Holding the edge of an orgasm for two weeks is like holding a sword to your enemies neck and not striking. The cut would be so satisfactory, the energy of the strike would push them through to the other side; but instead I just vibrate next to his body, pulsating on the edge of his sword and let him press his desire next to my cooling flesh. Dare I drink from his Oasis? Scenes of riding him flow through my mind; I want him to rip me open and burn an imprint of his steel into my tongue; the pleasure of tasting the droplets from the tip of his fountain would make me hum into a hummingbird's realm of ecstasy. Burn through me. Cut into my flesh so that I may know myself, I want to scream.
My whole pelvis was tingling with his glow when I awoke. Eventually the build was too much for him; for he didn't take the vow of ritual celibacy. He's free to release the heat or orgasmic potential into a fountain of ambrosia; he strokes his weapon of pleasure with slow and firm strokes; not wanting to burst too soon. Just the feel of the tip of his wand feels like burning silk next to my leg, two sensitive tissues combined make an unbelievable rapture within my soul. But no satisfaction of the cut is coming for me this morning; quite the tantric dakini's challenge. Especially when rolling around in temptation for 8 hours. No but he, beckoned by the drum of his heart beat is going to see the sacred tremor until it's last vibratory out pouring; he squeezes it out with slow control, driving my spine into uncontrollable kriyas, or spontaneous movements of shakti, mimicking his orgasmic release. He's relieved, for now. He can move freely throughout his day without the throbbing passion steering the boat. I on the other hand am charged for ritual tonight; we will sit, pray, dance, and invoke the goddess within our bodies; I will offer mine in surrendered grace in a way that She wishes to use it. Maybe She will be soft on me, and whisper sweet cooling mantras. Or maybe I will burn in the fire, along with all of the collective karmas we no longer need. Oh Mata, Oh Kali, carry me sweetly into the bosom of your love.
