Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Cashmere Blanket - 80% Love, 20% Lust



The night was chilly. Another one of the famously clear, cold autumn night of the Himachal hills. He was sitting in his favorite spot overlooking the Parvati valley. A loud crackling fire was making merry amidst the rowdy wind that was frolicking with the firewood of the bonfire. He was at peace as his eyes took in the sight he loved. A river flowed in the distance and he could hear the chants of the waves crashing on the stoney shore, calling out to him. The snow capped peaks in the distance stood majestic shining pearly under the moon which was unnaturally bright. He was one with nature, just as he loved to be.

But he was not just at peace, he was in bliss. The reason was approaching him ever so slowly and he smiled to himself. She was there, serenely calm yet turbulent as the storm. She reminded him of LSD, like lysergic acid diethylamide plays symphony with one's brain, she too took him into a realm of psychedelia. He turned around and immediately broke into a smile. The setting was perfect as well as the set. She was the craziest trip he had ever had. Irresistible, sublime and taking him to a synesthesia - almost as if time din't matter and the only reality was that she was there before him, looking teased. 

Teased by his smile. She loved his smile and that only made him grin wider. He walked towards her, she walked towards him almost with a determined look on her face that said, "Tease me and you pay heavily". She was a wild-cat and he knew it was not an empty threat. Nonetheless, tonight he wanted to make her believe, believe in the fact that life can not be all bad. And so she needed to be teased. For her innermost self was playful. It remained hidden beneath a cloak of sobriety and sometimes melancholy, but deep down she was just a girl with happy dreams and high hopes. He wanted her to believe in her true self again. And for that, she needed to let herself lose. Thus, she needed to be teased. And also, he loved to tease!

He suddenly turned just before she could reach out to him and fit snugly in the lone cashmere blanket inside the rugged tent they had brought along to fight the weather. No matter how weary the winds may get, they wouldn't manage to disturb them tonight; he had made sure of it. She followed him inside, fitting perfectly in the cocoon of his arm. She was just the right size. She felt just right, clinging close. He held her. She kissed him warmly on his cheek, her lips assuring him that this was not a dream. He looked deep in her eyes, she was the damsel in distress who needed a knight. He was a lost soul in the vast world, merely a drop in the ocean of beings but with her to take care of he always felt larger than life itself. He planted a simple kiss on her forehead, hoping to convey the warmth he felt for her. She did feel that, and perhaps a lot more, for in the next instance she immediately placed her warm supple lips on his neck. Passion, intensely rising with each moment.

It was as if a trigger reaction. As soon as her lips touched an ounce of his skin, his fingers as if could not, ever, contain themselves. It was the change of scenario in a matter of seconds. The fingers, not very long, but long enough, and not exceptionally thin, but somehow just perfect, with perfectly smooth tips, and that uncannily soft skin, so unusual in guys, began wandering all along her body. They traced the sides of the thin purple gown she was wearing, and stopped where it reached her knee. And then, as if behind the covers, the real magic unveils, the fingers started to work on her. it was her turn to shiver, not with the coolness of his touch, but with the mere passion that set her skin on fire, everytime he touched any part of her naked skin.



His fingers, gently staying at the hollow of her knees, as if it was a pool of water a bird had taken to be amused with, staggered, and moved up, as if with a sudden realization, that there was more terrain to cover. The hands, sliding upwards, not with a hurry, but with restlessness, let the bait in the tips of those insanely observant fingertips. Moving up from the thighs, staying just for a few seconds to make sure not even a single cell remained untouched on the way, lingering for a couple of extra seconds at the curve where her hips met the thighs, for he had something for the curves, lingering for a little more time at the protruding hipbone, for it was sort of interesting, just that, moving horizontally till where the restricted space would allow his hands to trace free, circling the belly button, and enjoying her shiver with the slight intimidation, for he knew he could do that to her, arouse those feelings to that intensity, which gave him pure honest pleasure for he was not a perfectly crafted model to advocate modesty.

His touch was driving her wild, as it always managed to. She could not resist retaliating, he was warm and fuzzy and she grinned sinisterly before attacking his neck with a precision and ferocity that took him by surprise. Her fingers played along his strong back before sinking in at multiple places. He cringed but the masochist in him purred to the tune of the sinking nails and teeth. She looked deep in his eyes trying to gauge how much was he enjoying, and was delighted to find the ecstasy there matching her own. He was lost to the world, his eyes held hers and told her a thousand and one tales of love; somehow in their diabolic world, he was the Scherezade and she was the Shahryar of the arabian nights. He was the story-teller and she loved listening to them, commanding a new one on whim, and loving his readiness to tell her another of his fables.

But even as he told her stories that enchanted her, his fingers did not stop. The fingers, again to the side, outlining along the lengths of yet another curve that he was growing to love, protracting to the bottom curve of her left breast, and contemplating to be naughty or nice, and choosing to be nice this time around, sliding in the fingers up her cleavage, and reaching the hollow of her neck, staying there, for that is something he could never get tired of feeling, moving up the length of her neck, gently flicking her chin so that she was looking at him, right in the eyes, and watching her shy away, not openly, yet through those eyes that mesmerized him too much, planting a not very gentle kiss to the place his fingers had been wandering a few seconds before, and whispering ‘I love you’ through her skin. She was as if a territory that he knew every bit of, even with closed eyes but would never get tired of feeling for every time he laid his fingers on it, there was something new to be explored.

She realized how crazy his touch made her, yet craved for more. As her nails left marks that seemed indelible, she returned his passion with a fervor that matched his every inch! If he was a scythe she was a katana; if she was a mamba, he was no less a cobra. He was fire and she was water, and their was a mystical aura when they met. Both of them were lost in its rapture. Serenely wild, calmly violent and ecstatic throughout. An hour passed or two, or perhaps it was but a minute, they knew not. The howls of wild animals, the raging wind, the chill of the night was all but lost on them. They were just two animals who had surrendered to their true nature, where lust was so pure that it was no longer a sin for the very threads that knitted it were of love, inside the cashmere blanket. At peace and in bliss!


In collaboration with cloistered.languid.

15 comments:

  1. What, can I say about this ... ;-)

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  2. nice , also .. at first I thought I'd sue you ... then the footer at the end of the blog won my heart :P

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  3. th err lad... the err... u kno what to correct...

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    Replies
    1. scheherazade is th queen nd shahyar th persian king...

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    2. Read again bud, that's intentional...have specified the role reversal in the next line itself...

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    3. precisely !!... .. damn ill need to call you to clarify this...

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  4. Magnificent...

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  5. Dichotomous
    But love the change of scenery...and yes i do hope you find your LSD

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  6. Magical, Hypnotic!
    For the 110th time.

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    Replies
    1. Nawazish mohtarma...for the 110th time! :)

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