By Rosa de le Pussy-Organista [not a real name]
[Editor’s note: The following story is fiction. It is an awful, plagiarizing mixture of romance writers’ submissions to the Purple Prose Contest and platitudes from the New Age Bullshit Generator.]
While Vanguard tentatively began toying with my pebbled mound, he leafed through my billowing folds to unveil the unbreached portal to my sanctuary of sensation. I was already flowing with the honey juices of love, and his nostrils flared at the alluring scent of my arousal.
“You and I are travelers of the astral galaxy,” Vanguard said. “The dreamscape is approaching a tipping point.’
He clasped me against him tightly, and tilted my chin up. Removing my hand from his ear, he generously laved my palm and lowered it between his legs.
He slid his hand between my spread thighs; the sensation of perfumed night air on my private folds distracted me. I felt his fingers explore, moving along my crests and valleys until they discovered the tiny cushion of carnal delight and staked their claim there with a rhythmical dance of celebration. Closing my sapphire orbs, I was prepared to submit to lusts his touch fanned from embers to fierce flames. I spread myself wider, urging him towards a goal I could not imagine.
He watched me squeeze my eyes shut, as I clamped my thighs against his wrist and snapped my hips up, before I froze, all the muscles in my thighs and belly and bottom tense and quivering.
“The quantum soup is calling via meridians,” he said. “Now I will navigate your Vedic biosphere!”