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Two Models on Bed

Posted on January 29, 2012 by A.H. Scott

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Tickle my fancy with your words
Run your pen against my mind
My eyes expand with heavy breath as I read across the page
Every word you’ve written me has taken me to an aroused stage
Tickle me soft, as the feathers of your quill make me laugh
Tickle me harder, as a golden pen scratches my surface
Bathed in words placed from your mind to mine
I’m enraptured by your pen always when I read your words
And, oooh, here comes another swirl against my brain again
My pupils dilate in a dance of desire for these letters
Lips purr with every pronoun dribbled onto each page
Fingertips roll lightly down my thighs, as each paragraph and sentence rise
Mmm, I love to be tickled in so many ways
Now, you know my secret
Your words just have me in this way…..

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.
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Copyright 2012

Long Legs Reclining

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Posted on January 28, 2012 by A.H. Scott

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She had long legs
He was built like a tree
She wrapped those long legs around his back
Relishing this aspect of human nature, she waited to extract his sap
Against the window sill, they rocked back and forth
Strands of raindrops outside fell
Furling white curtain slightly blown by a breeze through the window
Her ass so tan and beautiful
Long black hair down her back was brushed aside by his roving hands
Down and up against the black metal sill they exhaled and inhaled each other
His crew-cut gave him a bit of fuzz on top
Her wine colored fingernails were like a roll on the top of his head
Pumping and humping on a rainy night
Intermingling on a window sill with no care or fright
A couple walking on the street below saw a curtain of white wave in the night air
Flag of fantasy’s surrender was what they saw
As the couple grinding gave into completion’s courtyard
Couple on the street tittered and stood watching
Lady with long legs and her man kept on bopping
Realizing that the curtain was no longer their mask of privacy
She laughed and he asked with a shrug, “Stop?”
Whisper came from the lips of wine, “Never”
Rain kept rolling
Body flow of desire kept growing
Couple on the street heard that moment, gazed at one another
A simple howl from the parted window sill occurred
Couple below didn’t need to say a word, as they kissed in the rain
Long legged lovely and crew-cut lumberjack of love held onto one another tightly
Couple above and couple below both found the rain to be quite magical on that breezy night

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.
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Copyright 2012

TWS: Night Fever Series

Posted on November 30, 2011 by A.H Scott

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Two bodies dancing in the middle of a dance club are like a pair of electric eels tantalizing one another with heat. “The Dance Of Desire” takes the flesh to a place where the unbound mind wanders. The throbbing of many things takes over the lusty soul. Dance on.

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TWS: Night Fever Series

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A sexy red dress with no panties, no bra
They dance amongst a room full of strangers
Bodies sweaty and grinding to the music
It’s pulsating rhythms roll them into ecstasy
Deidre’s pink painted fingernails gently roll the dress upward
Hmmm, do you like what you see?
A few strands of pubic hair make your eyes water
But, as your eyes rise from around her thighs, there’s more
The low scoop of a neckline and no bra, gives her ideas
Two melons exposed for all to to see
But, you are the only one who can harvest mine
Deidre’s glossed red lips form a smile in knowing what happens next
On the dance floor, her tits are free, as are her inhibitions
Deidre’s hair is exposed to your eyes and it begins
Right then and the music takes us away
On the dance floor, two bodies amongst all the others
And, the grinding of our bodies is just another musical dream in the dim lights of strobe….

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

A.H. Scott

Posted on November 17, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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………..I couldn’t resist sending in this poem. It’s not sexy, but it’s definitely political. I was inspired to write it after the ouster of the Occupy Wall Street protesters in Zuccotti Park in New York City. Something that isn’t broadly mentioned in the media, is the fact that Diana Taylor, who is on the board of directors for the company that owns Zuccotti Park (Brookfield Properties), is the girlfriend of Mayor Michael Bloomberg. It got me to thinking about the power of connections and associations. Brookfield Properties were the ones who sent a letter to the Mayor’s office to get the protesters evicted in a post-Midnight raid. Now, coincidence is something I believe in. Yet, this action by the NYPD didn’t just come about out of thin air.

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So, this poem is titled, “PILLOW TALK SCREWS THE 99%”. I think the title explains it all. The games the rich and influential play are like puppet-masters to the marionettes of the masses.

