died breifly,
And got a glimpse of Paradisio.
But to experience that little death,
One needs a partner who wants it as well,
For that window into Heaven only opens with four hands,
Hands that work and explore every facet and inch,
While sweat lubricated skin rubs so intensely,
That both could ignite at any moment,
And both would cry out for God,
Just to see that paradise,
If only for a moment.  

So why have I been denied by  God?
To glimpse at the wonders of perfection,
And in doing so be inspired to greater things, and greater living,
Why has this holy gatekeeper been so unholy to me,
And denied me one who would help me see into perfection,
Why deny me the love and passion of another in addition to that small death,
And in the wallowing of that darkness, pushing me closer to sin and Hell,
When all I want is someone, someone to help bring me to that paradise,
When all I want is someone to help me see the light,
When all I want is someone to help me die a little. 

Someone to love, someone to fuck,
Some people get both, they have all the luck,
I get none, and when the day is done,
Everyone else has all but won.  

Can’t I just have something for my heart? 
I think it is my least used part.
I want another to help me feel whole,
I’m not like others, just looking for a fleshy hole.

But I’m not opposed to a hole of my own,
The pressure on my valves are just about to be blown,
But what use is sating desire physical,
When it just leaves me empty in the emotional?

Someone to love, someone to fuck,
I wish I had much better luck,
I’d be more than any lover could be,
And as for the sex, well, let’s just see.  

Sweetest sorrow of secret sins,
Bottled and fermented to your chagrin,
Greenest pastures inspires the pen,
And your writings do channel the wind.

Love and hate the delicate race,
Sex and passion compose your face,
The entirely of complexity lives in your eyes,
The infinite cosmos in the spirit lies.

Dare you secret all you comprise,
The entire world kept in your eyes,
Allowing the world a taste is just fine,
For you’ve just created the best wine.  

I lust, like all,
I lust for too many things,
I want it all,
I want so much that my body will give out,
And yet I don’t want that at all. 

I want at least some kind of meaning, 
Call me an idiot, but I want romance,
Gods help I want love,
Not some meaningless lay,
And yet I lust so hard for so much.

I lust so easily for my heart has trouble beating,
Too many treadmarks on it from being stomped into submission,
Making far too easy to senselessly lust,
And too hard to even love,
For I don’t want to just fuck,
I want more meaning than that,
Call it cliche, but I want to make love.  

What if you had a condition where every time you orgasmed, you had to let out a raging barbarian war cry? You had to scream at the top of your lungs a deep, bellowing shout that would rattle the bones of your enemies. Imagine how that’d make your sex life, hell, even just masturbating would be a lot more interesting.

How would any of your partners even respond to that? Would they be scarred for life?

These are the kinds of things I think about that kept me out of Princeton. 

Behind a closed door lay a darkened room, the only light coming from a laptop screen, the only sounds heavy breathing and a muffled buzzing. Amy gasped as a shudder ran up her body from the vibrator she was thrusting in and out of her soaking cunt with great vigor and speed. The sensations filling her with immense pleasure, letting her mind fantasize with great detail the scenario in the erotica on the screen in front of her. Breathing heavily, and with arm and vibrator in constant motion, she read on:

…Jenny’s entire body quivered as a small orgasm shot through her. Her back arched as each forceful pump of Raya’s massive cock pushed her to new heights of pleasure. Jenny looked up at the powerful centauress and saw the dominant smile on the herm’s flushed face; they were both enjoying this so much. Raya’s arm length horse cock began to swell and throb, and with a shout Jenny felt the hot cum flood her, the new sensation making her cum harder than she ever had before, her walls clamping down on Raya’s member as it continued to flood her with both cum and ecstasy…

The steaminess of that last passage sent Amy over the edge as she imagined that centaur shemale’s cock flooding her, and her body seized up as as a massive orgasm rocked her body, completely soaking her chair and dripping down to the floor. Panting heavily, she turned off her vibrator and threw it onto her bed, and then looked for an dirty shirt to mop up her mess while she caught her breath. 

It only took a few minutes for the wash of endorphins to fade away and the shame and depression to set in. She cycled through the other tabs on her browser, social networks that were mainly antisocial, and found no trace or sign of human contact reaching out to her. There was one post about how someone apparently had the most amazing boyfriend and group of friends, which made Amy give off a heavy sigh. She longed for a life like that, but it always seemed to elude her. 

As it always did when she was in this state, the though crossed her mind that it was because of her, that she was too freaky. Before her ego could even hope to console her, she glanced over at the far tab, the still open erotica. She let another heavy sigh loose as it hit home, she was far too freaky for her own good. 

It’s not as if she wanted to be like this, she started off pretty normally. But, when your few friends are busy for night after night, and pretty much everything on TV sucks, all you can really do is masturbate. And when that persists for a while, you get a little desensitized and have to explore other kinky things. For Amy it started with standard porn, then the freakier stuff, somehow branched into hentai, which eventually led her to furries, and it wasn’t long before she was fantasizing about centaurs and other monsters. Her masturbational explorations didn’t affect her outside actions, but possibly reflected some sort of openness. That, and desperation. 

