August MacGregor

Celebrating Sensuality. Intended for mature audiences, 18 and over


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Prompt Poems: Stream, Underwater, Turquoise Water

Thrilled
with the chill,
the mountain
stream

rushes,
alive
under
a thin sheet
of ice

*****

The sound
& feeling
& life
underwater
was where
she kept returning,
scuba diving
to the paradisal
coral reef

*****

Her fantasies of
turquoise water
and
warm sand
drinks with limes
were most
vivid
on cold
days like this.

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Translucent

She walks from the bed to the window that’s glowing with morning light.

He hopes she realizes how her white, translucent nightgown wonderfully matches the curtain hanging in front of the window, that is also covered by slats blocking out most of the light.

But even if she doesn’t realize this, it’s still a beautiful sight for him. Her nightgown ending at her mid-thigh, her ass can be seen through the delicate fabric. The vertical line of her ass contrasting with the horizontal lines of the window slats.

The morning light radiates between those slats, and the curtain softens it. Same with her nightgown, softening her body.

Layers upon layers, and their soft appearance is misleading. For these coverings can be stronger than imagined, and they can take a long while to lift, to get at what lies underneath.

Their vacation has been a good way for unveiling. Peeling away layer upon layer of defenses. Routines, getting into ruts, are too easily established and not questioned enough. Until disturbed by a force knocking them to the side.

She turns the rod at the side of the window, and the slats turn, open, the spaces between them widen, allowing more morning light to rush through after it was impatiently waiting for that to happen.

She looks out of one of those spaces to the world beyond, the palm trees and brightly colored tropical flowers of the resort’s grounds.

Watching her, he commits this image to his memory. Along with the image of her walking toward the window. Now the curve of her breast is suggested through that translucent nightgown as she turns a little to the side. Just one of the many curves that he loves.

These images he commits to memory, for he wants to remember them after this vacation is over. This is not their everyday life, but a force to question it. And this force — with its beautiful images — must be remembered, for its effect can still work later on.

End


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The Power of Rome (Part 2)

[This is erotic fiction and is meant for mature readers only.
The beginning of the story is here.]

Once she lies on the bed that’s smaller than they would’ve liked but had figured that’s what you get in a mid-range hotel in Rome, he is upon her. He enters her. He’s disappointed in not coming up with a better plan to demonstrate his power, of showing off what a Caesar could do. But that disappointment is mixed with the pleasure of being inside of her, of moving inside the wonderful sensations of her pussy. She’s wet, and he figures that the undressing was good foreplay for her. It was certainly exciting for him. Or it could be that foreplay for her started with their romantic dinner, and maybe she had imagined having sex with him. Maybe she had imagined the soft, loving sex that they’d had last night.

Unfortunately, he’s not going to last very long, and this is another disappointment for him. But it also inspires an idea. Something to do beyond missionary, which feels like a let-down for him. A let-down in the possibilities of what he could have done if he were Caesar and had access to more materials for erotic fun, or at least a better imagination of what do to with the materials that were available.

He pulls out of her, straddles her belly, and says down at her, “Finish me off.”

Gianna’s eyes question like before as she registers this change in activity, but just for a moment, then she lifts up her torso, and he enjoys that her first thought is to take him again in her mouth.

“No,” Duncan says. “With your hands.”

Her head and shoulders drop back down to the bed, and her hand grasps his cock, jerking it. He can tell that she’s disappointed, that this started off with potential, and now it’s over and done with too quickly, and it’s centered more on his pleasure. Still, though, there’s a glint in her eyes like the glint on water cascading in a fountain in the middle of a piazza, that they’d seen earlier this day. A glint that says she may be enjoying this. Soon, his come spurts on her breasts, something that he’s done a few times before to her, after asking for it and she accepted, staring intently at the action and looking quite pleased and proud afterward that she had inspired this kind of pleasure for him. This time, she doesn’t look as pleased as those other times. She’s also disappointed, he figures.

After his final drip of come drops onto her belly, he lifts off of her and says, “Come on, we’re going to shower.”

“Definitely need scrubbing down,” she says.

