Immani Love

I truly feel like Saturday is a prelude to something. In the past, Saturday has been a sort of "end of the week, get it all out before Sunday morning church" kinda day but lately, Saturday has become like an introduction to the bliss of freedom all wrapped up into a wonderfully tidy 24 hour package. No matter how late your Friday ends, Saturday has it's way of waking you up early, rejuvenated, refreshed, energized, and ready to explore the adventures it has in store for you. My Saturdays have always had a way of surprising me with little anomalies that entice me into creativity, like today. 

Since I have such a high sense of sexuality, the slightest thing will trigger a fantasy. Today that thing was a bag of Mardi Gras beads. Simple, all sizes, colors, lengths, tangled and intertwined. I pictured them hanging long from the neck of that gorgeous woman that I see in my fantasies, her slender, nude, body covered in nothing but colorful, dangling beads. I establish that I want to play with her beads and because she is my fantasy girl she is a willing participant in any games I come up with so my request for her to stand with her arms and legs outstretched at the foot of the four poster bed is silently granted. First I go for the longest strand of blue beads, so long that I slide them against her inner thigh as I slowly move them from around her neck only to wrap it around her left wrist and toss the other end over the top of the wooden post. Then comes the long strand of gold beads for the right wrist and tossed over the other post, followed by the green beads for the left ankle, and finally the pink beads for the right ankle. All that's left are my favorite...the purple and silver still dangling from her neck.

I love how I can feel the anticipation in the air and smell the moisture between her thighs as I play with her beads around her breasts and along her collar bone. My fingertips wrapped around her nipples and the beads applying pressure to watch them harden before my eyes. My tongue can't resist the chance to circle them and compliment their attentive stance but it can't stop there...gliding down her body as if surfing down a tropic wave to the moist bayou south of her belly button, just barely grazing the plump lips of her cavern. I take my time before diving into her...teasing her and savoring the quivering of her now overstimulated body. Finally, mercifully, I release the ends of her colorful bindings to allow her to lay across the bed, still dangling her adornments on the crisp, white sheets. She beckons me towards her and I immediately respond by lifting her long legs onto my shoulders, beads rolling down my back, and letting my tongue taste the fleshy, sweet nectar while my fingers glide inside of her as if directing the flow of her pleasure. Her stomach muscles tensing and her breathing staggered and deep, her fingernails grasp my shoulders and I delve deeper. Her moans and contradicting cries of "don't stop" and "I can't take it" fall on deaf ears as I manipulate her body to maximize my affect on her, turning her over, multiple positions, kissing, licking, sucking, rubbing, grinding, her hands roaming my body finding places to play...colorful beads clanging against each other adding celebratory sound effects.

Grateful for whomever came up with "spring forward" the Saturday morning, rolled slowly into Saturday afternoon which glided gracefully into Saturday evening, and with only short bathroom, beverage, and berries and bagel breaks my Saturday became a measuremnt of time in its own rights. Mardi Gras beads strewn across the doorknob, hanging from the many mirrors of my room, and on the floor are a festive reminder of how Saturdays should be marveled, celebrated, and adored. 

Saturdays are a prelude to something...what will you do with yours?