Feast: Erotic Flash Fiction

Tags

Adrea Kore, cunnilingus, Female Ejaculation, Female Sexuality, Flash Fiction, men who enjoy women, Oral Sex

He is intent on making a feast of me with his mouth. Sometimes, yes, penetration is the dessert and this, the main course.

Crouching in front of me, he pushes my legs apart, then hauls me down the bed towards him, placing his hands under my buttocks, running them deliberately from the cheeks to the underside of my thighs. He leans into my flesh with his weight, causing my legs to tumble back towards my shoulders, and my sex to lift off the bed.

He likes to hold me there, hold my gaze, watch me noticing what his eyes are taking in.

I know he can smell how much I want his mouth on me.

First, he gentles me with his lips, his tongue, finding the soft silky place between my outer lips.

He licks and I sigh. I sigh and I open. I open and his tongue darts inward.

His tongue, curious inside me, and I am immediately wetter. He breathes into me. The warmth makes my womb contract, and release a small draught of liquid desire. An aperitif to prepare my lover’s palate.

He licks and I sigh. I sigh and I open … I know he is hungry and thirsty for me. I know he must drink and devour me. His hunger magics me into nectar and ambrosia.

He breaks me apart like a ripe peach, sucking on my flesh as the juices spurt out of me, drenching his face, dripping down onto the cushion beneath me. His tongue feels out and flicks the delicate ridge of the peach-stone in the centre of me … flicks and licks, sucks and delves. Mouths me, swallows me. And oh, I am fruit for his labours.

The man who loved cunt.

I am nothing now, but currents of pleasure, pleasure breathing in and gushing out, breathing in and gushing out. How can I hold such an ocean inside me? And he is drowning willingly. I will have to rescue him soon, surely. Send out a life-boat.

Oh God. The sheets.

He briefly comes up for air, and registers the sodden sheets beneath me. Panting, he moves my body to a drier part of the bed.

Sometimes, we begin in a bed and end in a wading pool.

And he is diving down again. And I want to taste what he is so hungry for, so I take his fingers within my hands and we enter my sweet honeyed place of earthy delights together.

Breathing in, gushing out.

I pull him up, sucking our fingers together as I look at him, all innocence.  Then his mouth is there too where our fingers are… and we are so voraciously, insatiably, hungry…

That it is time – for dessert.

*

© Adrea Kore 2013 (First published on Forthegirls.com – 2013)

This is one of my earlier pieces of erotic fiction, a piece I sometimes perform live at readings, exploring the playful, juicy, messy delights of sex.

The rights have passed back to me, and as I’m updating my fiction on my blog this month, thought I may as well share it. Enjoy!

Night-Sea Journey: Prose-Poem / Flash Fiction

Tags

Adrea Kore, Female Ejaculation, Female Sexuality, Flash Fiction, Mermaids, Prose-Poetry, Wicked Wednesday

Water Serpents II – Gustav Klimt

Inside, I am oceanic-eternal. Like a medieval map of the world, my reality spills over the edges of the known. My contours and deeps are uncharted; it is uncertain where I begin or end.

Here there be Mermaids …

I will sing to you, lover, sing of my mysterious sea-secrets. The endless undulations of me; pleasure filling me, chalice-like, with briny wine for you to sip from. Let my hair caress your hips, your mouth, like filaments of pale seaweed. Let it wrap about you, binding you to me.

Come, set sail upon me. Be my explorer, my cartographer. The stars are in alignment, love. Together, we are the journey.

Part me, as Moses parted the Red Sea, a miracle act, here, too. Your questing flesh, an expanding promise, riding high on my inner tides. I sigh out with pleasure in wet waves of release; contract, back, with the moon’s powerful pull.  Ebbing. Flowing.

Je suis la mer …

Sail me, in your boat of longing, as a brave sailor will. Sometimes, I am the calm of a tranquil harbour, lapping gently at your prow. Other times, I am surging waves, impossible depths, the suck and broil of hungry currents crashing against your sides, salt-sprays high over your star-seeking mast.

And here there be dragons …

I can shipwreck you, lover, leave you gasping for breath, disoriented and drenched on the coastline of my belly.

Touch me, leave your wet finger-prints as memories in the sands of my shores.  Dipping, spiralling, diving deep, you plunder me, asunder me.

Your fingers are learning me. Your fingers learn fast. Your fingers are listening inside me.

Secrets, whisper-dripped desires that fall from the walls of my underwater cave. Filling up the whorls on your finger-tips with the drawn-out pleasure of me.

Ebbing. Flowing.

You carry my secrets on your hands into the world. I imagine you touching your fingers to your lips when you crave the scent of mystery amidst the everyday.

Sail me to the land beneath the evening star; believe not the myth that it is always just out of reach. Drop your anchor down,

 down,

 down.

Perhaps you will not reach the bottom, but float suspended in me forever…

My contours and depths are uncharted. It is uncertain where I begin or end.

I am oceanic-eternal. A mermaid dwells in my briny sea-cave, and she will sing her siren song, whether I wish her to or not.

 

Men have drowned in me.

But you, you have lived to tell your tale. Tales of your night sea-journeyings.

When the stars are in alignment, lover, will you come sail me again?

