That One Cyberflower Fan

he definitely would have some sort of slow r&b music playing, or a mix of your music too that would add to the mood. and hes watching you slowly undress and biting his lip. you look so fucking good to him and hes achin.

he would kiss your neck all slow, feeling his body radiate heat and have your eyes rollin back already, dragging his big hands around your body and cupping your undercheek. hes so in love with you and its making him have such nasty thoughts.

and he finally has you on your back and whispers “let papa handle it..” or “relax babydoll.” and even “lemme make you feel good..” especially after a rough day or if he made you feel negative. and hes slowly dragging his tongue up and down on your pretty clit and has your legs on his shoulders now. and his little suckles on your clit are making it worse, he feels your legs shaking and hears your pretty moans.

and after hes done with that he’s dragging his tongue up your plush tummy, to the middle of your chest and hes back to kissing you while kneading your hips. hes grinding his fat dick up against your slit, which causes you to grind back out of pure neediness.

so once hes finally finished sliding inside of your precious pussy, hes going so slow but has his face in your neck while hes telling you how much you mean to him, how hed do anything for you, how hes going to make love to you more than anything. and the eye contact makes you feel the coil in your tummy snap, causing your body to arch in his hands and hes kissing your collarbone and cheek while you come down from your high and whispers “thats my girl..” or “come back to me mama..”

After Sammie arrived in Chicago it took him years to write any new music, and more years to play it. He was afraid of who might hear it and what they'd want. For good reason, of course. His brightly vivid memories gave him nightmares. But, he was good enough that performing the classics took him a long way. Long enough that he found himself sitting alone in his very own bar, empty and new, unnamed. He sat there on its first night with the papers in his hand, papers that said it was his and no one could come in without his invitation.

The bar was beautiful, with warm lights and warm wood. Sammie sat with a guitar and listened to what passed for silence in a big city. It was different from the silence of home, but neither place had a true silence. That was fine by Sammie.

Sitting on his chair, holding his guitar, he closed his eyes and thought about the first woman who'd ever stolen his heart.

He could see her electric smile, the arc of her eyebrows. He could see the gleam of her soft and shiny dress as it ran like a gentle gasp of cold water across her body. He could hear her call him "Preacher Boy", and he could hear the tone of her playful challenge ringing like a bell. He could smell her intoxicating, close, heady scent. Thank God she'd walked that night, it gave him more to remember, more to savor, more salt to lick. He tasted the lips of her mouth, and he tasted her other lips, and he lost himself in the sweaty forest of her short hairs until he found that small, hard place and savored it soft and sweet and full as the drumbeat of her breath hit the wood. He saturated himself with every memory he'd been able to hold onto and felt them strain him to bursting, and then he let it out, raw and jagged, in his throat, on his guitar, and through his stamping feet.

And she came. He had called to her in the only way he knew how, and she came, looking at him soft and wry, and she laughing said "Preacher Boy, it took you long enough."

And that night there was so much music, music only for them. And come daylight, the bar was called Pearline's, as was only right.

As more time passed Sammie played his music. He wrote songs that left room for his mother to laugh and sing, and he wrote songs that left room for his father to find a voice that was his own and tentatively try it out. People danced to songs with Bo and Grace, and on the nights when Delta Slim joined him on the keys or harmonica, Sammie would see Smoke and Annie smiling at him from a far corner, holding each other tight, eyes full of peace and love.