New Erotic Story On Medium 

https://myerotica.com/a-hot-date-262910e49afa?source=linkShare-56f44365d0a5-1506875033

Check out my new erotica story on Medium “A Hot Date.”

Hailed as “an erotic fairytale — with a happy ending!” by erotica writer Vienna de Vega.

A satisfying tale of love, sex and romance.

I’d like to dedicate this story to my blogging friend from WordPress, the gorgeous Sahar of http://www.exoticescortdiary.com, who knows well the allure of a Sheik.

 

Dark Pleasure

A dark pleasure.

You were the one

to lead me

into this shadow dream.

You beckoned me

with your penetrating stare,

your high cheekboned haughtiness,

your eyes impassive and stony,

your cheeky necklace of carved bones.

You tantalized me

with omens and portents,

with aggressive kisses,

pretty words full of poison,

seductive lures.

Until I surrendered

eagerly

to your naked depravity.

You hijacked my body

like a thug,

breaking and entering,

violently taking over,

until all I wanted

was you.

Then you were an inside job.

You were inside me

and I needed you

to stay

with me.

I sought primal wholeness

in you,

like a snake eats its tail.

Like a shaman eats

the vine of the dead,

seeking completion

at the edge of the abyss.

La petite mort.

You annihilate me,

my lover,

yet still

I soar.

Master Shaman

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I don’t know how to describe the way

you beckoned me

with the subtle gestures

of your dreaming

back to you,

back to your tribe.

I just know

that you showed up one day,

in your black pick up truck.

You came for me,

feigning shyness in such a genuine manner

that it matched my own.

I greeted you in pale pink.

You embraced me, grasped my hands in yours,

and your wrists were adorned with silver and turquoise.

Your voice was soft and worn

as an ancient whisper,

gravelly with desert sand

and the language of the mesas,

the rhythmic intonations

of your native tongue.

I was struck

with the strangeness

of how familiar you were,

even despite the fact

that I had never really known you

that well.

Yet I felt the presence of my old love

lingering inside you like a shadow.

He was there with you

even as he wasn’t.

Like a father and son,

like Er and Judah

with Tamar.

I knew

about your powers.

I knew

you could see,

with eyes of

visionary artistry,

the invisible threads,

the divine loom,

the sacred weaving

that holds this mysterious tapestry

of life

sewn together,

as I do.

In your letters,

you described to me,

with exquisite detail and accuracy,

the adornment of my own inner corridors and rooms,

the delicate landscape of my imagination.

You journeyed with me

inside that realm,

a Master Shaman.

You were an unexpected gift,

a medicine

for my heart.

I did not imagine

that my past

would return

to claim me,

that I was still

so cherished.

When you held me close,

I breathed deep

of the warm depths of my personal history,

feeling your love,

enveloping, expansive,

doubled by its hidden twin.

Like an old lover coming back for more.
Just what fits.

Treat

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You started me off
with the whip,
just tickling me
with the leather strands,
teasing;
the licks felt like feathers,
like whispers.

Then you drizzled almond oil
down my backside,
warm and viscous,
honey oozing over a peach;
dew seeped from the delicate blossoms
inside of me
and I craved
your sting,
your hardness.

So you gave me my treat.
You parted my flesh,
cleaved me
again and again,
taking me apart
until you touched the deepest part of me,
where past and present merge in a crescendo
of pleasure,
hallowing and restoring me,
and I took the guise
of the goddess
you have made me:
Pua Nani.

Your Scent

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Sitting next to me,
sharing a mundane moment,
I just barely inhale
your scent,
a subtle whiff
of cherished memory
that tempts me.

Desire uncoils
like a serpent,
wraps itself around my heart
and clenches
tightly,
cutting off my circulation,
almost breaking
the poor wretched thing
into a million
hopeful little pieces.

How can I ever lift this curse?

The curse of wanting you
in every possible way.

Name of Love

In a moment of unguarded pleasure,

your name slips

from the lips

of my heart,

like an old language.

I cradle it

to my bosom,

cherishing the diminutive;

and all the love

that is stored

within the compact archives of my form

arises to caress

the familiar syllables.

I have tried in my communications

and myriad poems

to elucidate

the effect

you have had on me.

Yet perhaps there will never be enough words

to describe

how deep

you have entered me.

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