spiritual

The campfire blazed, and sinuous trails of smoke fled the crackle of wood to rise into the clouded and close night sky. They gathered there, for the festival, men and women. Young couples arm in arm away from the crowds, clinging to the shadows, kissing and holding each other by the arms. Faces close in intimacies. Eyes locked in passion. The older ones, they were more free and easy, settling in larger groups and relaxed in open posture, drinking the warmth, the heady conversations and the flickering memories evoked by the firelight.



It is the night of the fire dances. The drummers will beat a rhythm of sacred dance, and the bards will chant the words that remember the evening, connect this time to all other times. The winter solstice. The trance. The movement.



He stands alone. Not with the crowds, and away from the couples. Quietly. Smoke rises from the sacred fire held in his own hands. He stands silently, watching. Feeling the spirits of the fire.



And It begins.



The first beats of the Bodhran beat through the thick night air. Thrumming a steady pace into the night. One Two Three One Two Three. The conversations fall quieter beneath the low, heavy insistent bass of the drum. And then the others begin to join and form a circle of musicians, each adding their sounds to the beat. First a tin whistle. Then a violin. Then the wild flamenco of a Spanish guitar. Singers chant the a melody which has no words yet calls into the darkness. Calls back the times and past times. The firelight colors every face flickering.



And then She slowly stands to dance.



Her hair is by turns jet and auburn in the dark. Her figure lithe and supple. Her smile full lipped and her lips the deep pink of a rose. She wears her summer dress for the midwinter night, and it is flowers and silver and gold brocade. And in her hair is a deep crimson rose, and the gold of her earrings glints and reflects a deep deep red from the coal. Her movements are like the flame and she begins to move and sway The drum sets the pace of her movements, clear stepping, swift footed, assured. Her breasts clear highlighted against the dress, her breathing intense, energetic and the play of her nipples against the fabric in time to the sacred rhythm.



He draws the smoke deeply from the pipe in his hands and walk to the circle. His eyes drawn to her motion, her subtle grace, her energy resonant and rhythmic within the circle in which she dances thee winter.



Under even the bass of the drum he chants. “You will be Spring. You are Renewal.” and her pace becomes deeper, more sensual. The grass her canvas, her footsteps the brush, her painting of summer and spring. Of the lightness of days. Of balmy evenings and beaches. Of red wine and deep endless thoughts shared. She dances spring. And He speaks of the Painting she weaves into the grass, the soil, the land.



Gradually the music fades, and her hair, once a spiderweb dancing to her feet is now moist with sweat, her face flushed and tanned. She leaves the circle to join Him. They have met through the music.



He smiles to her and places a finger to his lips, sensual lips. His angular face framed by jet black hair. His tall frame offset by her stature and yet in the fire and shadow, the auras match and the energy flames between them like twin suns in the westering sky.



This is how it begins. As I am winter to her summer.



Her brown eyes held me transfixed like amber coals glowing with a hidden fire from within her. Her gorgeous curves on her her slender light body denied any age, yet she looked neither old not young. Dark brown hair to her shoulders and a smile both wise and cynical yet full of mirth and life. I held a hand to her, and she placed her small and delicate white fingers in it, but then, she drew my hand to hers and kissed my palm, looking wickedly at me, taking the gentleman’s part in the greeting. My heart raced and i moved to kiss her gently, but this time she placed a finger to her hips. And sylph like, she beckoned me to a quieter place in the glade, away from thee thrum of noise.



Everything had changed, no longer was I the one seducing, but she, in one swift movement of my hand to her mouth, had led me to her command and now, my pulse was beating hard within my chest and my cock begging to strain in the fabric of my clothes, making it hard and uncomfortable to follow her. And her eyes knew it. I could not fail to follow her. She is the summer queen.



