Pour Rosalie

So my last post was a little different than what I normally write in that it crept into my own personal life which is something that normally I would never do, but certain things have shifted my focus recently, so I decided to post something which has absolutely nothing to do with they way I have been writing this blog since its recent ressurection.  But the fact is I began this blog as a way to explore creativity in the literary arts as it still clearly says on the home page, but I have somewhat drifted from that initial and admirable, if not a little pretensious goal.  But I am still writing no matter what the content and that is a good thing but sometimes I want to share something that is entertaining from a purely fictional standpoint or shall we say crazy Yemi standpoint?

Image result for crazy person


With that in mind, I wrote this story.  Well that’s not exactly true.  Remember my last post about Cupid’s underhanded sneak shot in my rear end?  Well it seems that I am having a harder time than I thought resisting his venom so I thought if I wrote about it in my own irreverent way perhaps it would help me get a better grip on things.  Plus I couldn’t resist baiting a certain person who I know is reading this blog….

Her name is Rose, so you do the math…..

Because I know she will…..

Because my name is also Jean-Marc….

And she will no doubt figure out that the story is actually an invitation despite my clever rhetoric…Which is not really that clever…

Actually it’s pretty blatant actually…

I probably should have just talked to her directly…..

I must be a glutton for punishment because it seems I can’t stop coming back for more.


Image result for sp-anking


 Jean-Marc’s Words


Rose walked up the stairs and entered the lobby of Jean-Marc’s building, anxiety so obviously playing across her gorgeous features.  Why had he demanded that she come over now and what did he mean by saying that he really needed to tell her something?  She was having waking nightmares of him confessing to cheating on her or breaking up with her, though the fact was she had no reason to believe such things.  But in a world where good men were not only hard to find but usually too good to be true, Rose was frantic with worry over the creeping idea that something might be wrong in what had so far been a storybook relationship a yearlong in the making.  As she stumbled out of the elevator in a daze and walked to his apartment door she was terrified; for she loved Jean-marc with all her heart.

He opened the door before she had even had a chance to ring the doorbell as if he had somehow sensed her presence lurking outside his door.  He gently took her by the hand and led her to the comfortable sofa the living room, on which the two of them had spent many nights in ecstatic communion.  Jean-Marc had never been a very vocal man so his silence was not unusual. He used to say that words eluded him when he needed them most so he preferred to let his actions speak louder and more definitively than any passionate words could, which in his normal and unfortunately tongue-tied state, he could never evoke anyway.  Jean-Marc was, however a man of actions and because of this he knew just how to show Rose all the things he had never been able to say to her.

He sat down next to her and took her trembling hands in his, kissing her fingertips first, then her palms and finally her knuckles as he looked deeply into her sparkling eyes.  He could tell that she was nervous and wanted to quickly put her at ease.  Seeing her so distraught was unbearable so he cleared his throat and began to speak.  “Rose,” he began haltingly, “you know that I have never been good with words and it is with great difficulty that I express my feelings through speech no matter how much l would like to, but at this stage in our relationship I can no longer excuse myself for not trying harder to communicate with you, you who is always so vocal in expressing your feelings for me, so perfect in your tone and inflection that often it scares me back into silence.  For the last few days I have felt a deep-seated need to share with you the adverbs of my passion for you, the nouns of my adulation and the adjectives of my lust but I have known for quite some time that they would never be enough.  You deserve so much more, you deserve the best so I have chosen not to say any words at all.”  Rose shifted uncomfortably at these words, still unsure of what he was trying to say, but before she could speak he forestalled her by placing a finger on her lips.  “No, beloved I am alright.  We are alright.  But I have always been a man of action, a man who though unable to express myself well through speech, I am a man who can and will express those same feelings through my actions.  Rose, today I want you to hear those three words, so today I will let my actions speak them for me.  Tell me darling do you love me?”  Startled out of her anxiety by the question Rose jumped on it immediately saying, “of course I do honey, how can you even ask me that?”  But Jean-Marc held up his hand once more asking again for her forbearance before continuing.  “But do you trust me?” he asked her while watching her carefully as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Very much so,” Rose replied.

“Then please do me a favor and walk over to the balcony.  In the corner, you’ll see a small coffee table pushed up against the wall.  Tell me what you see on it.”  Rose, still unsure of what he meant, got up and walked over to the table and stood in front of the beautifully carved ebony wood coffee table upon which were several seemingly benign items.

“What do you see on the table?” he repeated.

“There is an exquisite long-stemmed rose in full bloom.  Its gorgeous scent is permeating the whole area.”

“Good.  Now what else?”

“I see what looks like a black silk scarf here.  It’s been folded into a square.”


“Also, there are two ceramic bowls, one white and the other black, both covered with lids.  Do you want me to look inside them?”

“Yes baby, please do.”

Rose took of their lids and looked into each of them before turning back to face Jean-Marc.  “In the white one there are some very ripe and succulent strawberries that seem to be bursting with juices and vitality, they look delicious.  While the black one contains five gold coins.”

“Is there nothing else on the table?”  Jean-Marc asked her, now rising to his feet and walking over to stand in front of Rose.  “Yes,” she replied there are some pinking shears.  Jean-Marc, I don’t understand why are you asking me these questions?  What is this about?”

