What if I Stayed?

I saw the threef of us together way before it manifested. It was a building recurringg scene in my head. When I finally forgot about it,
I was sitting in the middle of it. What if I delayed my stay? The possibilities were crystal clear to me. The vision was too clear in my mind for me not to run away. We could’ve gotten comfortable on the bed and went way deep in conversation, all touching in some way until sleep found us. I ask too many questions; and had I stayed it would count as blasphemy for me not to manipulate destiny and give life to fantasy. My eyes danced from him to her and back to him again. My ears are close to auditory orgasm ” you’re so beautiful girl a blind man could love you,” I’m sitting calmly with my head in cannibus clouds, surrounded by art. My body is pulsing. My body, not my heart. I notice he has removed his shirt. Her and I glance at him and then each other, we smirk and roll our eyes but we don’t utter a word. He is admiring the art and asking questions about an artist. I am battling with myself. There always has to be a director, the one taking responsibility for the success of the scene. My subconscious is calmly telling me that role is for me. He is her muse, but they both belong to me. I look from her to him. They are beautiful with smooth dark skin, we three could be a gourmet chocolate caramel cake; caramel me spread generously in layers between the rich chocolate of them. My muse and agent of fortune. What if I had presented a question or better yet a command offered in the tone of a request?
“I would love to see you paint him gold, it would be so beautiful to watch you in your black choker and dress cover him in gold.”
“Thats cool, but while she is painting me what will you do?” He asked calmly
“Whatever you tell me.” I replied
She is already gathering her materials. She has removed her headwrap, glasses and shoes. She opened the window slightly to allow the cool breeze to bless us and balance the energy from the growing heat.
“Take off the rest of your clothes. This stuff is a mess.” She said to him in the middle of her preparation.
“That is not the way you ask me to disrobe.” He said with partial sarcasm and sincerity.
“King Corey, I worship you, allow me to see your flesh.”
When the sentence left my mouth I made sure not to blink or stutter and look him directly in the eyes. He doesn’t hesitate and matches my gaze as he removes his pants and tosses them to the side. She has begun covering his dark, satiny skin in gold. I can tell that the light strokes of gold, coconut oil from the soft bristles of the brush are calming his spirit while lighting fire to his sensuality. She is focused on her task, her face looks beautiful while she is concentrating deeply on her muse. I am bringing my masterpiece to reality. He breaks my moment of thoughtfulness.
“Help her. Help us.”
I walk over to them and she attempts to hand me a brush; I shake my head no. Instead I coat my fingertips in gold. She stops looking at him to turn her head to me but she never removes the brush from his skin.
“You’re beautiful.” I said to her as my fingertips outline her collarbone, cleavage and décolletage in gold. He is softly singing along to our soundtrack “it ain’t about your body it’s about your being. I ain’t rolling up but I’m on a high…” Her canvas is now his torso, she alternates between the brush and her hands to fully guild the definition of each of his abdominal muscles. I move behind him and trace gold up and down his spine. His spine gifted me a poem
“Black man so dark but still so full of light” I whispered in his right ear while looking in her eyes.
“Royalty is his soul, beautiful black man immortalized dripping in gold.” She continued
“Black man so dark so full of light. Your wish is my command. I am. Concubine, healer, poetry, art and life” I said back to her.
I move to face him. He has reached up to coat both of his hands in gold.
“Why am I the only bare canvas? Neither of you need your dresses.” He advised.
We complied and removed our dresses.
“Is it the coconut oil or is your skin really this soft?” He asked without expectation of an answer as he firmly massaged gold into the flesh on the back of my thighs and buttocks.
“Would you be uncomfortable if I kissed you?” She asked me with a whimsical look about her face.
“Fuck your comfort zone. Outline her lips in gold kiss her, then kiss me.” He interjected before I could respond.
“Your lips are perfectly symmetrical.” She said aloud as she took her gold coated finger tips and applied the coconut oil to my mouth as if it were lipstick. He is simultaneously rubbing gold unto both of our backsides while we stand opposite each other on each side of him. I didn’t give her the chance to kiss me. My hope is that they both are in tune enough to follow my lead. I place my right hand on her left cheek to draw her face near to mine. When she is close and our lips are touching instead of kissing her I exhale. She inhales and we take turns and repeat the transfer of curiosity, creativity, lust, love and energy. He has taken the paint brush from her hand, he is watching the magic he made and painting both of our flesh interchangeably. I transition our flow of energy into the kiss he subconsciously asked for and the one that she needs. My tongue explored her mouth attempting to steal some of her genius for myself and she lets me, my kiss tapped her soul. My lips will leave hers with traces of poetry. I separate from her and set my gaze on him.
“I am going to show you from the outside what I just did to you. You will do the same to him and then he will give that same gift to me.” I said while searching her eyes to insure her understanding. I hold my hands out with my palms facing up and I look at him. He doesn’t say a word as he gently runs the bristles of the paint brush over my palms until both of my hands are completely coated. Our silent call and response is fluid, we allow energy to do the talking. I feel her palms grazing my back and her lips gently placing kisses on my neck and shoulders. He and I glance down at his nakedness.
“What is a King without a golden staff?” I asked rhetorically. With my right hand I rub my palm over the head of his phallus as if conjuring a spell from a crystal ball. With alternating strokes my hands covered his manhood in gold and pressed my lips to his, I inhaled. The longer I inhaled his air of inspiration the more I tingled from her soft kisses, the more he hardened from the liquidity of my touch. His hands are going between circling her waist and rubbing her thighs. Three became one. He becomes impatient with my abduction of his breath but lost in the feeling of his hands moving up and down her inner thigh and the feeling of his Africa pressed into the golden, softness of my breasts. He reminds me that though I may be the director, he owns the testosterone in the room. He pulls my hair with just enough aggression to turn me on and penetrates my mouth with his tongue. I’m not ready to be submissive or hand over control. I counter his kiss by sucking his tongue to the same rhythm that my hand is sliding up and down his golden shaft. He releases his grip on my hair to place his hand in the middle of her softness, he uses his thumb to expose her hidden treasure and to make it match the rest of our gold. I keep him in my hand but move my mouth to speak.
“Show me how you make love to your muse. I will show you both how I fuck mine.” I said to her…

What if I had stayed and we painted each other gold and wrote a poem with our bodies and gave each other energy with our mouths? I didn’t get to see how she makes love to her muse, but they now know how I fuck mine. ✨✨✨

#SensualSaturday

By:Onica Donaya