In the shower, he does the job of cleaning her, rubbing the liquid body soap onto her breasts for longer than he really needs to. She clearly enjoys the attention and adoration, looking down at his worshipful hands and the cloud of soap suds. Once her breasts and belly are clean, his hands move to the other parts of her that he adores. Her shoulders, back, ass, legs, and arms. As he rubs soap onto each part, he delights in feeling the smoothness and warmth of her skin. A flash in his mind of seeing this beautiful woman twirling about the sun-bathed piazza earlier in the day. There is no way he would take a bevy of women. This one works her wonders over him, in many ways that makes him smile or takes his breath away.

After he finally finishes cleaning Gianna, she kisses him and asks, “Did you get what you wanted, Caesar?”

“Not quite.”

Duncan turns her around, so that she’s facing away from him and the shower head that pulses water down on their backs. He embraces her from behind, his hands again on her breasts, celebrating their lovely curves and firm nipples. One of his hands slides down, down her belly, gliding with the ease of the slick, wet skin. With his hands loving her like this—one on her breasts and one on her pussy—she soon gasps in an orgasm, and he loves not only the sound of it, but how she feels trembling against him. They stay like that for a while, his hands cupping her beautifully humming parts, while the shower’s water falls down on his head and back.

“It reminded me of the Trevi fountain,” Gianna says as they dry themselves with thick towels after the shower. “It was like we were back there at the fountain, hearing the water rush and seeing the statues and feeling the warmth of each other. Thank you. That was gorgeous.”

They kiss, deeply and appreciative, while they are still naked in the bathroom. They glow like the buildings and statues they’d seen that day that were covered in sunlight like a sheer yellow sheet.

Afterward, Duncan gently holds onto her hand and says, “Come on,” and leads her out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom, and says, “Get on the bed, on all fours.”

Her expression tells him that she likes this idea, and he wonders if she likes this better than his plans before, which had been more about him. She’s always enjoyed the depth and intensity that doggy-style allows. But it’s not time for doggy-style just yet. Once she climbs on the smallish bed and gets on all fours and looks back at him, Duncan gets behind her. His face presses against her pussy, rather than him driving his cock into her right away. His cock is hard again. But it will have to wait to get what it wants.

Gianna gasps as his tongue first touches her tender, secret flesh that’s warm and wet from both the shower and her orgasm. Her gasp turns to moans as he keeps licking her. His tongue is like the sun bathing her in the piazza, a warming and luscious feeling on her skin. But this time, she’s motionless, and it’s his tongue that’s twirling instead of her. Dancing in the joy of being alive in this very moment. While his tongue dances, his fingers caress the backs of her thighs and her firm ass. His tongue explores all around her, exposed like this, an opening and a vulnerability that shows she is immensely comfortable with him seeing her like this, licking her like this, pleasing her like this.

Pleased, yes, and this pleasure rolls from her mouth in bubbling, effervescent waves of sound. They build in strength and impatience, wanting more and more to rush forth, to burst with magnificent energy rather than slide like a stream slipping through the forest. And they do, reaching a crescendo of bliss as he grips her ass cheeks in his excited, clutching hands, and she again trembles in an orgasm, trembling like she did against him in the shower. This one, though, sounds louder, more powerful, a higher peak.

When her pleasure slides down from the peak and is gently panting, Duncan gets up on his knees and pushes his cock into her. She’s much wetter than before, when he had entered her when she was on her back. He marvels on how easily he slides within her, and how magnificent this feels. Gianna lets out a little gasp with each of his steady thrusts into her, then letting her catch a bit of breath as he pulls backward. Again, he clutches her ass cheeks, as he had done while licking her. As her mounting moans had built in strength, so does his thrusting. He thinks back to the many statues they’d seen earlier, of their taut muscles frozen in stone. In particular, he thinks of Oceanus in the center of the statues in the Trevi fountain, the statue standing tall and proud and mighty. Looking down at the other statues, of his helpers holding tight onto the bucking horses of the sea. But Duncan is hardly frozen now, and he’s the one who’s bucking. Bucking hard and powerful, looking down at the woman he loves, as her mouth releases a burst of exhalation and deep pleasure with each of his strong heaves into her. She’s holding strong, too, her arms like columns to hold herself up. Her upper back and shoulders are tensed muscles, which are extremely sexy to him. He adores her breasts, but he also admires her back and shoulders, like he had enjoyed her bare shoulders all day, as they were only covered by the thin straps of her Mediterranean blue top. When Duncan comes, it’s a bigger orgasm than his first one, back when he had straddled her loins and her hand had pumped his cock. He pushes as far into her as he can and stops, frozen, while the ecstasy surges through him and out through his cock.

