Hello, My Beauties,
It’s finally spring. Of course, the air is still a bit nippy, but the clocks have turned forward and the weather app on my phone is promising me warmer days in the not-so-distant future. Last week was a rough one, but I’m back, traveling through time on my EroticAdventure and immersing myself in Greek myth as I plan the next adventure for my quirky poly family of magical kinksters.
If you haven’t met Vera Dessailliers, sorceress and Queen of an ancient sect charged with protecting the passage between dimensions, and her lovers Sam and Evander, then swing Bellesa and check out my Mound of Gaia Series. You’ll find smut, ancient curses, shapeshifters, and romance wrapped up in an ongoing, interdimensional adventure.
This week I’ve even included a smidgen of foot-inspired mythological smut to get you through your Tuesday grind.
My lover is a warrior battling, not for glory, but for the scent of baking bread in the hearth and callouses born from gripping a plow’s handle, not a sword. After each fight, when I’ve washed the gore from our skin, he surrenders himself to me, desperate to cast off the mantle of leader.
In those moments, he is mine to command.
His skin slides beneath my fingers, warm and burnished bronze form the sun. It is ritual and reassurance, this exploration that takes me from his brow to the tips of his toes. I love to trace the curve that stretches from the back of his calf to his heel with my tongue. There is a delicacy there, a vulnerability that begs for a nip when he’s stretched wide beneath me.
A near impenetrable warrior, he is a figure of legend, and yet so joyful in his submission, laughing and begging when I bind him to my bed and lick the dust from his feet. His cock thrusts into the empty air, desperate until I take him in my mouth, the weight of him heavy as the head of his shaft glides past my lips.
I suck and tease his prick, all the while caressing his heels. Petting the backs of his ankles, I delight in the curl of his toes when I stop to bite at his thighs. The bitter salt and heat of his come is proof of his pleasure, his surrender to me, and I revel in the earthen musk of his scent on my skin.
Only after he is spent, will I release his legs, pressing them together so I might worship the one tender place on his body. My hand flying over my cock, chasing my own release, until I am spilling over his heels and the soles of his feet.
EroticAdventure Update Week 12
It turns out I’m not a fan of ancient smut written by men. To be fair, the only ancient smut penned by a woman that I’ve read is Sappho, but she was a delight. The dudes, though? No matter how many times I remind myself that The Satyricon is satire, I can’t get my head around joking about rape.
Damn my modern sensibilities.
Anyway, I’m still slogging through The Satyricon. I will give it this, it’s a sensual read. Sights, sounds, scents (gag) are immersive to the point of absurdity, which I assume is the point, you know, being satire and all. I’m hopeful that by next week I’ll be on to my next adventure, skipping forward three hundred years to Giovanni Boccaccio’s The Decameron.
Be Well, Be Wonderful, and Above All, Be You.
Image Credit: Bust of Patroclus, William Henry Fox Talbot (British, Dorset 1800–1877 Lacock), August 9, 1843, Gift of Hans P. Kraus Jr., 1988, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, http://www.metmuseum.org.