Logic and reason did their best to comfort her, saying that she was in this state because she needed friends who understood her and accepted her as she is, but that did little to console her in the present. Besides, while the theory was sound, it was still flawed. So few people freely admit they’re that freaky, they hide under veils of normalcy as long as they can. Finding true friends and love for someone too freaky for normal life is a hard and daunting task. 

She let another sigh out and opened the erotica tab back up. There was still a long night ahead, and dwelling on stuff like this wasn’t exactly doing her any favors. She retrieved her vibrator and began to search, hoping to find anything good with a drider in it. 

Always be kind to nature, 
And be sure to befriend the pixies,
They’re fun and freaky tiny sluts,
Who love to get more than friendly.

The insatiable nymphos will follow you around,
They’ll turn every moment into an orgy,
Working on you constantly in your pants,
While you quiver and shudder with glee. 

Yes they love to give you that kind of thrill,
They make your life better, for sure,
The nature born whores bring so much fun,
Which is why I spent so much on a pixie lure. 

Faeries are always a bit naughty, 
Tiny little nymphos who are kinky,
They’re into all kinds of stuff you see, 
And fisting a faerie only requires your pinky. 

The minotaurs and centaurs are a mobile lot,
They ride to horizons and and ride people under nights,
And you’ve never truly seen the clouds,
When you’ve fucked a harpy in mid-flight.

You’ve never seen the true beauty of a full moon,
Until under one you learn a lycaness’ taste,
And bondage is just pale and boring,
After you’ve had a lamia wrapped round your waist.

But sex and pleasure are just perks,
That help one see things in a new way,
I saw so much more of the world,
When with these unique ladies I did play. 

Keep an open mind to the quirks of the world, 
Don’t be afraid to get a little kinky, 
Wide eyed wonders lay all around you,
So go out and see all the unorthodox beauty. 

Sheets stained in cum, 
And a sweat covered bum,
Could mean happy times are here,

Or just a lonely fool,
Playing with their tool,
And doing it constantly, all year. 

Their perversions run amok,
They need  someone to fuck,
But their lust is here to stay,

But with a couple of quirks,
Their left to their solitary works,
And perversion could be quelled with a good lay.

Olaf was an odd lad, 
Who still wanted to take a wife, 
But not versed in the masculine ways,
It was difficult to find that married life.

Olaf wanted to woo the fair Christine, 
And have her see the kindness in his heart,
And the only way for him to do so, 
Was to win her through perfect art.

Olaf set upon a hard wood tree, 
And began to carve it into a more beautiful form,
Olaf spent day and night carving the tree, 
Until into Christine’s shape it did transform.

Olaf did not stop his work, 
Until Christine it did perfectly mirror,
From slightest freckle and mole,
Nothing could have made the image clearer.

Olaf’s carving was so perfect,
That looking upon it, he became erect,
And thinking not of consequence but with his dick,
He dove into it’s wooden flesh unchecked.

Olaf was discovered the next day,
After a night of yelling for help,
With his penis caught in a woman shaped tree,
And whimpering like a little whelp.


Olaf the Tree Fucker he’s now called,
He’ll forever be ridiculed,
He had good intentions, but got stupid,
And unforgiven in his fate fooled.

Perversion is a product, 
Produced by the hands of man,
A bitter and vile wine,
Made when the grapes of lust,
Stew and ferment within themselves,
Resulting in a black and sour sludge,
But one we still drink,
One we still produce,
Out of a desperate means of survival,
For we all produce those grapes,
But so rarely indulge in them,
Letting them spoil into our black wine. 

Let me taste the sweetness that is you, 
Let our lips meld from the passionate movements,
Sliding against each other, while intertwining our tongues,
The hot wet taste of your mouth sends shockwaves though me.

Throw me down and rip open my jeans, 
Excitement making your fingers tremble,
Pull me free from my ever shrinking prison,
Passion making me harder than steel,
Tease this newly released beast,
Fight it with your tongue’s skillful dance,
Paralyze me with pure sensation. 

Lay back now, for now it’s your turn, 
Though I consider it mine,
For the hot moist scent drifting from your love nest,
Exhilarates me to my very core,
And when I cannot contain myself any longer,
I shall explore every inch of it with my tongue,
Feeling your hot tides of lust rise,
And I shall revel in this sensuous landscape,
Until I feel you quiver and reach your breaking point.  

By now, my mind will be all but gone, 
Filled only with desire I will dive into you,
Feeling the surge of electricity shoot through you and up me,
Fatigue is the farthest thing from me right now,
The pleasure from you chases it away,
Time blurs and fades away,
The friction and heat between us makes us melt,
Tides of climaxes flood each other,
It is pure bliss with you,
Paradise with one other.

And all attainable here on Earth,
All when you let the passion and desire flow forth.  

I sometimes think society “slut shames” women who like sex because a lot of of men who don’t know anything about pleasing a woman would like a virgin who doesn’t know anything about sex to a woman who knows they suck in bed.