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Writer's Note: This is a continuation of a multi-part story to explore passionate couplings of all kinds between lovers. The concept is that fantasy opens a portal to new worlds, and that we are, all of us, only able to expand our horizons through the exploration of those new worlds. Portals may open and close at whim in our lives, and while they are open, one must relish and savor that open portal and understand that when it closes it could close for good.

This first chapter was focused on the sensations of lovers, without names, without identities, without background stories. You can call it "vanilla," but you can call it true passion and desire. Kink has its place, but this first pure story of desire wants only the softness of skin and the pleasure of two bodies together.

Having said that, this chapter does turn up the heat a bit... The second chapter is a continuation of the first, but at the time of an opening of another portal. There are five senses, and the first chapter began with touch, and continued from there. This chapter will begin with sound, and then touch, and taste, and only then sight. Time may have gone by. Letters may have been exchanged. Daily life apart was definitely lived. Work was conducted. Books were read and movies were watched. Meals were cooked and daily chores were done. It is meant to be purposely vague, as real life often is.

The lovers are still without names or identities, and without background stories. Those are unnecessary in the face of true passion, real connection, and fierce hunger. Aren't they?

Blindfolds are underrated, and used often as props, as a swirl of strawberry, or hazelnut, in a pint of vanilla. But I think blindfolds allow us to focus our senses on what we feel and what we hear. In particular, when even touch is taken away along with sight, the other senses are aroused, enhanced.

A new portal has opened for us. I think of you blindfolded, your elegance and coolness suddenly uneasy, somewhat off kilter as you try to make sense of what you hear in the absence porno of your other senses. You are on a bed. Or perhaps it is a couch or a chair. Does it matter?

You are wearing a patterned skirt and a solid color top. You have a silk scarf. You were told to enter and to put on the blindfold.

You hear a door open. You hear footsteps. You hear what sounds like a wine being opened. You hear a glass poured, and then another. You smile, believing you have your bearings back, relishing perhaps the first sips of what you know would be a very, very good wine. The spice of a Southern Rhone, perhaps. Or the lushness and round balance of a Bordeaux, or even the subtlety of an Oregon Pinot or a Premier Cru Burgundy.

You hear footsteps going away from you now, and you aren't sure what to expect. You hear instructions now. Clear, firm instructions. "Remove your skirt," you hear. You smile -- you know you wore a pair of panties that would make me drool. You remove your skirt and show your slim, shapely legs, posing just so. "Take off your panties," you hear. Pouting just a moment, because you like how you look in those panties, you are now without any bottom. Your dripping cunt is exposed, although your top and your bra, and even your scarf are curiously still on. "Spread your legs," I say.

You hear a zipper. You hear what you think must be me taking off my pants -- you hear a belt, you hear rustling and footsteps that sound like one leg, then two, and you hear pants on the floor. You hear my hand stroking my cock, watching you sitting, blindfolded, your delicious folds dripping, leaving a clear wet spot where you sit. You can imagine what a sight you must be.

You hear me closer now. You feel me hand you a glass of wine. You hold it, totally uneasy and not knowing what could come next, why I handed you the wine when your cunt is exposed, ready, naked, my cock hard and ready to take you. You are eager. You want, you hunger. "May I take the blindfold off," you ask? "No. Not yet," I say.

I tell you to hold out your hands. "My hands? Don't you want my mouth?" "No," I say, firmly but with a showing of my own hunger in my tone. "I want your hands." You put out your hand, and I place not my erect cock but my balls into your hands, and you touch them, lovingly, fondling them and then with a smirk on your face, you run your hands up to my shaft, and you feel it. You stroke it, and you know I am yours, as if you really ever doubted it for a moment.

You hear some lube, just a touch, poured, and you start to lovingly and erotically stroke my cock now. Squish, squish.... Your hands make the sounds on my lubed cock. You can't take it anymore, and you take me, blindfold still on, into your mouth. You lavish attention onto it, and you are even more of a sight -- your blindfold now slick with my precum and your saliva, your mouth on my thick cock, stuffing it down your throat. You are a cock worshipper currently, and you are indeed at the altar.

You suck me, knowingly and hungrily, until I cannot take any more. I slow you down and pull my cock out of your pert mouth, and you are pouty again, still hungry.

Blindfold still on, you are pulled down so your legs are spread. I now lap hungrily myself at an altar, the altar of your lush, perfect cunt, now beyond aroused, your clit engorged, your cunt sopping with your juices. I dive in, my entire face buried in you. I lap at you, lick you, taste you, sucking your clit into my mouth and then diving back into you. I lift your legs and taste your rosebud little asshole, and you moan now lustily, awash in your own pleasure. I dive back in again to you, and my face is a glazed doughnut of your lust and our hunger for each other. I lick and lick and lick and lick.

I reach up, and take the blindfold off. Your world, your senses, are now changed. You see me, and we lock eyes, and you smile, knowing that I will enter you so soon. I kiss you deeply, and you pull me to you, hungrily, desperately, as I remember so clearly. You kiss my lips with a love and a desire and a want that makes me gasp it is so strong.

All at once, as you kiss me, I enter you. No fanfare, and no need for it. My cock is now inside you, deep, and we are together, the beast with two backs, needing and wanting and moving together. We move together, in perfect rhythm, no need for circus acts or positions, only our bodies together, sweat, our fuck juices making the perfect symphony.

But we are suddenly so filthy with each other. We know that in the fuck world we have built, we can say anything, everything, and few limits exist. You reach around me, and take your index and middle finger and press them against my own tight asshole. With our juices so available, lubrication is so easy, and you slide in and fuck my ass with your fingers as I fuck you. I am harder, even thicker, you say. Yes, you know just what to do. You tell me how you'll fuck me next, how you'll take me and peg me and fuck me just as I'm fucking you. I tell you I want to watch you fucked by another man, and you tell me that you want me to watch, and you want me to watch as you're stretched.

We smile at each other as we fuck, and now again we are focused not on filth but on love, on heat, and we move together again as one. My cock so perfect and slippery inside you, your hot wet cunt a perfect sleeve on my shaft.

You start to climax now, and I am so ready. You start to climax, and I tell you I want to shoot it all deep, into your womb. You want it all inside you. I feel you shudder, and I release it all. I shoot my hot sticky seed, spurts and spurts of it, deep in you now. You feel it deep, and you feel it overflow you, all over us. You know it won't be for long, as you know I'll clean us up and share it with you, something we treasure. I want that, and I think of it just as my last spurt makes me shake and shudder myself, nearly collapsing with release onto you, kissing you deep, your legs wrapped around me, your lovely body just mine right now.

You will be cleaned up. You will be kissed. You are loved and you are desired, and it doesn't matter, right now, whether that portal will ever open again. We are each other's in our hearts and loins, in the place that counts.