Lavender Pastures

Let the shadows

heavy our eyelids.

Let them take

their rightful place for the night.

Ahh.

Energy work for those needing Operation (board game). Extraction. Just of all the goop our spirits pick up on this murky internet.

Disclaimer: The FMC is unapologetically Black, and you can customize her in your mind to look however you want, as long as she has natural hair. HerTheir favorite color is lavender. The MC is inspired by my dream•person since I was young, and they never had a specific form. I just always favored long hair. He's definitely not colonial white. So, he's Black in some art form. Or Indigenous, but they looks like no colonizer. As long as he has long natural // unprocessed hair. HisTheir favorite color is navy.

.....

"Take off your fucking clothes?"

And so he did, expeditiously.

Naked he sat on the edge of her bed, while she'd stripped down to her sheer, starry slip, her breasts still exposed over the neckline.

In the moonlight, he looked at home. Comfortable enough to sit here, vulnerable, patient, and obedient. Eyeing her, hope and hunger brimming in his eyes.

She kissed him.

Slowly, but yearning. Gripping his ears, his face, his shoulders. "I have a treat for you," she murmured into his mouth. Fuck. Her fingers trailed down his stomach. Played at the base of his hips. The tops of his thighs.

The other hand gripped the back of his neck. And she grinned against his growing smile as he gasped out, "Is that so, Princess?"

"Mhmm." She sucked his bottom lip and trailed down where her hands had squeezed, stopping at his chest. Looking up into his eyes and placing a hand on his heart.

"Is this okay?" she whispered. And he took her hand. Kissed it. Held it to his cheek and nodded. Then let go after a beat, when she went further down, and let her hands land on either side of his erect member.

"Hmmm" she drawled out, observing. Toying with her lips, her nose, her finger tips. Growing increasingly curious w her tongue and kisses. Her kisses growing increasingly deeper on his shaft, his sack, the base where they met. And a wet palm circling the tip of him. He lurched forward. She blinked up at him slowly, keeping her eye contact steady as she pulled her lips back over her teeth and swallowed him one inch at a time, pausing only as she blinked at him, slower, slower. Until he slipped down her ready throat. She rested her hands on his thighs. Played there. Massaged there. Gagging delightedly on his now sopping•wet dick.

He smiled, a zealot in her order, and hovered his hand at the back of her head as she took his member in her mouth to the base repeatedly, coming up for air every now and then with a mouth•full of spit and tender kisses for his sack, his thighs, his shaft, his *tip*. He lurched again, feeling the warmth in his stomach swell to the point of almost overtaking him.

"Princess, keep going if you must," he got out between moans. "But I have so much to give you. Please. Have mercy."

That put her over the edge, as he knew it would. Her mouth only grew wetter, her gags deeper, and fuck. She'd even started playing with her pretty nipples. Moaning as his pleasure inspired the pulsating wetness in her, again. With her energy work it felt like... she was playing w her own clit.

"Fuck," he melted. She released him with a loud pop. Wiped her mouth against her arm and. Started trailing back up slowly, totally ignoring the throbbing member she'd been cooing over just a minute ago.

She pushed him down by his chest and straddled his stomach.

"I want to ride your face." A pause. Then a smile shared between the two. "And then I want you to fuck me from behind."

His eyes sparkled as he confirmed, "Brilliant." And started scooping her towards his face.

"You look so fuckable right now," he marveled up at her. And she did her best to accept the truth, even as a blush took her over to her shoulders. He took her right hand. Hooked his right arm around her and.

She gasped.

"We're as one." She could barely hear her words over the air and quivers in her voice. And was surprised to hear, resonating into the folds of her flower, a tender, "I know." And he gripped her tighter and slurped her harder as they rocked back and forth. Truly losing themselves where their lips met.

"My Prince," she wailed, almost as teary as her treasure. "My Prince, I love coming for you."

That did it.

He moaned into her pussy, burying his face in her juices, her hair, her folds, greeting it with a welcome tongue and greedy lips.

"Fuck." She spilled over, teetering forward, pressing into his left hand and her right, to stay up. "Fuck...fuck." And she gasped. And her hips bucked, but he held her steady, and kissed her clit over and over, until she was a puddle.

He whispered into her, "You want more of this or you want it from the back?"

"Both," she whispered back. He laughed, and she moaned as he lapped her up. She was moving without inhibition now. Slowly sliding her hips back and forth. Convinced that the man beneath her truly cared about her and wanted her to be happy.

That did it.

"My Prince, I'm coming!" She was louder than she'd been all night, and he echoed her volume with a persistent moan as he pulled her jerking hips down, forcing her to continue her rhythm on his face. She could almost hear him asking her not to stop.