“It’s about three little words Rose, words that are extremely difficult for me to say.  But I can show you.”

He leaned over the table and plucked the ripest strawberry from the pile and put it under his nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance before placing it on Rose’s lips for her to take a bite.  The juice caressed her plush lips with small crimson pearls which slowly began to drift down to the corners of her mouth, but skillfully Jean-Marc caught them with the tips of his fingers and returned them back to her mouth for her questing tongue to greedily snatch.  He allowed her another small bite before leaning down to kiss her as he dropped the strawberry back onto the others, leaving her dizzy and breathless with the power of his passion as he broke the kiss and slowly walked around her, his hands sliding around her waist until he finally stopped behind her.  Pressing his lips into the hollow between her neck and her shoulder and lightly licking up to her ear which he nipped lightly he sent shivers of delight throughout her body even as he leaned down and picked up the five coins from the black bowl while still never letting his other hand leave her curvaceous waist.  He moved around until he once again stood in front of her, his left hand on the downslope of her hip lightly caressing it as he leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear.  “Hold out your hands Rose.  Hold them palm up and side by side.”

She obeyed him quickly, already aroused by both his strange intensity and his light caresses and curious now as to where he was going with this.  And as she obeyed he carefully placed one golden coin on each of the fingertips of her right hand and then gently placed her open left hand over the top of them until her hands were pressed together keeping the coins tightly held between her palms and her fingers.  He reached over again to the table, this time pulling up the silk scarf and shaking it loose until it shimmered and undulated like a deadly snake, at his side.  He looked at Rose silently for a moment before again whispering softly into her ear.

“Raise your palms into the yoga pose the Warrior.  Don’t drop the coins.”

She deftly moved into the asana, her palms together over her head, her front leg slightly bent forward while her back leg was stretched out straight behind her, and as she did Jean-Marc reached behind her and carefully tied the scarf around her face, cutting off her sight.  His lips brushed against her armpits sending paroxysms of pleasure down her side and already she was at risk of dropping the coins.  “No matter what I do to you,“ he whispered, “don’t drop those coins because if you do that then my words, those three little words I am trying to show you will never be said.”  And having said that Jean-Marc picked up the pinking shears and began to cut off Rose’s clothing.

She almost dropped the coins again at the sheer eroticism of his actions; she felt the material of her skirt give way easily as he slowly cut through them and when she felt the cold metal slide through the elastic of her panties the psychological and physical vulnerability of being naked below the waist and blindfolded, having been shorn of her clothes like a yearling sheep, it caused her to moan with pleasure even as he continued to cut through her blouse and then finally her bra.  She stood there naked, sweaty, musky and magnificent in the Warrior pose still triumphantly holding the coins just as she felt the next wave of desire light up her as his fingers tips began to explore the outlines of her shoulder blades.

Jean-marc grabbed the half=-eaten strawberry with his other hand and traced a downward line of sweet juice across her back and spine quickly following its path with a skillful tongue and eager lips causing Rose to tremble with pleasure.  Remember what I said Rose,” he whispered as he continued to caress her with one hand across her breasts now and the other still drawing lines of juice across her back with the strawberry, “everything stops if you drop the coins.”

He put the strawberry to her lips for her to devour, which she did gladly, the tart sweetness a welcome a welcome distraction as Jean-Marc now picked up the flower and began to trace concentric circles around her nipples, her navel and just out of reach of her hot center, its petals lapping up her sticky sweat and mingling her scent with that of the rose before bringing it up to her nose for her to inhale.  His clever tongue had made its way down to the cleft of her backside and even now was descending towards her other place before maddeningly returning quickly to her neck, shoulders and ears without so much as touching her eager sphincter.

Her breathing was coming fast now and still growing faster in a manic rhythm as the tempo of his explorations with the rose, his tongue and his hand drove her insane with the pleasure of his skillful manipulation of her every sense, so close to where she wanted them to be yet never quite touching her where she really wanted them to be, forever just out of reach.  She wanted to drop the coins, grab his hands and head and push him into herself but she couldn’t; he was speaking to her now like he had never spoken to her before and she would let him talk for as long as he wanted to.  As his caresses began to resonate directly within her she understood now what he had not been able to say before and when he suddenly pushed the open rose into her, as reading her need, parting the dewy petals of her own flower, she couldn’t hold herself back any longer and she erupted in not one or even two but three consecutive orgasms which rocked her from head to toe, dropping her to her knees and pulsing deep inside her as her legs gave way and she sprawled on the floor panting, crying and laughing with the musical tinkle of the coins as they fell all around her.  Jean-Marc dropped to his knees beside her, lifting her up and pulling her to his chest, holding her tight and when the waves of pleasure had finally subsided she looked up at him and kissed him deeply then quickly picked up the five gold coins now lying around her and pushed them firmly into his hands.

“I heard you loud and clear you wonderful, amazing man.  Now stand up,” she commanded him while picking up the discarded silk scarf and draping it around his neck.  “I believe I owe you a response.  And with those words she tied the blindfold around Jean-Marc’s eyes and began to let her actions speak those three little words.


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