The Pussy Whispers

by Dean Jéan-Pierre

  A hunger for everything he emanates from her core, invading all of her orifices, runs so deeply and sweetly, that it leaves her gasping for breath as her imagination brings him to life. He is inside of her, swelling; everywhere is available for his touch, his influence...his penetration. He moves in and out of her as deeply as her last thought, as fluidly as the depth of his penetration that settles somewhere between her hopes and dreams and he lives inside of her as she sleeps. How did she arrive at this place that to just close her eyes and feel his lips on hers makes her blush and there is no one around? How is it that love slips into you without your permission and stays without an invitation? Love, becomes that guest that you don’t want to leave and open your heart to so that it can build a home and lay roots in your soul.

  She loves him.

  He is special.

  Everything about him passionately moves and feeds her soul.

  A rain cloud drizzles over her black sun of fire as the cold water falls from the round holes of the showerhead, and the heat radiating from her skin turns the coldness of the water into hot streams of relaxing pleasure. Love, when it is real, burns hotter than any emotion we can conjure; and when sustained by two people, it becomes its own source of energy that nothing on Earth can extinguish.

  Hands are on her body, lips are kissing her shoulders, he enters her without consent because he knows that he can, and the sun between her legs releases rays of warm light that bath the walls in soft white paint of blissful pleasure. It feels too real to be her imagination. If it is a dream then she will keep her eyes closed until it all fades away and all that remains is the empty darkness to keep her company. Kisses move liquidly from her shoulders, they find the tender spot on her neck and linger there until she moans unrestrained. She shakes her head back and forth sending streams of water everywhere. His warm kisses lick her chocolate nipples; chocolate always melts when it is sucked with love. Her body yearns with desire as his kisses venture lower, licking the trail of warm water between her breasts, on her stomach; he sticks his tongue in her navel and sucks on it as if he is drinking a glass of cold water. The need to open her eyes to see if it really is him overpowers her, but she resists because she still remembers the last time when she opened her eyes, there was no one there. There are lips now on her throbbing sun, licking the hot rays of sunlight streaming warmly from her swollen lips; the roundness of a sweet mouth tries to swallow the ball of fire between her legs and she doesn’t resist. It is his to have.

  Her eyes open and her body remains on fire from her thoughts. He is still touching her, everywhere. He is here. He is home.

  He loves her.

  She is special.

  Everything about her passionately moves and feeds his soul. Her sun of fire overflows with love every single time it feels the warmth of his tongue expressing his love. His fever of hardened intensity swims deeper in her warm ocean, always in search of hidden treasures.

  She loves him.

  He loves her.

  They flow in and out of each other like sugar melting slowly in hot water.

  3/27/09…1:10am

  Sweet Whispers of Sensual Ecstasy

  When sleep comes to visit you and takes you away in her arms

  I want to be there again to fall asleep inside of your moist warmth

  When she seduces you with her sweet whispers of pleasure

  I want to hear the words she is saying so I can whisper them back to you later

  Every night before I go to sleep it is still your name that I call

  It is still you that I make sweet love to every time I come so hard

  With the intensity of the passion we once shared and we took for granted

  We thought it would last forever and in your absence, loneliness lives a happy life

  My senses crave the idea of you and the way you would inspire me without even knowing

  I miss you in a way that exposes my vulnerability without me even caring who knows

  The ache that I feel living in my mind, body and soul goes so damn deep

  That not even multiple orgasms of self pleasure can give me what I need

  Simultaneously, I am reduced to sobbing tears and the sweet sensation of sexual release

  Throbbing through my entire body like dueling seasons of spring and summer

  If I close my eyes long enough I can recreate moments of our life

  I can still feel the passion of your kisses taking my breathe away

  The sensual way you bit my neck so deeply that the pain felt so damn good

  Like an extra source of sexual energy raging through my body you set me on fire

  I would beg you unashamed not to stop and you would bite me even harder

  Multiple orgasms rippled through my body with an intense power

  Only you can arouse my passion with such a hardened intensity

  My body is famished for your touch and your sweet whispers of sensual ecstasy

  My mind yearns to be seduced to again to feel that intense rush

  It is a hunger that has gone unfed in all these years since you left

  My desire for you is beyond irrational because I set you free

  Knowing that the passion we shared was once in a lifetime

  Many have tried to please me and they have all been good women

  But, there could only ever be one you.

  12/09/08…7:14pm

  Delicious Home Cooked Meal

  Walking down the dirt road on his way home for lunch, George Olivier took off his workman’s hat and tied his work shirt to his waist. This is what he loved about being back home in St. Croix: there was a freedom of self that you didn’t have when you lived on the mainland. You were always rushing to catch a train or bus, hurrying to eat lunch to get back to work and life just seemed to be a series of forgettable days. He and his wife, Athenia decided to get out before the long winters wore them down and they became Americanized without their permission. Two years later, they hadn’t regretted their decision to come back home to build their house and start their own construction company with about twenty employees.