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Lolly was a lobbyist who did her job well
Her bank account always filled to a swell
Loopholes written by others she slid through with ease
To all of her clients, she did what she had to do to please
Paul was a politician with a Pepsodent smile
He relished his position of snorting at the public well
No one would say he was a pig
Yet, his coffers of donations continued to get big
Bart was a banker who knew all the right palms to grease
This even brought lovely Lolly to her knees
Bedfellows and bed-gals do the Potomac Mambo between the sheets and lines of morality
Those who have access to the three sides of this twisted triangle, bare a leg and a wad of green
Lolly, Paul and Bart lived for an ultimate turn of the trick
For the ones who they adored screwing the most were
Jane Q. Citizen & John Q. Public
Pillow talk screws the 99%, again and again…..

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Blond

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Posted on November 13, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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Some say blonds have more fun
Yet, a bashful blond is sly enough never to tell
Sitting there, she waits wearing something he bought her the last time they were together
Gazing in the mirror, she thinks of him
She’s in a haze of desire for his skin’s scent
His sweat against the tip of her tongue, caused her mouth to become wet
Bare ass so soft against a Louis XIV chair
The blond awaits to hear her front doorbell to buzz in her ear
Ring her bell
Lust begins to swell
And, to think some blonds don’t even need the peroxide to change their color
I guess some blonds never fake anything
Now, let that ring in your ears
Ring-ring-ring…;)

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Blond Gaze

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Virgin Kiss

Posted on October 5, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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VIRGIN KISS

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Virgin kiss was when our lips first met
Mine were glossed with peach and ever so wet
Yours were parted with a grin
And, the newness of an encounter would begin
First time with someone new is full of the nervous tension in the air
Girlish giggle came from me
Even at my age, which is far from a teen
You had this nervous motion of your hands patting together in a quickened beat
Virgin kiss was a series of light pecks against one another
Almost with the butterflies in our stomachs swirling inside of us
My arms embraced you with mature expression of lust
You turned from unsure youth to a man of capability on display
Virgin kiss always starts that way
Quintessence fades
Yet, there is a purity
A new touch
A new exploration of nude flesh
My body isn’t a tightly wound band of rubber anymore
Neither was his, as I grabbed his love handles as we walked through the bedroom door
Youth may be heralded in some kingdoms of desire
But, virgin kiss began the culmination of a pair of experienced sojourners
Maturity has it’s benefits
And, for those of us who enjoy the rewards of a tender glide of a hand
This is where I let my soft kisses land
Tenderly………………..

Virgin Kiss

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Rush

Posted on August 31, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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RUSH

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Rush of the shower-head’s pulsation
Rush of your body against mine
The tiles in that shower are aqua blue
And, the touch of your hands is getting me high
Fingers in an out of every soft spot of mine
As I kiss your lips, they feel quite divine
Rush of blood to my head and yours
That growing friend down below is coming alive once more
Rush of my arms around your neck and my legs around your back
Water’s rush begins to pulsate faster and faster
Silky blond strands of hair upon my shoulders
Dark brown of yours is soaked with water, too
Rush into me anytime, my darling
As we take a long, hot shower together, our hearts and souls will be snarling
Rush, baby, rush….!!!!

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Rush

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Holly & Matt

Posted on August 24, 2011 by A.H.Scott

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DAWN

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Dawn seemed to spin forward so fast
Laying my head against your chest
Strands of my hair rested gently
You whispered a few words as we laid there
Morning’s rising, as was your junior partner
Oh, I feel something beneath the sheets
My fingers tiptoe down past your nipples and towards that rising tide
Ah, the man wants a little before dawn delight
Yes, you whispered and I winked at ya
Placing my hand beneath the sheet, I see you are ever so happy
I slide atop you and we bounce about a bit
My hair rolls around bare shoulders as I look down at you
Your fingers play a sort of seductive violin move around my nipples as I move
Closing my eyes, I begin to sigh as you start to thrust upward slightly
Your body against mine feels so damned good
We’re moving in unison like a bolt and screw
Oh, I can’t resist this joy
I love being your favorite toy
Opening my eyes and gazing into your eyes
Making love is so intoxicating
We are the ones getting ourselves high
You pull yourself upward in a slight motion
We’re facing one another and in an embrace of erotic entrapment
Arms here and there
Lips nibbling my ear, as you kiss me there and there
Boom!
It’s divine to feel all you give me
Every inch, every kiss, every touch, every whisper
Placidity is never around, when we’re together
Our bodies crashed downward onto that mattress for about another half hour