So she didn't. She fucked. She fucked his pretty face until feeling burst through her that she couldn't contain. She let herself yelp in surprise. And fall forward. Laughing with her Prince as he kissed her thighs, massaged her butt, played with the fat around her hips like it was lost art.

"You look so fuckable right now," he reiterated, growled this time, pushing his sturdy pelvis behind her. "So soft," he cooed, reminiscing how he felt in her cushy gushy warmth.

"I know." She pushed her weight back. "Will you fuck me, then? Just like this."

She felt the answer filling her slowly as the Prince hissed, then gasped. She smiled at his outburst, and quickly lost it to a moan when he gathered his arms around her hips and her tulle, holding her steady for a rhythm he wanted to pound into her. As gently as he could, of course. Because she liked the buildup. He'd been practicing after all, slowing himself down, moving all of him from his hips. And now he was all hers. He pulled her back again, and she moaned, deepening her pretty arch. Had she been practicing, too? He could feel... everything. With her breath, it seemed, she could tighten... and caress and... fuck.

The Prince sped up now, because his Princess told him to. She said it so sweetly, though: "Faster, please," managed between whimpers from her mouth and her now sobbing pussy.

He longed to touch her hair, but knew better. So he kept his hands on those jiggling hips until her breath broke onto a scream of delight.

He swore, sunshine lit up the room in an arc when she laughed. And then she shuddered and. He slid out of her slowly and. Kissed the tops of her waiting butt cheeks. Then lower, then between, so his lips found hers. And she screamed again, and laughed and pushed her weight back. "Fuck me, yes, My Prince!"

But she didn't have to tell him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his kisses into her mound. Which he swore was kissing him back. All ooze, dripping and salivating.

"The pleasure, it's..." The Princess bucked back into his waiting mouth. "Please. It's all encompassing. Don't let me pull away."

At that, the diligent Prince tightened his arms around her. She let out a guttural sound as his mouth *worked,* inside and out. Making sounds of sucking, of slurping, of sweet little moans to echo her big ones, lapping up her pleasure like the treasure it was.

"I'm playing with my breasts," she melted. "I'm playing with my breasts 'cause...if you had another mouth, you'd be up here, too!"

That. Did it.

The Prince smacked her bouyant butt cheek. Once. She yelped. Then twice. She laughed. And the third time, he held it firmly and began shaking her hips up and down. Keeping an even tempo and an eager tongue.

"My Prince, please. I'm so far gone. Please keep... fucking my pretty pussy like this!" She was out of breath, and he delighted in it. Slurped again. Moaned with his mouth full of pussy as she jerked, lost to her body's release.

She made that sound. The one that usually meant she was content.

"Do you want more?" he whispered, just in case, kissing where he'd smacked her.

She wiggled around to look up at him.

Disclaimer: The FMC is unapologetically Black, and you can customize her in your mind to look however you want, as long as she has natural hair. HerTheir favorite color is lavender. The MC is inspired by my dream•person since I was young, and they never had a specific form. I just always favored long hair. He's definitely not colonial white. So, he's Black in some art form. Or Indigenous, but they looks like no colonizer. As long as he has long natural // unprocessed hair. HisTheir favorite color is navy.

So.

Once Upon A Time That Was Had:

She was the Sun.

He was the Moon.

Can I make it anymore obvious?

And she could see herself reflected in his eyes. Not physically. But they shone, tenderness manifest.

“Hello,” she breathed.

And he ached to break her words against his tongue.

But dammit, not yet.

Inches away in space and time. And she knew it, too. Reveling in the cusp. Teasing him with that smile, her breath. Her *breath*: the source of her movement. The core of the hands that held him just a whisper away.

"Hello,” he whispered back. And then, without thinking, “I’ve missed you.”

“Since last year?”

“Yes.” His exhale hitched on her wrist. She tightened the cradle her fingers made under his chin and drew him closer. He was but a moon, a moth.

“Show me?”

She could’ve demanded it.

But the sweetness in the curve of the question marking the end of her sentence? Oh. He’d agree to any sentencing she gave him. Because he knew she’d be just.

“Show you?” he murmured into her mouth. She held hers still for a pulsating moment, until her softest, “Please,” closed the distance between their lips.

“Princess,” he melted. She sighed as he unlocked his spine, freeing his shoulders to cocoon her in his arms. She was safe here. Whether or not she could see more than shadows, she was safe in the gossamer of his embrace.

He continued, “Princess,” the word echoing in her throat, her heart. A title she’d earned beyond blood: by virtue and dedication. By remaining unmovably tender in a spear•headed world. “Princess, I’ve been longing to show you since the last Yuletide Ball.”

She moaned then, the pleasure purely emotional, and allowed herself to feel. To say yes to what she deserved: him. All of him. He wasn’t a Prince for no reason. His blood ran blue but his heart pumped gold. She grasped his biceps. Pulling him down and into her heart space.

