The Writings of Ya Hu

(Note: and now for something completely different, in honor of Valentine’s Day.–jrs)

The fuzzy rub of hair against the soft skin of his buttocks excited him as he straddled her hips. Her interest grew as he grew, each millimeter of extension was reflected in her eyes as she watched. His fingers, with the tiniest tremor, smoothed the creases left in her skin along the line of ribcage that swelled to breast. The deflated cups of her brassiere, the mammary boa of western culture, lay limp at the silky sides of her exultance. He could hear them singing.

“Free at last, free at last, great godamighty, we’re free at last.”

He knew the tune and bent closer to add some harmony.

It came into his mouth like the wedding of a ripe strawberry and a most tender scallop, tasting of a jasmine sea. His tongue flashed while his thumb found the twin sister, who was craning eagerly from her round perch as if to watch. His tongue flashed again and the toes, long bored and cramped, woke up and curled, sending messages of surrender to the legs, which fell every so slightly apart.

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(dolphin from; shadow from

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in eroticism, Sex, Slice of Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Writings of Ya Hu

  1. Fanning self………..

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