  The tropical heat of the noonday sun beat down on George Olivier’s shirtless back, neck, and bald head. He stopped in the middle of the road, lifted his head to the noonday sun and stretched his black arms up to the sky. His round stomach rumbled like a pickup truck bouncing in and out of the potholes on the dirt road to his house. He turned the corner and walked down the path to his house. Mr. Young, the neighbor from down the road, waved to George Olivier from under the shade of a mango tree as he tended to his goats and cows. Mr. Young wasn’t a man of many words so he was always right at home with his animals who just wanted to be left alone to graze all day. Every day was a vacation for animals.

  When Athenia cooked, the spicy sweet scent of her food filled the air and just a gulp of air tricked your mind into believing that you had actually tasted one of her dishes. George Olivier opened the black front gate to his house and the smell of fried fish, curry chicken, fried plantains and tomato stew seduced his taste buds, and he felt the stirrings of his manhood as he became aroused as he thought about eating and sexing his wife. He sat down on the porch to take off his work boots and to wash his hands and face by the pipe next to the cistern. His wife was a tolerant woman, but her pet peeve was dirty hands. “A man who won’t wash his hands to eat in my house is a man who won’t get any sweet dessert later tonight.” The threat of her withholding the sweetness of her specially concocted dessert dripping with her honey comb nectar was always a reason to do as she asked. A man knows when to do what he is told by his wife.

  A wave of aromatic delights rushed out at George Olivier when he opened the front door to his house. The only thing he could compare the anticipation of eating his wife’s cooking to was each time she straddled his round belly, and he felt himself growing stiff like a coconut tree for her dessert. The thickness of his manhood would first savor the warmth emitting from her dessert before tasting it, and when it finally became
excruciatingly painful to withhold the head of his throbbing manhood from dipping into the center of her delicious dessert, he would rub his pulsating head around the outskirts of her warm dessert lips. He couldn’t taste it or allow himself to be fully covered in its succulence until Athenia spread open her thick creamy thighs and a few droplets of her dessert’s honey flavor would fall onto his manhood, kissing it with its warm lips. She would then know that he was ready to receive the gift of her dessert and slowly lower her dripping blossoming flower onto the veined fatness of his erection. He would just lay there for the first few minutes as he reveled in the heat that enveloped his manhood. Her arousal would start flowing slowly like intermittent raindrops and with each slow deep probe of his curved manhood; the forecast would change from light showers until he was drowning in a monsoon downpour of her dessert honey sweetness. The moistness of her dessert would soak the sheets beneath them while he was still rigid inside of her just waiting for that right moment when he knew that a few quick deep hard pounding thrusts would make her speak in her native Creole tongue of Dominica. Creole is like Spanish—everything sounds dirty when you are in the midst of a sexual Nirvana. Just saying ‘thank you’ in guttural moans will sound dirty. Mèsi! Mèsi! Mèsi!

  Athenia didn’t hear her husband slip into the house because she was at the kitchen sink washing dishes and wining her waist to “Nani Wine” which was a sensual soca song by Crazy. Her waist was still limber even after ten years of marriage and two children. She could still mesmerize George into a slow pulsating erection that would ache until he found the comfort of her dessert to soothe his ache and rob him of his strength when he came. As she dipped up and down to the sweet sounds of soca music, her pink towel threatened to fall off her body leaving her fully exposed round bottom at the mercy of George’s hands and thirsty manhood. Her honey colored braids swung back and forth in perfect rhythm with her back and round backside. His lunch was on the stove right next to her and was simmering on low. He reached for a fried plantain and it burnt his tongue as he swallowed its sweet flavor. The heat of the kitchen pulsated around him as he watched his wife wine her waist. The seductive smells of her cooking had aroused him and now his belly. George was in need for his wife’s cooking and her sweet dessert treat.

  His hand slipped under her towel and her body reacted to his touch as if it was patiently waiting for him to make his move and do his husbandly duties. His fingers slipped into the fleshy moistness of her dessert and she rotated her waist at an angle that allowed him to slip a finger into the heat of her tender pussy lips and moaned, “ay yi yi don’t stop—don’t stop…ay yi yi you make my pussy catch a fire.” The honey of her sweetness glistened on his fingers like guava jelly on toast as he brought it to his lips and slid it slowly into his mouth.

  “I see you hungry today,” she sang out without turning around. “I go feed you what you need,” she breathed hotly as her towel fell to the floor leaving her naked and her firm backside begged to be fucked. Her fingers found his belt and unzipped his pants, and it joined her towel on the floor. Her long fingers curled around his manhood and stroked it to a heightened state of arousal. The cream color of her skin was a beautiful contrast to his sun baked dark skin and his erection pulsed with soca energy between the fleshy confines of her bottom.