They fluttered down and back, into her bed. Cushy, though modest for a royal of her stature and line. Her joy evolved from giving to her people. And heavens, did that make him want to give her everything.

He arranged her on his lap, her legs straddling one of his thighs.

“My Goddess,” she swore as his lips trailed down her jaw, her neck, in breadcrumb kisses that found a home in her collarbone. “My Goddess, that’s good.”

“That’s good?” She felt him smile against her skin. “Use a more specific descriptor.”

She laughed, tickled that he’d remembered her words from *two* years ago, and gasped when he growled, baring his teeth at the center of her bosom now, and tightened his grip. “I mean it,” he purred. A jaguar ready to pounce.

But her eyes were starting to roll back, and the treasure between her legs pulsed against him. He was pulling her dress down slowly, with barely contained ferocity. His breath hovered at the tops of her nipples. And his tongue grew bolder with each kiss to her half•exposed breasts.

“Use” *kiss* “a better” *kiss* “descriptor, Princess.” *kiss kiss* one for each breast. Now her nipples were free. And anticipating. But he went on, slowly, “Or I won’t be able to continue.”

It almost broke his heart to say. And she delighted in the barely•masked hope in his eyes that she would do her part and let him please her.

She put a hand to each cheek. He kissed her wrists.

“That’s *divine*.” She raised her eyebrows as he put his lips to her left nipple. Then gripped the back of his neck in frustration at the lack of motion.

“My Prince, please.”

“You can do better.”

He framed his teeth around her areola, and offered the tiniest sliver of tongue as motivation.

“My Prince, that’s…*wet*” she gasped. Involuntarily, her hips sung a rhythm on either side of his thigh. “That’s… *tender*”

That did it.

He pulled her by the hips, closer than she thought possible. She moaned, this time the pleasure as visceral as it was emotional: “My Prince…”

And he did what he’d set out to do. Break her pretty words with his tongue. He sucked. And swirled. And nibbled delicately. All the while pulsing her hips against him in a song meant for this night. For these two. Sun and Moon.

Since his pants were still on, he didn’t want to assume.

“How wet are you?”

She whimpered, wrapping her arms around his head as he worked his magic on both breasts: “Do you want to check?”

He did.

Oh, he did.

He took one hand and placed it gently at the hem of her panties. And was surprised to find, as he went lower…

“What great gush you have.”

She laughed, and it melted into a much more primal sound as he toyed with the gush against her cl°toris.

She swore to her Goddess again. And sped up her sensual dance on his patient thigh. They became a blur of presence. Witnesses to each other.

And what joy to witness her here. Now. She’d called him Her prince. She was panting now, but she wouldn’t quit. She never quit.  Each pant offered a little more sound. Pushed her a little closer to the cusp she’d been teasing him from earlier.

“How’s it feel?” he teased back. His words were muffled by the work of his mouth against her soft nipples, as hard as they could be.  She moaned in response and tried to say something meaningful that he couldn’t understand. He’d give it to her, though. She’d been so earnest.

“Will you come for me, Princess?” He looked up into her face, caressed by moonlight and shadow. She struck him with awe, but he managed to continue, “Will you come for me for the first time for *this* Yuletide Ball?”

But she was already pulling him closer, whimpering into his hair, his ear, his mouth. He could feel her thighs tightening around him, and the buckling of her cushy hips as she lost control of the song they’d been playing.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured. Caressing her. Gently kissing her forehead. Her cheeks. Behind her ear.

But she didn’t want gentle anymore.

Yea, I said it. I'd like to make p°rn. My pleasure is healing.

When I was about nine years old, I developed a fear of having to carry a pregnancy against my will. Maybe from reading the nativity story over and over. Maybe from the recent ancestral trauma of being a Black femme in the United States. But I'd write stories about it. Unable to understand these big feelings around my body. The protection of it. The "sanctity" of it.

And for me, "sanctity" grew into a practice for self love. Purity as in pure of intent. As in my nervous system is only tangled and tight where it needs to be. And as relaxed as possible everywhere else. As in, no betrayal. No shame. Letting pain lead me to release. Indulging in the very ecstasy of my being.

Because what cosmic fortune led me to having a cl!toris in a year and location where, while it's still a taboo, I am free to enjoy it? I can slow down, and breathe, and feel the soft warmth of my breasts. Just to placate me. Not a man. Or a man's baby.

How fortunate am I?

To hold a pen? A fragile piece of processed earth that allows me to connect with the rest of the planet? How lucky am I to root for my own story? To explore the magic of darkness, of erotica? The art of the human body.

"So you go straight to p°rn?"

No. I go queerly to it. I go humbly to it. I go embodied to it.

And I get to be myself? Again, Jupiter, you're blessing me, smalls.