February 20th Weekly Challenge Fantasies

[Tehya]

I thought this week the challenge might be something we all have in common, Fantasies.

They can be grayed out fantasies not spoken about, or fantasies of your character or mun, or simply art or stories of the genre Fantasy. Whatever they are have fun displaying your creative take in art, poems, or stories here.

[Saybera]

Glistening bodies entwined
in an ageless erotic dance,
seeking pleasures from each other,
seeking wonder and romance,
She touches his face with tenderness,
he draws her body near
Aching, needing hunger,
will make their destiny clear
Their lips meet in soft kisses,
their tongues begin passion's war,
forgotten now, the outside world
all is here, behind this door
he strokes her body tenderly
she arches up for his caress
he finds her silken portal
and her womanly wetness
she moans in fiery desire
and pulls his hand away,
wishing to end this exquisite torture
and get on with passion's play
She straddles his waiting body
eases him into her feminine hollow
she leads him on a rhythmic dance,
his trusting hips must follow
she rides him faster, even then,
to hear his wondrous sighs,
she shows him all the delights,
she has between her womanly thighs.
They stare into each other's eyes
and gasp as ecstasy unreels,
and tangles them in a lover's knot
that every answer reveals.
Sated, they lie side by side,
spent, but hungering still
She touches him where their passion came
and tastes their lover's spill
their mouths meet in passionate need,
hungry animals once more.
This time he rises above her,
her body to explore
their ballet begins again
as he thrusts his manhood in
vowing not to end the dance
unless her cries he'll win
like beasts of old they become,
riding with desire,
only resting their throbbing bodies
when sated by their fire.

[Ehlanna]

And back to pictures ...

[Stormbringer]

Not a new one but one of my favorite fantasy pictures.

My fantasy or the fantasy genre? shrugs Take your pick.

[L`aquera]

Its MY fantasy to fly.. wouldn't that be nice? I'd hate to be pulled over mid-air however

[Eraelabryn]

She could hear it, the sound of him downstairs. Better yet to hear it nestled so warm, so safe in those sheets scented by him. Low thing, the moan that slipped from her lips, as sore thighs moved within the confines of the silken wrappings, sheets that soothed aching muscles, bruised skin where His hands had marked so sweetly only the night before. Near kittenish, she turned her head, let eyes close and just listened, wrapped up in sensations that proved the dawn had awakened to find her here. Sated and purring, bruised and worn. Cheek nuzzled pillow before she found the presence to move, to let feet find the wood of floor, and then to pull her body upwards, each motion, however slight awakening soreness to a brighter light, a bolder claim. Blush found itself to cheeks, as she wrapped silk sheet around her, like blossuming flower, and with that she crept down the line of stairs, softer then a whisper's kiss to lover's ear.

Down she went, and with that, her conviction grew. Amazement as she found herself stunned to silence, the perfection she had believed within him, flaws and all only brought about to a higher purpose, a more stunning calling. There he was, bare as the day he was born into the world, the lines of his back, oh how the muscles moved and shifted, how the buttocks showed the very power of the form.

Stunned, her face rested to doorframe, her heart stopped within the very chest, growing so large it near pained her, so full of love, and admiration. White and hot, the frothy liquid spewed up His forearms, the wickedness of catching him in such an act! Calloused fingers to often embracing sword, found themselves stroking over milky smooth shimmering surface, rolling over the eyerim of it, so well it was known to him. Polishing the very tip, rubbing around and around it, pulling fingers in close circle up and down. Could she believe it? to bear witness, to watch, her lips parting, her thighs growing wet with her own desire, her deepest aches, ones she dared only to dream about seeming fufillled.

Gasping, oh she gasped, nipples so budded they near poked from the silk that bound them to breasts, jiggling globes of flesh that with each rise of breath within screamed "I love him. I want him. He amazes me.." Trying still to attempt to quiet it, as she watched like vouyer to some miracle being created, being crafted. Watched how his hands worked it like the Master He was, no, like the God he was, aware of each touch, claiming the very thing within hands like it was clay, and he was the one who would form it to substance worthy of use.

She heard the liquid, the sloshing heat that filled the room it seemed, even if there was no way it "could." The scent of it rising upwards, filling her nostrils, filling her mouth, claiming her little sex deep within, as if the scent itself bore substance, could move flesh. To watch, how eyes consumed her darkest need fufilled by Him.

He turned. Those eyes wide with shock, shame at being caught, but then that slow smile that made love feed itself, renew itself, as he lifted up that thick soapy decanter. White suds from the soap ran down powerful arms, slipped to kiss the elbows, sloshing had made stomach wet and with that voice came from him, rumbled from the lines of those lips.

