![]() Gabrielle Coyote
is a freelance writer who has been writing
in one guise or another for ten years. She has done
everything from tech writing and features for
magazines to erotic novels in various stages of
completion. Her erotica has been published in a
variety of venues, including previously in Mind Caviar. She
also has busy sidelines writing erotic content for
adult Web sites and crafting custom pieces.
Email Gabrielle Coyote. Visit Gabrielle Coyote's Web site.
Vin Ordinaire
Women have been compared to
many things in the history of love. Great ships that sail the
ocean are named for women. How many times has a woman's face been
compared to a flower or to the stars? Helen had a face that launched
a thousand ships. Juliet would be as beautiful as a rose by any
other name. But to me, it is men that are like wine. There was Tommy, my boyfriend from the University who was as
a sunny California white wine. A sweet Chablis bought in a big,
green jug to be taken down to the beach and picnicked on. Everyone
had a drink of him. I thought of Andre. Definitely Champagne, light and full of
sparkle and very fun at a party-- but nothing you could drink
everyday or even face first thing in the morning without quite
a lot of orange juice. I met Joerg in Germany, in the great wine town of Ruedesheim
on the river Rhine. That gentle river runs through German wine
country like a silk ribbon through the velvety, vine-covered hills.
Joerg seemed just like a bottle of the pale Riesling they produce
there: light and sweet on the tongue, but with a bitter aftertaste. We met by arrangement in a café on the river and sat
watching the crowds of tourists go by, busloads of Japanese and
Americans aplenty. I was there with my camera and laptop writing
articles for a wine magazine. Joerg was the son of a famous wine-making
family and so he brought me back to the family estate for a wine
tasting and picture taking. After a few days we could be found making love outside in the
barns and stables. Joerg took me on the slopes of the sunny vineyard
hills, dipping his clever and hungry tongue deep into my flesh
while I sucked on him, bringing forth his own salty nectar. But
he would not take me in his bedroom on the feather mattress. No
stain of our sin touched the family linens, and he kept his liaison
with me a secret. At first, the clandestine nature of our passion thrilled me.
How lovely it was to sneak out to the garage and meet Joerg in
the black and silver Rolls Royce! He slid his hand up my bare
leg, pushing aside my skirt, his manicured fingers probing me
until they found the soft wetness of my mound. One hand cupped
my heavy breast under my silk shirt and his ardor excited me so
much that I was delighted when he ripped the shirt from me, ivory
buttons scattering around the interior of the car like, landing
like snowflakes. His own clothes cast off on the floor of the car, he looked
like an alabaster statue with his almost hairless skin and near-perfect
musculature. He buried his head between my legs on those calves-leather
seats, until I was so wet that my legs trembled and I pleaded
with him. He flipped me over and entered me from behind, piercing
me with his long, thick cock.Grabbing my hips, he thrust and grinded
his way into me until we were both groaning and screaming. Just as I was on the edge, a sports car drove into the roomy
garage and Joerg pressed his hand firmly over my mouth. He pumped
me harder than ever and fingered my clit too, forcing a wracking
orgasm from deep within me. I climaxed just as a tall, beautiful
woman stepped out of the car and walked a foot from where Joerg
was fucking me in the Rolls. She had straight, blonde hair tied
up in a knot and a lovely white face. As she passed us, Joerg bent over me, and bit the back of my
neck, thrusting one last time deep inside me, climaxing so violently
that the car shook and he cried out in spite of himself. I could
almost smell her expensive perfume as she sailed past us. The
blonde woman turned on the door step and listened for a second
while Joerg and I lay panting and sweating, his cock still deep
inside me. We lay quietly, however, and the stately woman left. "Who was that?" I asked as he withdrew and gathered
his clothes. "That was my fiancée, Marta," he said with
a chuckle in his voice. "Your fiancée?" My heart sank into my stomach. She couldn't have been more different from me. I am American,
rather short, not statuesque as she was. I have a small waist,
heavy breasts and rather round hips and thighs. My brown hair
flows down my back in frizzy waves that could never have been
tamed into the tight blond coif that Marta wore. "Yes. It made me so hard that she was there! I almost
wish she had seen us. That would have put some color and heat
in her face. I was not expecting her until next week." He eyed me rather coldly. How could I have not noticed that
hard, unforgiving line of his jaw and the submerged glint of cruelty
and selfishness in his eyes? "Can we do that again, Emily?" Joerg asked me, pointing
to his cock, which had grown hard once again. "Perhaps she
will come back and fetch her luggage." I declined this gallant offer and removed myself from the area
of the Rhine. The Riesling had left a bitter taste in my mouth. My review: "A seductive wine on the first taste, but the
high acid content prickles the tip of the tongue. Pale and a little
colorless, this wine becomes quite mineral-tasting in the back
of the mouth, with an oily texture. Lusciousness is trying to
unfold on the finish, but this wine never quite gets there. It
was probably opened about 3 to 5 years too early, although there
is no telling that even maturation will help it. Disappointing." Richard: he was a nice Tawny Port just like his beloved Cockburnes.