  Athenia leaned back into her husband’s body and felt his round potbelly rumble against her backside. His hands massaged her shoulders, worked their way down to her heavy breasts and pinched her two nipples until she moaned out loud with delight. Her body and mind were enflamed with passion and the soca music was still thumping with words of seduction. Suck my pussy, she thought to herself, but she didn’t care what he did—just as long as he did it to her.

  She loved to fuck in the middle of the afternoon while everyone else was busy working and not enjoying life. It made her feel as if, at least for an afternoon, her pussy took precedence over everything in the world. That even God had to stop what he was doing to watch her make love to her husband. She loved the attention that George lavished on her body as if it was the first time they had made love. He would devour her food and pussy with the same intense fervor every time. It turned her on immensely to know that she was so irresistible to her man and that her pussy still had the power to make him as hard as concrete.

  His hands reached out around her waist and he dipped them into the warm soapy dishwater in front of her. He caressed her body with the soapy water until it was slippery and smelled of fresh sunshine. He slid his right hand between the two full ripe halves of her bottom and squeezed the fullness of her pussy into his hands as if he was testing the ripeness of fruits at the local market. Athenia shuddered to feel her husband take control and show her who was boss. She enjoyed talking shit sometimes, but when it was time for a man to be a man; she wanted him to take what was his without asking her permission. What good is a man if he cannot control his pussy and dick it down into complete submission? The sweet sounds of Lord Byron spilled out from the radio just as George spread Athenia’s ass open to release some of her pent up afternoon heat, and his fat bud swiftly penetrated the fat lips of her moist dessert. Watching her ass spread open like that reminded George of eating a ripe papaya and sticking his face and mouth into its sweetness. Athenia stood upright and his fingers were locked into her braided hair as they both gyrated in a slow circular motion to the pulsating music of Lord Bryon. “Sweet sweet sweet like a Julie mango…sweet sweet I want to know how it sweet so” George sang out the lyrics as Athenia hummed in tune as his backup singer.

  “You too sweet gal,” he murmured as he stared down at her round ass shaking in between his hands like a volcano that was about to erupt. His stomach rumbled again from hunger against Athenia’s back.

  “My husband hungry?’

  He answered her with three quick pelvic thrusts that lifted her ass into the air.

  “Lemme feed you somefing good.”

  She reached into the frying pan and took out two warm pieces of plantain. She cooled it down by blowing heavily on it and then slid them between her lips. She then rubbed them on her nipples, and without taking a bite she fed him. After a few bites, he swallowed it quickly and his erection pulsed inside of her to let her know that he wanted more food. She fed him the eyes of the fried Snapper fish which he loved and stripped off a piece of tender meat. She placed it under his nose so he could inhale its fried taste and then slowly slid it between his lips until it disappeared. She kissed him and tasted her cooking on his lips.

  “No woman can cook like my wife,” George groaned in between swallows.

  “And what else baby…tell me.” Her inner muscles squeezed around his fat bud to elicit an answer.

  “No woman pussy sweet like your pussy. You have the sweetest pussy in the world. It sweeter than a Julie mango,” he babbled in his off key singing voice as he pulsed deeper into her dessert and Lord Bryon concurred with him in the background. Athenia’s moist pussy lips smiled and she reached for another piece of plantain. The warmth of it felt good in her hands and she dipped it into the honey sauce of her dripping pussy and fed her lips. The taste of her own juices sent thrills of pleasure throughout her body. It delighted her that everything she made was so tasty. She dipped another piece of plantain inside her warm dessert, this time she let it linger there a little longer to soak in some extra juices and then fed it to her husband who greedily swallowed her delicious home cooked meal. She rewarded his stamina and will to resist flooding her tender pussy lips with a torrent of his baby making juices by feeding him chunks of curry chicken, tomato stew, more plantains, and fried fish. George’s appetite for his wife’s pussy and her food were being simultaneously fed. There was no way they could have enjoyed each other this way back in New York. He would have to take a train back home and there are always delays; he would have probably spent his lunch hour stuck underground instead of being inside his wife’s sweet dessert. Dinner would be served in a few hours and George smiled as he wondered what Athenia had in store for him lat
er that evening.

  His lunch hour was almost over. They had eaten almost everything in the pots as they sexed, fucked and made love. Athenia turned around to face her husband. She loved looking into his eyes to see the ugly face he made when he came. It was a thing of beauty for her to watch the intensity of passion in his eyes, how his lips would quiver and the feeling that being inside of her pussy would have on her husband.

  “Vini,” she urged him. She wanted him to come inside of her. She loved to feel his sudden burst of cum flooding her walls with his liquid passion.

  George gripped his wife’s ample ass and dug his fingers into her tender skin. He lifted her off the floor with his throbbing black manhood still pulsating inside of her and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. The music of the Mighty Sparrow was now rocking on the radio and he was crooning about the pleasures of Salt fish which was a euphemism for pussy. Athenia and George sang together with Sparrow while moaning, groaning and heavily breathing his lyrics, “Salt fish nothing in the world sweeter than salt fish.”