And many thanks to Iruntxu for her translations to Spanish.
She just needs to learn to keep her fingers on the keyboard,
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UX - Soyd
Tales of decadence, debauchery,
lust, passion, desire, seduction,
etc. etc. etc. I think you get the
idea. - Mild to Wild . . . . . . .
The Letter
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LeKnight at Bluewater | home
The Letter
The Letter . . .by mdg._
The sensuality and desire of woman
is the work of God . .
Almost a year since he set sail seeking fortunes wherever he might. It was not what she had hoped for. He lingered in her mind, and body, day and night. Not one word since he left. His touch, his voice, his promises, fears, she did not want to think about tormented her continually. Every day she anxiously waited, that perhaps today some news from him would come. She had never loved as deeply and passionately as she loved him, he was her reason for life. Any news, whether he be alive, perhaps not, maybe a new found love that she never see him again, anything to answer her aching questions which haunted her tirelessly.
She had just sat down to eat dinner.
"There is man at the door asking to see you," said the maid, "but not a gentleman, "
"Well show him in," she said
"He's a frightening looking blackguard, he is," but he insists, and has something he was sworn to deliver to your hand only,"
"Alright, we'll both go to the door and see what he has,"
"Missy, are you the name on this letter,?" he asked, in a voice that sounded as though he would tear your heart for a song, "still holding it firmly,
"Yes I am," she said, trembling a bit, fear of him, fear of what the thick, heavy letter contained, holding her breath for his stench of rum and sea.
"Aye, he was right," he said, "Ya ar a luvly darlin', I giv him me word I would bring this to you before me rum," with toothless smile,
"Would you like some tea or coffee," she offered, would be rude not to, since he had gone out of his way to bring her the letter,
"Well Missy, a hot rum for a night like this would warm the bones till I got to me place,"
It was not easy for her, nor the maid to allow this character and his stench into the house, but she was not one to judge, nor be inhospitable to one whose word stood for something of value.
The letter she placed on her reading table, fixed him a modest hot rum that he not get drunk there, while she sipped on her tea listening tales of his return voyage. It had been several months since he last saw her love.
"And how was he," she asked, maybe not wanting to know,
"Ah, he is a wealthy man now," he said, "and paid me well to run his crews, but his plans I don't know Missy, I never pry into one's private life," And with that he begged pardon, and left, leaving the letter and his stench.
"Such a thick, heavy letter," she thought, holding it, anxious to read, yet fears to open it for what it may contain. A cup of tea, near the fire on their favorite chair, with anxious trembling hands she very carefully opens the letter as if made of gold, fearing the worst, hoping for the best. It was his hand that had written the letter, his bold hand was easy to remember.
"My Most Precious," it began on his bold script,
"I don't know where to begin, so much has happened this past year, but first and most I hope all is well with you. I have spent these last months building a modest fortune on my plantation, with the land I purchased from the sale of my boat, and have built a fine, successful sugar cane plantation. I must admit I have gotten accustomed to the ways of these indigenous people and they have taken me in very well. I have made a comfortable life in the time I have been here. My plantation is almost three hundred kilometers into the jungle along many winding red clay roads to get there. It takes almost a week to transport the cane from here to the nearest port along the river before it goes to the coast where the sugar is extracted and shipped to Europe. All our supplies are then brought back from the river port by the same wagons. The man who brought you this letter has been my most trusted and loyal friend from the first day I sold the boat and was looking for someone to make the journey into the jungle in search of good land. He accepted after we had a few rums, on the condition that he would not take pay, but would for twenty percent of the success, to which I gladly agreed, since it made it as well his future success or failure. It was a struggle at the beginning, especially finding those Indians who were friendly, had farming knowledge in the jungle and who were willing to stay. With the help of a local tribal leader we were able bring together the help we needed, and most are still here with me now.
But enough of me gloating on my success here, there is something much more important I must say, and not because I have not wanted to, but because it has pained me to think about it daily that I had to finally write you this letter. There has not been a minute that I have not thought of you. With all my success your memory has tormented me day and even more at night. Your sweet face is before me in whatever I do. I can feel your soft tender body in my arms as I fall off to sleep. Your breasts pressed to my chest as you lay by my side. Through all the damp musty smells of the jungle heat I can smell your sweet delicate flesh floating past my nostrils. Laying here in my bed writing this I can feel my hands careering your smooth fine back, across your soft well rounded ass, that I must admit, I lay here with arousal between my thighs. Visions of your breasts pressed to my chest, caressing the soft arch of your back, my hand running along your moist, warm tender thigh, the feel of your desiring heat between you thighs."
Without thought, her hand slid under her gown, caressing herself, along her hungry for his touch inner thigh, higher, softly petting her weeping pussy, reading his vivid arousing words of lust, desire, passion, sliding her fingers deeper in her urging creamy wet pussy.
"not a minute goes by, and more each moment that I feel your warm tender body beneath me, the pleased look in your eyes as your hand so eagerly guides me to your needs of passion and loving lust."
Her hand eagerly maneuvering under her gown, searching for her clit, reading, re-reading, slowly spreading her thighs as though to his seductive eyes.
"I imagine, so vivid at times, that I feel your moist heat to my loins, in my hands, as my rigid craving descends to your quivering welcoming hot depths. I taste in mind your tender soft breasts to my lips, the scent of your delicate bouquet of arousal, that my hand trembles as I write my thoughts, my feelings," she reads and reads again. Her fingers, probing, groping deeper in her weeping, aching, craving hot depths, clenching her hot, wet thighs tight to her hand, as though to clamp herself around his hot throbbing erection within her, grasping the letter more firmly.
"My mind wanders over you delicious, soft, sensuous body at a pace so slow and lingering , yet in mind to your sweet lips, at once your pert nipples I lick, your hot tender thighs trembling along my cheeks, the tastes of your warm moist mons veneris swelling with desire to my probing tongue."
Squirming, now on her fingers digging deeper and more violently in her wet pussy, without thought, reading each line of lust and passion again and again. At times the letter, crumpling in her hand, eyes closed feeling him between her hungry, hot wet thighs, finger groping with purpose, crushing the letter to her breasts, as his lips would if he were there. Moaning, sighing, whispering his name, quivering jerks as she kneads her breasts, so near to orgasm, the letter to her mouth, chewing on it, both hands to her pussy, violently attacking her clitty, ramming her fingers in her hot, wet depths harder and faster, arching back over the arm of the lounge as she comes with such an explosive eruption, mumbling, "tttaaaakeee meeee, nnoowwww, oogggfffffff Ggrrrroodddd, pplllllesssss," and collapses, staring at the ceiling, wishing it really were him who had just ravaged her, and wishing for more.
to be continued /
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