He remains there, deep inside her, for a long time. Their sounds of panting soften, dwindle. His cock, once strong, also softens. Finally, he pulls out and collapses on the bed next to her. Gianna cleans up quickly in the bathroom, then returns to the bed, laying her head on his chest. The heat of their bodies melds into each other. Laying there, Duncan thinks that there is no way Caesar would’ve felt better than this. Sure, he would’ve had many beautiful women to serve his wants. But he could not have reached a glorious blend of pleasure and love and trust and comfort that Duncan feels now. For that takes one woman, not a crowd, and that woman has to be a special woman who touches your soul.

End


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The Power of Rome (Part 1)

[This is erotic fiction and is meant for mature readers only.]

As Duncan watches Gianna twirling about the piazza, he thinks that he’d rather have just her than be a Caesar back in ancient Rome and have the power to bed a bevy of beauties.

There are two competing visions.

The real one: Gianna twirling with her arms outstretched, her face lifted upward, as she loves the sun drenching her with its light and warmth. Her long, loose, white peasant skirt swishing about her ankles. Her face a complete delight. Her dark hair clasped at the back of her head, and coursing down to her shoulders, which are bare except for the two straps of her Mediterranean blue top.

The imaginary one: Duncan, standing tall and powerful, his toga draped down to his sandaled feet, looking on as the line of women are led before him. These are women brought in from all over the Empire. All have been collected for his pleasure. He can choose one or two or however many to bring back to his chambers and lounge in the hot bath of their exotic skin, their luscious woman-ness, their mission to focus on his bliss.

No contest here. Duncan chooses the real vision.

His choice is confirmed as the day unfurls before them. The ease of Gianna clasping his hand in hers as they walk toward the Pantheon. How, as they stand and gaze upon the statues of the Trevi fountain, she rests her head on his shoulder. She eases against him, and he replies by resting his hand on her ass. A light touch, not an taunting firm squeeze. How her ass reminds him of the statues in the fountain, it feels nice and firm under the fabric of her skirt. Duncan imagines that the central statue in the fountain, of bearded and muscular Oceanus, looks at them and approves.

During dinner, they flank a small round table at a sidewalk restaurant, sitting among other couples soaking in the romance. Gianna’s eyes dance in joy as they take in him and the lovely scene around them. The way her lips purse as they touch the wine glass, and then the red wine tilting in the glass and sliding down to meet her lips. Her eyes, her lips, all happy.

Then, as they enter their hotel room, Duncan tells her about his choice of having her over him being a powerful Caesar who could have his choice, night after night, of a line of beautiful women.

“Oh?” she says. “Are you sure?” Her expression looks like she’s ready to play.

“Completely sure,” Duncan answers.

“Aren’t you worried of getting bored of just me?”

“I haven’t yet,” Duncan answers.

“Wouldn’t you want that power, though? To do what you wanted to me?”

“I already have that. I’ve already done it.”

Her eyebrow raises. A question. Like a hand raised, paused, not evident if it is about to spank or caress. His hand has done both of those things to her.

Gianna says nothing. No arguing back at him. No acquiescence either. Just that questioning raised eyebrow. Questioning to see what he is going to do next. Duncan looks left then right at the hotel room, searching for ideas, but nothing jumps out. No ropes or clamps or blindfolds. This isn’t something they usually do, and he feels at a loss for inspiration.

So goes with the only thing that comes to his mind and says, “Take my clothes off.”

Her other eyebrow doesn’t raise in surprise. Her lifted eyebrow lowers. Her face does not offer any anger or enjoyment over his order. But she does comply. Patiently, she complies. Her hands don’t rush in undoing the buttons on his shirt. Nor in tugging off his sleeves. In unbuckling his belt. Untying his shoes. Pulling them off as he raises his leg. In tugging off his pants and boxer shorts.

She takes his cock in her mouth, sucks on it for a few seconds, then lets it go. “Is that what you wanted, Caesar?”

Duncan enjoys this, that she’s playing along. “Yes. Now take your clothes off.”

Gianna removes her clothes slowly, deliberately, and does not dance as she does so. This is no bump n’ grind. It doesn’t need to be one to turn on Duncan even more. His excitement builds as more of her flesh is revealed, of her lithe firmness that her tank top had suggested, and her loose peasant skirt had offered nothing about. He almost tells her to pause when she just has her underwear on, as she looks incredibly elegant and gorgeous with the lacy underwear that’s the barest of blue. But he doesn’t stop her and lets her move on, to become fully nude.