Her camp spot was a way from the crowds, and she led me through the doors of her spacious tent, luxurious with cushions of silk and soft blankets. She lit a soft colored lantern, its light barely more than a candle flame but enough to see by. And without speaking she slipped free from her dress, hauling it over her head and shaking it loose to be free of it. Beneath she was fully naked, apple breasts tanned light brown, with delicate aureole, pink, and nipples stiffening in the cooler air. My eyes traced down to the light dust of trimmed pubic hair just concealing the outline of her labia and I could just drink in the heady scent of her sweat from dancing and her arousal so softly sweet just above it.



She shook her head teasingly and I stripped from my clothes, hard as the cold outside her warm tent, and she took my hand and gently laid me down onto the cushions. I let her hands guide me down into the soft inviting sensuality of the fabric, as she gently rolled me over onto my tummy. I could see nothing but the fabric up against me, but i could feel her shifting slowly, and the sound of her rummaging for hidden things near me, yet as i turned by head to look up, she gently placed her hand on my cheek to be still.



A wet pouring glugging sound near my ear, and then the noise of palms being rubbed together, and then she sat herself kneeling, between my thighs, parting my legs. I could feel the heat of her thighs against my backside, and she reached along my back, her breasts stroking so lightly against me, and her small hands, soft palms but pressing hard against my shoulders, massaging in circles, then lines, then, with the lightest of touches, tracing down my spine. She rubbed and warmed and rubbed down, each time moving closer to my arse, my cock rigid beneath me. She traced down and, her breasts firm against my back now, moved her fingers between my buttocks, gently over my sex to cup and hold my balls, ringing her finger and thumb around the base of my cock, her other hand massaging my arse, then gently, so gently but with such certainty penetrating me. Teasing around the rim of my arse then slipping in, slipping deeper. Like the rhythm of her dancing. I blissed my head into the cushion, breathing hard, as she cupped my balls and firmly grasped the root of my cock, all the while fucking my arse first gently with one finger and then with more assurance, adding a second. Her breasts heaving against my back. My cock so hard it ached to cum, but not yet.



She guided me over with her hands, my whole body aroused from her sex with me, and then, lay herself down, facing downwards as i had been. The oils and scent next to her. Her back was light tanned, her hair tousling around her neck, a back almost like that of a young man. Slender, muscled, yet tracing the line down of her, her feminine buttocks holding hidden treasures all woman, all female. The exquisite scent of her a high note of aroma within the heady deep tones of Ylang Ylang oil. I began to rub her as she had me, kneeling between her spread legs, my cock gently pushing against her pussy, which parted slightly, so with each forward massage, the hint of penetration of my cock teased and taunted us both. But not yet.



I massaged her shoulders, her back, aligning her dancers supple body from the exertions of her ritual dance, she moaned softly into the cushions. Working my hands down her and gently, so gently, touching the sides of her breasts and stroking down her sides, feeling her breathing and the shape of her through my fingers. Her heartbeats visible, her breathing deep and heavy. My hands working in patterns down her back and then, withdraw distance a little, tracing the line of her spine with my tongue to rest gently between the cheeks of her firm full arse, and spread them with my hands to delve deep within her sacred depth with my tongue as she writhed with ecstasies beneath my tongue, penetrating her, opening her like a rosy flower to drink in the scent from her wet aroused pussy trailed with precum from our touching together. Delving deeply into her matching pace with her sighs and then, gently propping her with cushions to begin the gentle deep rhythm of fucking her slow.



My hard cock deep in her arse, her buttocks clenched tight over me, one arm beneath her breasts teasing her nipples, cupping her, she drew her fingers down over her clit, thrumming, matching, breathing, sighing the rhythm. Again and again, thrusting deeper now, matching out paces as she fucked her clit and penetrated her pussy with her fingers, my cock full and tight in her gorgeous arse, my balls slapping against her palm as i penetrated her and she penetrated herself, in the rhythm of the dance, the rhythm of the drums, until she screamed her ecstasy, and i felt her tightening and matched her scream with my own, flooding cum deep into her as hers drenched over her hand, so intense it deflect up to wet us both, for seconds, and seconds, as we collapsed together on the cushions. Holding still. Breathing together. Then uncoupling to kiss and kiss again.



A winters night gypsy princess and her gypsy bard.

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