Open now your legs to me, o lubricious female, that from lush flesh betwixt may I feed my addiction. For fresh as you are on the mid-end of orgiastic delights, pregnant is your cunt with sultry admixtures, all sundry liquids of sex of both sexes. Pumped full, as you were, first by one he then another, and finally by I; and flowing as you are still with slick perfumes of your own desire; might now I, by my tongue, drink deep to replenish my male energies spent, feeding that soon I may engage another round of this carnal dance.
Fluids of purity these are, yes, of pure life: For if life becomes physical in the house of your body, then what other extract may, in light of orgasm, so serve well as a symbol of lively delights? Energies pure were exchanged in the making; and energy's lure draws me now to the taking. Drinking of life, now, I imbibe with naked relish; and tonguing your cunt so, I drive you still further — to climax again, spasming with more wetness that I may drink deeper: You giving, me lusting, I giving, you thrusting your cunt-lips to my lips that we may both feed in a circuit complete, toasting in lust to our pleasures replete.
This elixir, not torrid, is wet with the heat; and in this torrid passion do I find magicks crossed, bitter and sour in fluid so sweet, magical nectars in Nature unique. And starting again, we mount as a group for a group's wild ride, going in quest with more elixirs to find. Cavorting play-wrestles do we shimmy away, tangoing and tangling to challenge each other in a lecherous fray.
Your moans and your sighs are music performed to accompany this dance; you rise to step forth in a cadenza of screams, the orgy conducted by turgid batons as rhythmic undulation beats time on flesh drums, pubis to pubis or behind or face, skin laving skin in a complex embrace. Of nipples and cockheads and clits do we sing, mouths giving chorus through mouthfuls of each other, sounds melting over a scene of raw porn, fucking and sucking in prurient bliss, tongues clasping tongues as we meet to kiss.
Swallowing and sharing are both such pure joys; and as we combine in an avalanche of meat, snowballs are passed as gifts of exchanging. Heaping joy upon joy, the deep-tongued prime touch of osculatory entrancement is thus now augmented by seminal enhancement. The taste on your lips is of cock and of cunt, of skin and of lust and of libertine fun; and as I am a connoisseur of all so salacious, my palate is primed for libido's gourmet, tasting and feeding and yearning and needing of more of that glow of risqué exaltation, served from your crotch for my own delectation. I am ever-famished, my appetites whet by full helpings of lascivious play, my hungering not sated, my thirsting not slaked, but my spring ever still wound as tight as you squeeze, my deep-seated greed so much tickled and teased by lewd hours spent in vain search of release.
Yet I, the insatiate, would be human in no other way: This concupiscent thrall is a well of vitality that I, never bored, may exploit for my health, drawing deep of these waters for arousal — unto endless time: Aeons in being of my physical self granting grounds lushly fertile for my lasting life. And this tonic of sex is elixir indeed, libations anointing with raptures immortal, consecrations of sacrament orgasmically total, two sides connected in balancing union that I swallow in homage to beauty ever-being.