I know our time together is brief
I didn’t want you to leave so soon
You’ve got a plane to catch before ten
I’ve always known you are a man with obligations near and far
Sun cracks like a yolk preparing to bring about a sizzle
When you are with me, you really are all here
Not just in the flesh, but your mind is wrapped completely around me
As you dress and stand before the hallway mirror, I stand nearby and smile
I have a lover of such warmth and compassion in you
Before you walk out my door, there is one thing for sure
There is nothing simple about you, my love
Your complex nature is the magnet that keeps me stuck in love with you
I’m only wearing a blue nightshirt that I wore from the night before
Your hands squeeze my bottom in a secure way
I bite my bottom lip with a hint of blushing
You know how to get to me, even as you’re going
Taking me in your arms so tightly, your lips press passionately against mine
Farewell shall never leave our lips
Let’s just say, dawn’s here and see ya’ over the rainbow, darling one…..

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A.H. Scott

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Self-Portrait 2011

Posted on August 14, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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CHANCE

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Taking a chance is winking at a sexy man
Knowing the chance will pay off is when he winks back
You might not be exactly his type
But fate is a fickle tickle
Especially when it’s more than just your body that can raise his pickle
Beyond the flesh, he sees you as something more than just nice assets
Of course, it’s primal when he sees you walk across the room
Yet, nothing is that simple in life
If you were as dumb as a tree stump with great rack and shapely back
He might have you once in a while
But, then again, when the sweaty tangle is over, will a conversation be allowed
Taking a chance is throwing yourself open to a new interaction
It can even be one that you would never imagine
Arousal and amusing him is the trick
If you can get a man hard and make him laugh, then you’ve really got something
Chance is going out on a limb with him
Chance is knowing you might not be the only petal in his bouquet
But, better to be a treasured petal, than just to shy away
Chance is taking stock of your own worth
You know what you have to offer is priceless to him
He enjoys your intellect as much as your lovely body
Taking a chance is what life is all about
Chance is a key that unlocks your happiness
And, that is why I’m penning this poem right now
Chance is mine
And, I’ve taken it, with crossed fingers and an open heart…

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Self Portrait 2011

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.

Eclipse 1

Posted on August 2, 2011 by A.H. Scott

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Nude alongside him
I felt like a half moon kissing the setting sun
My eyes were closed and he asked me to open them
When I did, I melted beneath the gaze of his affection
He was so warm and wanting on this bed of desire we’d made
Smell of sweat and ecstasy filled the room
Silky left thigh rested atop his
I ran my fingers along his handle of love on the right side
He chuckled as I touched him, like a little kitten with a fluffy toy
Reaching behind my back, his hand reached those buns of joy
Now, I chuckled as a few pats of a melody began to play
Ocean blue was within view, as this house rested along the beach
Dusk made an alliance with a few stars in the sky
I started to tingle with every tap of that hand against my asset
Yet, he began to squeeze me like an accordion
Oh, being played ever so lightly by a man of sexual delight was nice
My body rolled away from this melody that he played and kiss him ever so lightly
I placed my hands on either side of his cheeks and cradled his face with my palms
We saw each other, bare and raw
In this moment, I wanted him inside of me
Nothing less, nothing more
Muscles on his body were well toned with care
Having him holding me in his arms made me quite aware
I laid beneath him, as he penetrated more than my flesh
He interrogated my soul with every insertion
My arms became like ropes holding him in place atop of me
Tighter and tighter I held on to him
Painted nails and fingertips left tiny impressions on this sensual swath of clay in my midst
He opened my carnal canal like a Gondolier along a waterway in Venice
Barely able to contain myself, I whispered something in his ear
“Stay”
A single word took his breath away
Inside of me he came
Like channeling a book title from Jacqueline Susann, “Once Is Not Enough”
Enough was never enough for a pair of passionate souls as we are
We made love until the morning sun began to ripen
I’d always thought it was just a passing fancy for he and I
Eclipse of doubt left through the billowing curtains and onward out to sea

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Eclipse 2

About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.