Imagine your favorite kind of big tree. Perhaps it's smooth barked and rooty, perhaps textured in a particular way surrounded by mossy steppes. Imagine sitting against a tree listening to birdsong, a gorgeous performance accompanied by the sounds of flowing water nearby. A gentle breeze presses against the skin, caressing cheeks, arms, legs, and hair; It's sensual. The deep soothing inhales allow for a deepening of this natural symphony. Complex smells of nearby things dance across the senses, adding new dimensions to the experience.
Amidst this sensory sonata, betwixt the notes of honeyed lilac and creamy vanilla there is a delicate tickle of something new. Hints of novelty bouncing off the crisp leaves around you, like raindrops on moonlit porcelain.
It fades softly, and as spontaneously as it had appeared, leaving you with the ghost of its memory, a faint sensation not unlike the urge to sneeze that will never manifest. What a tease...
Maybe the ghost is a haunting kind, or perhaps you are more impulsive than you realize. Whatever the reason, you feel determined to not allow this enigmatic aroma to escape your grasp. You didn't have to make this choice, yet you are in pursuit. Every slight whiff makes the sensory portrait feel more complete, and it leaves you just a little too soon each time. You keep a souvenir for each inhalation in the form of another ghost of sorts. It adds to a now increasing sensation that you didn't identify right away, a sort of pressure that's simultaneously familiar and strange; An urge as if to sneeze.
You don't recall exactly when this leisurely pursuit evolved into a frenzied one. One may have attempted gazing into the bright and blinding light of the sun in some vain attempt to release you from this spell. This hold that the flower has on you. Are you still chasing the completeness of the sensory palette, or relief from the pressurized discomfort? Is it wiser to have your existential crisis later, or during your ravenous search for the source of this olfactic aria? The beguiling osmic song invites your chorus of screaming neurons and somehow creates a melody from your sobs and sniffles.
A familiar low droning buzz flutters by you, a humble bumblebee. Did it hear you praying for deliverance? Did it notice you and take pity? Is it simply going to attend to its own duties? You follow it hoping, pleading for it to be the same altar as the one you seek. The glint of a petal accompanies an aromatic crescendo. You can feel the divine presence in your soul, reeling you into obeisance. You demonstrate reverence with this prostration, and by the grace of this deity, you find that your nose is closer. Tears streaming down your face, full of complex emotions, seasoned with allergens, weeping with anticipatory relief, you find yourself pining for the coated stamen, pleading with the pistil to allow you the privilege of release. Whispering your supplications as you lie before this flower, like soil where you've allowed your heart to pool creating wet earth begging to be sowed.
What is your entreaty? What words do you, reader, use here?
#ScribblesOfAKat #KatQs #Kink #Erotic #Sensual #FloralDomination #ContemplatingPupation