Rich, sweet and buttery, but a little cloying on the tongue. Port
goes so well with chocolate! And sometimes he was exactly the
best thing after a heavy meal. But too much of him went to my
head, and I always felt horrible the next day, as one does when
overindulging. Richard owned a wine shop that specialized in Port in a swanky
section of London. I wandered into his shop one day, looking for
a rare, vintage port as a gift for a friend. Richard and I hooked
up in a pairing as natural as Port and pears. We would eat in
a nice restaurant and talk about heady and important things and
then stroll along the Thames back to his flat. Richard had an endearing way of pushing my glasses back up
on my nose. When I get excited about something they tend to slip
down, and I end up peering over the top of them. "Darling Emily, you have no idea how appealing you are
when your glasses fall down your nose. I adore your sexy librarian
look, all that pent up sexual energy smoldering just under your
intelligent and proper exterior," Richard used to say. Sex was always the same with him. He really enjoyed his routine.
He very much enjoyed watching me take off my clothes, and I would
sometimes catch him peeping at me in the bathroom as I disrobed
for my shower, the door opened a crack, his hand on his shaft.
He said once that the mere sight of a woman taking off her coat
could send him into orbit. With Richard, I would make a big deal of the disrobing while
he lay there virtually panting, and then I would join him in bed.
He liked to be on top, Richard did, but he was a sweet and attentive
lover. He would always make me come first with his clever hands
and his quick mouth before he would settle on top of me and thrust
his short, but very thick cock into me. He was set in his ways, but as I got to know him he revealed
a kinky side that was a bit unexpected. One night after we'd had
more than our usual amount of the tawny Port, he politely asked
me if he could tie to me to the bedposts. It sounded delightful--
exciting, even-- so I consented. He gently wrapped my wrists in silk cords and tied them to
onto the bedposts. Then my ankles, each one, until I was spread-eagle
on the bed, legs far apart. My pussy, with its dark, thick bush
was wide open. It was a different Richard that appeared then,
a wild man! He growled and bit my breasts and nipples. He shoved
his face down into my crotch, biting and teasing my lips with
his tongue while his fingers probed the depths of me. He made
me come again and again with his mouth and fingers well before
he mounted me. He fucked me good and hard, coming, for a change,
within minutes of entering me. After that night Richard added the bondage into the pattern.
I would strip while he watched, and then he would tie me up and
fuck me hard and fast. It was nice for a little while, but he
was not interested in any variation of the theme. I soon realized
that port was too rich for my blood to have on a daily basis and
so we parted ways. My Review: "This port is blessed with a copper-red-tawny
hue. Fragrant, spiced aromas follow through on a nutty, silky
smooth, palate with a lingering praline finish that is a bit cloying.
Sweet and hedonistic up front, it lacks mellowness and depth and
doesn't hold up over the long haul." I was on vacation in Provence when I met Guy. He was a Canadian
by birth, but had come back to France to live and work at the
family's winery. They made a simple table wine, a rich, subtle
yet very unpretentious vin ordinaire, that supreme beverage so
beloved by the French. It was a happy, little wine, deep and earthy
tasting, rich and thick in the mouth, with fine length and intensity.
Subtle, though well structured which is exactly how Guy himself
turned out to be. I shall never forget the day he brought me down to the family
cellars where the huge casks of wine stood in their wooden barrels. "Most of our wine never actually does get bottled,"
he explained. We sell it in small casks to the other families
and restaurants around here. I think there are only a few hundred
cases that go out in bottles each year and never to the shops.
They are all bought already by people that have been buying here
for years. I liked his brown hair flopping down over his forehead, and
the deep brown eyes that matched the color of his hair exactly.
Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks, as I looked him over
and smiled. He was as honest and unpretentious as the wine his
family made. Guy filled a chunky ceramic jug from one of the caskets and
we sat around an ancient wooden table, in the dark cellar, sipping
the wine out of small ceramic cups. To me it tasted like mother's
milk, and I told him so. I took his hand in mine and dipped one of his strong, straight
fingers into my cup. Then I lifted his finger to my mouth and
sucked the wine from it. Flicking my tongue over the tip of his
finger and then sliding my mouth down, I sucked hard. Guy gasped
and looked at me wide-eyed. Deep inside his eyes, a flame kindled
and warmed me, as well. We kissed for the first time across that table, the taste of
that vin ordinaire still on our lips. It tasted even better from
inside his mouth. The table was in our way, so he pulled me across
it until I was sitting in his lap. We went very slowly, gazing
into each other's eyes as we explored. Soon his hand cupped one
of my breasts inside my shirt. I liked his style. He was in no hurry, and took plenty of time
to appreciate every aspect of me, drinking deeply from my lips
and tasting his way down my neck to my breasts. My hands played over his chest, where I found he wore a pendant
on a leather thong around his neck. The pendant was in the shape
of a silver silhouette of the demi-god Pan playing a flute, grape
vines adorning in his hair. A nice reference to the pleasures
of wine, I thought and I smiled as my finger traced it. He lifted me onto the long table so that I was lying on my
back, shirt open, breasts tumbling out of my sheer, silk bra.
Guy looked me over like a wolf about to devour a lamb, then he
slid my trousers and panties off and over my hips. His eyes lingered
on my exposed bush.I could feel the pink and wet lips of my pussy
begin to unfold, opening under his gaze like a flower turning
toward the sun. He traced his finger around my plumping labia, lingering on
my clitoris, and then he bent down to taste it. His tongue licked
my lips, circled my clit and then dove deep into me. He drank
from me as if I was a bottle of the rarest wine. My toes curled,
my back arched, and I felt a hot, tight coiling in my pelvis. Guy settled into sucking tenderly on my clit: lovely long,
slurpy sucks and when two fingers finally stole into me, I came
around his finger. It felt as though I was falling off a cliff. He lifted his face from my sex and, looking deeply in my eyes,
said "A deep, saturated red color. The perfume is exotic
and amazingly intense jasmine, oriental spice, and black fruit
aromas fill the air. Mind-bogglingly intense flavors, honeyed
and opulent on the tongue. Other worldly in its power and persistence.
This is approachable now, yet will certainly become richer and
more honeyed with age. Hmmmm.. The best I have ever had."
He licked my pussy juice from his lips and wiped his chin grinning
at me. I stared at him dumbfounded. I'd met my match. He unzipped his jeans and let them fall to the floor. His cock
sprang free, and I reveled in its appearance. It was long and
straight, very thick at the base with a graceful curve upward
and a nice, purple head. I fell in love with it on first sight. Guy groaned as I fondled his penis softly with my hands. I
bent over, then licked the top of it, tasting his sex for the
first time. He was rich, and musky-scented, and I loved the salty
taste of the small drop of pre-cum which eased out of him. I finally
licked him all over, my fingers exploring his sack. Overcome,
I wanted to see how much of him I could get into my mouth. He
groaned, moaning as I took him almost all the way in. He withdrew his cock from my lips, and, parting my legs as
I sat there on the table, he guided his cock to my pussy then
slowly thrust his way in. I grabbed him by the ass as he stood
between my legs, and pulled him in as deeply as I could. I could
feel my lips stretch around the base of him. Shivers ran up my
back as he slowly withdrew himself-- taking his cock all the way
out. I cried out as he left me, wanting more, and swiftly he thrust
back in. The feeling of his silky head entering me thrilled me to the
core. I felt another orgasm building in me. I wanted it hard and
fast. As if Guy read my mind, he slammed into me as hard and fast
as he could, until I was biting at his shoulder and he was growling
into my hair. I came again, from somewhere very deep inside me.
I felt him tighten everywhere; all muscles tensed as he climaxed. We held each other: he panting I trembling on the old, oak
table. I knew that I had found my man. And so it proved to be. Guy was richly textured and complex enough to satisfy me everyday.
He was real, down to earth and immensely satisfying. I settled
down happily in Provence and was easily incorporated into the
family fold. My review: He was the perfect Vin Ordinaire. Long spiced finish.
Rich, extravagantly textured mouthfeel. Extraordinarily aromatic
and complex. Ripe and full on the palate marked by sweetness but
balanced by vibrant acids. Intense finis. Amazingly complete and
already drinking beautifully, this man has the structure to age
magnificently. A truly glorious find. Copyright
© 2002 Gabrielle Coyote. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
![]() Join Adult Friend Finder-- Meet Real Men & Women World's Largest Free Personals |
Food
& Fun
Creme de la Creme Just Desserts! Bottoms Up! Columns
Art
|
Literature
Features Fiction Poetry Reviews
Extra
|
Mind
Caviar's Sister Sites
A Bi-Friendly Place Ophelia's Muse Free
Sexy Personals
Our
Favorite Adult Sites
|
Copyright © 2002 Mind Caviar. All rights reserved. Mind Caviar is a working trademark pending registration.