“Lie down,” he orders.

to be continued…


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Wednesday Vacay

To help you get over hump day, here’s a short virtual vacation to a few beaches. All pics are from Flickr, and shared through the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License. Click on each photo to jump to the photographer’s Flickr page. I hope these help you deal with Wednesday!

Brohard Beach, Florida by Don Miller To Go

Brohard Beach, Florida by Don Miller To Go

Barbados Beach, by Berit Watkin

Barbados Beach, by Berit Watkin

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia beach, by FullofTravel

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia beach, by FullofTravel


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Romance in Paris

No need for an age advisory on this story—no explicit descriptions of sex. It’s a little different than my usual erotic fiction, but I wanted to try a different take. This piece of fiction is about a married couple taking a vacation in Paris.


* * * * *

Romance in Paris

“I don’t really think it matters,” Carla said. “The effect’s the same, so why question it?”

“Curiosity,” Glenn replied. “Don’t you wonder if we feel romantic in Paris because we’re expected to? I mean, it’s got this reputation attached to it that it’s the most romantic place on Earth, so when you get off the plane, you’re automatically in that mind set. And when you walk on the streets, it’s like you’re then fulfilling the reputation because you think you’re supposed to feel that way.”

“Seriously?” she asked and took a sip of the coffee that smelled heavenly but didn’t taste that way. “You’re over-thinking it.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I’m … I’m merely questioning the feeling. I’m curious if Paris should live up to the reputation. That’s all. Isn’t that a fair thing to do?”

“But this is only our second day, and—”

Her sentence ended abruptly as he tore off a third of his croissant, causing an eruption of tiny tan flakes to spray across the small cafe table, with many of the flakes landing on Carla’s plate that carried another croissant.

At first, she frowned. But that frown was short-lived, while she stared down at the flake-spotted table and a thought occurred to her. And that thoughtful expression was also short-lived, as her face clearly showed her enjoyment over the notion in her head.

She looked up at him, saying, “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?” he asked while chewing on the croissant.

“That you won’t over-analyze all week.”

“I don’t see what the harm is in some critical thinking.”

Carla rested both of her hands on his hand and clasped it tenderly. “Because you’re not giving into the romance. You’re not giving into Paris.”

“You mean I’m not giving into—”

She squeezed his hand a little harder. “Hold on. I’m not finished. I’m saying is that if you think about it too hard, you’re missing out. You’re missing out on all the reasons why Paris has the reputation in the first place. The beauty of the city. The gorgeous old architecture everywhere you look. The history. The food. Come on, you can’t deny that dinner last night was incredible.”

“Of course, I said so last night.”

“But it’s not just that. It’s the cheese. The wine. The chocolates. Oh my God, that chocolate shop yesterday.” Her lips spread into a smile as she remembered the shop. “You miss out on the spirit of the place when all you do is think about it.”

His expression had softened as he let her words simmer in his mind. “Well, I do like that idea.”

“Of course you do. Just like you liked how your croissant burst all over the place. That right there is what I’m talking about. You could get upset and see that as a mess. Or … you could see that as a burst of sensuality. A burst of fresh, wonderful food.” One of her eyebrows raised. “A burst of pleasure.”

A smile teased at half of his mouth. “I certainly didn’t over-analyze last night, did I?”

“Hardly. Not over dinner, nor at the hotel. That’s what I’m hoping for this week. Not more of this morning-after analysis.”

He nodded once, emphatically. “Deal. I’ll turn off my brain and give into the place.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to turn off your brain. I need that sexy brain of yours fully on. Because if Paris doesn’t turn on your brain, what will?”

“Philosophy.”

“I meant turn on like sexually.”

“Oh. Then you’ve got me there.”

“And if you have any doubts, remember that croissant. Remember our wine last night. Remember the lingerie I wore last night.”

His expression turned dreamy. “That was very nice. Very, very nice.”

“I’ll be buying more of that. Because Paris has gorgeous lingerie ripe for the picking. And that’s yet another tip for it living up to its reputation.”

His eyes sparkled, and he ate the croissant, this time not bothering to rip off a part with his fingers, but biting off a piece with his teeth, and enjoying the burst of flakes that sprayed onto the table.

End