 

© Adrea Kore, 2016

 

Myths about mermaids fascinate me; their link to feminine sexuality and the unconscious. My piece is part micro-fiction (flash), part prose-poem. I think I’ll be recording this one soon.

I’m delighted to find creative synchronicity this week has led me to Marie Rebelle’s wonderful “Mermaid” theme this week for Wicked Wednesday. Thanks, Leonora for giving me the nudge. Click the button to discover more mermaid explorations …

Sexual Hauntings: Touching Mystery through Writing Erotica

Tags

Adrea Kore, archetypes, author intent, erotic fiction, erotica, Female Ejaculation, Female Sexuality, Luce Irigaray, multiple orgasms, On Writing, Sexual Mysteries, sexual relating, sexuality, Tantra, women writing sex

Away with my lover last weekend, I experienced something sublimely inexplicable, yet familiar, during foreplay. An explosion of silver sparks danced across the inside of my closed eyelids as we kissed deeply. These sparks are always accompanied by intense pleasure, and a feeling of closeness to my partner. Yet they also feel magical, and remind me of the idea in quantum physics (and in the Moby song “Stars”) that we humans are made of the stuff of stars, that we too can shimmer and gleam.

In a recent post on what makes a piece of fiction erotica, I touched on authorial intent, and I want to delve into this from another perspective here. The issue of intent for the writer is perhaps continuously evolving, shifting as one’s writing evolves. Intent is a drive, a strong motivation to write about certain subjects in certain ways, in the hope of certain outcomes. I believe intent is closely linked in with desire, but also our core values as experiencing, exploring beings.

One of my core beliefs is that we are more than just bodies; we are also energy, soul and spirit. So, when we engage in sex, we aren’t merely bodies grinding against one another. We cannot but share and merge our energy. Tantra is a practice and philosophy that reflects my beliefs, and I’ve been exploring it, both practically and theoretically, for almost two decades now. Tantra is a Sanskrit word that means “weaving” and aptly,  it weaves a spiritual philosophy developed over centuries with sexual and meditative practices. I’m drawn to it it also as a framework that acknowledges, supports and accepts the concept of a multi-orgasmic woman. And men, for that matter. Tantra was a world I felt confidently at home in. I was multi-orgasmic before I was Tantric, but Tantric practices such as breathing and visualization, as well as a more precise anatomical knowledge have definitely given me tools to strengthen my ecstatic experiences.

The shadow sides of our sexual psyches also intrigues me, and I see sex as a way of expressing different aspects of ourselves. Classical Tantra doesn’t encompass this side of our sexuality, but archetypal theories do. We can think of these other aspects of ourselves, like Jung did, as archetypes: the Vixen, the Warlock, the Witch, the Warrior, Venus, Pan. Through sex, we can put aside our everyday selves, and delve into other aspects of the psyche; we can allow them to come out and play.

… writing erotica is my own personal creative liminal zone, the point where sex merges into language, language into sex; two of my enduring fascinations.

Additionally, I take delight in the theatrical elements of sex; creating mood and atmosphere, using elements of costume and role play. Ahh, you mean kink, some of you will say, and yes of course many kink practices borrow from theatre. But kink is a loaded word, and one can play with all of these elements (even being tied up) without identifying as ‘kinky’. I did these things for a long, long time before I knew there were such concepts as kink or BDSM. I am inherently theatrical, creative and sensorily curious. I like to think of creative ways to enhance sensation. So these things drove me to dress up, put blindfolds on my partners, ice their nipples, tie them to tables. And to desire similar things done to me.

About five years ago, I began a Tantra teaching course. I didn’t complete it for lots of reasons, some of them, sadly, traumatic ones. But what I also realised is Tantra doesn’t encompass all of who I am sexually, nor how I want to explore sex. Around that time, I’d also written, performed and had my first erotica piece published. Why did I become an erotica writer, and not a sexuality educator?  Although the desire to run workshops on writing sex and exploring fantasy is definitely a future possibility, I can’t fully answer this question at present. Except to say that I need to be creative, and writing erotica is my own personal creative liminal zone, the point where sex merges into language, language into sex; two of my enduring fascinations.

I am (benevolently) haunted by certain intense, ecstatic, mysterious moments and discoveries on the map of my sexual experiences. More intriguingly,  it is those moments and sensations that seem beyond language, or logical explanation (or both) that haunt me; I am pulled back to the page time and time again, to the challenge of translating these most visceral, sometimes ethereal sensations into words and imagery. I write erotica partially in order to record these elements, but also to revel in the mystery.

In writing this list, I’m not trying to validate these moments as logical, nor am I trying or explain them. I’m simply naming them as a list of experiential “touchstones” that keep me connected to the mystery of sexuality, and keep me writing about sex. In fact, part of their personal portent for me, is that I don’t understand some of the experiences I’ve had intellectually. My body understands them. My senses felt their absolute veracity. It’s a searing contradicition, this knowing and not-knowing, and writing erotic fiction gives me a space to  both engage with and contemplate this paradox. They are  not puzzles I need to solve, rather they are mysteries I want to contemplate. Perhaps that’s also why I didn’t take the sexuality educator path.