"What the hell is wrong with you,never seen a man do the dishes? Pass me those plates there...and after that, this floor really needs swept..where's the broom?"

[Artan]

My fantasy... My fantasy...
What such a thing could prove so dear to me?
For what could I desire? What could I admire? There is but one thing, a lass to see.
But she is not just any lass, no she is a speciality, an abnormality, a rare and costly thing.
She is my dear Jennifer, a teacher, and what I would give for her to see, or hear her sing.
Met long ago in a game such as this, neither of us knowing that together we would find bliss.
So it came to us as a surprise, to find a relationship based on nothing more than text like this,
Could make us both so very eager, to share a song, a dance, a kiss,
So I give you my fantasy, this poem and my wish.
To see my love,
My rare sweet dove,
My Jennifer.


A poem done in five or so minutes, guess you can figure out the rest

[Tehya]

The busy cars rushed by and the traffic was something one got used to living in the city. Every Thursday Samantha met an older woman Mary at the coffee shop. They both were authors and appreciated the time to chat and had the same circle of friends. This Thursday was warm enough for them to sit outside, and they chatted about Mary’s past. The interesting drive that made Mary the author and producer she was to this day came from the era of her generation. She still had long hair parted in the middle, sprinkled with white and eyes that were lined with feather like wrinkles when she squinted in the sun.

They met there every Thursday, sort of a get away from the indoors that kept them locked away during the week where they were writing. Mary was older than Samantha by twenty years and she began writing about her travels in her youth. To this day she still wore sparkling hippy beads, tied died fabrics and natural cottons that wrinkled with every movement.

Samantha was so interested in how an entire generation managed to gather together for a cause, and not become malicious to each other, but fought for a united change. It was hard to imagine people in masses picketing the government to get things straightened out, after all her generation only watched the news and shrugged going back to their lives bitching about the way things ought to be rather than making it happen. Instead of sharing they became quite obsessed on who had more, and the prestige of their cars, and homes.

Samantha had one friend around her age that was in the same circle of friends and was always a bitch to her, and she couldn’t understand why, it added more to that wonder of how Mary’s generation survived. Parties and gatherings at Art shows always brought Terry into the social scene. She was beautiful in her own way, had most anything one would want, a happy marriage, comfort of never having to multi-task jobs to survive, and yet she took a dislike to Samantha. Unless she could zing her with sarcasm or just plain ignore her, they couldn’t coincide in the same circle.

On that warm summer day outside at the coffee shop Samantha asked Mary’s advice and was told to ignore it and to dwell on good causes which would outweigh Terry’s abrasive behavior. She gave Samantha the opportunity to write the screenplay for a movie she was producing based on a true life story, knowing she had the talent to do it, but more so that she would understand the material she would be working on.

It was a movie on an injured Viet Nam veteran that lost his leg in the war and was injured, only to take that into his life and turn it around to something good, he fought against needless waste in the government and wrote and traveled the world to show the waste of our country. He had his own ghosts in the closet, a reformed heroin addict, and still drank too much, but he did get the pleasure to write and become an advocate of needless wars and waste.

They met on set for a production party before the movie was released, and Johnathan who the movie was based on had to wear a prosthetic leg, and he came to the party to meet the cast and news people that would be sending out all sorts of media releases within that week. Terry and her husband Frank had come since Frank was one of the directors, and Terry didn’t even bother to read or show interest in Frank’s work.

With the movie crew surrounded by cameras, Samantha and Mary walked over to Jonathan, to congratulate him on the end of production and wish him the best in his newest endeavor working on the pull out of Iran’s soldiers.

Terry watched over in the massive crowd of media and guests, and with her snide smile whispered when Jonathan almost fell on the slippery floor due to his artificial leg not being as agile as one should be and had to grab onto Samantha shoulder his hand slipping down her breast…”Why look at that old drunk, he can’t even stand up and groping that whore for all of us to see.”

Mary walked up in back of her and whispered, “He is not drunk, and he lost his leg in the war.”

Flashes of cameras and video caught the vicious comment from Terry and Mary’s comment which hit the papers and media the next day. It only highlighted the fact that Mary and Jonathan’s causes became stronger in the public’s eye and maybe that would turn Terry’s malicious hate around, Jonathan's loss …was society’s gain.

Samantha still wishes to this day she experienced the love and unity of that generation.

Fantasy ... Peace

(Enjoyed all the art and stories above, again a great week of challenges. Feel free to add more.)