The jewel is in the lotus

High-points from this weekend:

She was a tall woman, perhaps an inch or two shy of six feet, and junoesque. She was bent over at the waist, and she balanced herself by pressing her hands against the wall of mirrors. Her lushness of body and sweetness of spirit were so very inviting, I could not resist. I crawled under her and sat cross-legged with my back against the mirrors. I cradled her breasts in my hands and lifted my face to kiss her, and the man standing behind her raised his arm. The flogging recommenced with a loud thwap. Her breath left her in a rush and she kissed me softly. Another stroke, and another, and in moments we were sucking at each others lips. My fingers pinched her nipples, tweaked them, squeezed and bounced her breasts. She sighed and moaned. It was divine. I wished it would go on forever, but alas, like all good things, must do, it came to an end.

The violet wand sparked over my nipple, making me gasp and twitch. Again he touched the orb to my breast, and an ecstasy of electricity ran through my body. Hands ran over me, two or three others touching me, teasing me. Next, the tinsel flogger and me turned into a conduit, and the hands and flogger sparked whenever they touched my skin, making me grasp and moan and trill and writhe. It was a banquet for my skin.

Parlour games with a twist, the winner on his back in the center of the room, eyes closed and wearing only his briefs, and beaming. Four women touching him, hands running over his body, kissing and pinching and teasing. He was in heaven.