Labyrinth for Love and Eros

I felt the tingles of life as I squeezed you and slowly lifted my legs all the way to your neck so that you felt a gentle captivity by my strength and ability. Your rigid phallus crawled like a lamb to my vagina and quietly began to speak with the otherworldly that resided within me. I became a cult of worship, a saint and a whore in your hairy groin, for I managed to touch your testicles while you slowly and powerfully entered me. This excited you to the point of illness and instead of groaning, you whined with a voice that pierced my consciousness, and I began to rub against you with my sounds that suddenly burst forth from my warm, soft throat.

I ran with you through a labyrinth adorned with beautiful thorny roses. I hungrily gazed at our closed hearts as you tore the delicate petals of my sighs. You began to chase me through the place overgrown with green grass, following the prints of my feet; gentle and fragile, as bare feet pushed the whole body and urged it forward.

You were the master who released the fiancée from imagination and sweated at the thought of the runaway slave. The scars that the thorny roses inflicted on my arms while I ran were cold and alluring. You grabbed me and gently laid me on the soft earthy ground. We were in some unknown part of the labyrinth, and you, like an animal, like a Minotaur, began to lick my tiny wounds at that moment and apologized for this sweet pursuit. I didn't mind because we intertwined in the reddish fluid that your saliva gently healed, and all my pores were bathed in your elixir of passion. Strong and masculine, you took on the form of an ancient myth, an animal that captured its beloved in a newly created garden of imagination. As every mucous membrane of my being crawled over your large full lips, I could do nothing but press against you to the wetness of a heart that, touching your masculine side, forgot both the myth and the bull; only your phallic fertility remained, which you openly displayed as you squeezed me and pressed me against your lips.
It was too simple to be true, and it was too relaxed to restrain me.

I felt the tingles of life as I squeezed you and slowly lifted my legs all the way to your neck so that you felt a gentle captivity by my strength and ability. Your rigid phallus crawled like a lamb to my vagina and quietly began to speak with the otherworldly that resided within me. I became a cult of worship, a saint and a whore in your hairy groin, for I managed to touch your testicles while you slowly and powerfully entered me. This excited you to the point of illness and instead of groaning, you whined with a voice that pierced my consciousness, and I began to rub against you with my sounds that suddenly burst forth from my warm, soft throat. Trembling, my vocal cords spoke into your ear and passionately licked it. The earlobe, which with its softness attracted my little teeth, enjoyed the taste of nibbling and the gentle pressure of my lips.

My hips and groin melted from the effort of love that materialized in my womb, from your giving and receiving my soft and moist femininity, from my riding your frenzied body and the sweet nipples that rubbed against mine and excited each other. Until late at night, you were with the thoughts of a goat and the body of a bull; you were also with the appearance of your own exposed human flesh. Masculinity and ability.

You were both the hand and the phallus, the touch of the river that overwhelmed me with all the excretions of your flow; deep and superficial. You tore my dwelling with your tongue and penetrated my orgasm as I rode you in such a exalted and sacred way; for I was essentially riding and loving myself. You became the reflection of my shadow in the labyrinth where I lost the light to make love with my pale-pink womb. And you licked all the scents that carry dew and mornings in the breasts that softly yet passionately covered you.