A note to the reader/listener: All Passionate Kisses erotica is written on the spot by me, Kelly P. Kisses, and while it’s usually very “not good” and riddled with grammatical/tense issues, I think it’s generally pretty hot, funny, or both.
Butterfly Pisses: The Birth, Sexual Maturation, and pleasure of a female butterfly
P A R T • 1
It is dark and wet. I haven’t been able to see a thing, but I have felt it all. My entire existence has been limited to my encasing, but today, I can see the outside world—the sky above me, the flowers next to me, that sloppy dog pissin all over the goddam place… “hope he doesn’t piss ME” I think to myself, as I struggle to release myself from my cocoon. I’m able to adjust myself ever so slightly, and I hear a cRRRRack!!! I’m getting closer—I can almost taste the outside air, the sweet smells of spring, the goddam lick of the breeze in my wings…
as I continue to struggle against my constraints, I feel my little butterfly clit rub against the side of my cocoon, and hear another CRACK! I’m getting closer…
but. wait. wait a second—a who is that beautiful creature? a gust of flapping wingedness flutters across my field of vision—I catch a glimpse of the figure—long, slender, with enormous, gorgeous, shimmering wings that sing as she moves—I swear I could hear them
she sees me struggling, and decides to linger about, flittering and fluttering past me back and forth and her presence helps to coax me out of my cocoon—i flex my wings and hear the shell give another CRACK against my pressure…I can feel the sunlight on my big ole eyeballs—almost there—one.. last.. GASP
I am out. I am out and I can feel everything—the tiny hairs breathe in the outside breeze, my tongue can taste everything around me—and flutterby shutterby there she goes—flashing her crystalline wings towards me, they almost reflected in the sunlight—she wanted me to chase her.
P A R T • 2
she wanted me to chase her, so I did. she made me forget so quickly my wet, safe cocoon—and I was a fast learner. after a few embarrassing attempts at graceful flight, almost plumetting into the ground, into a certain death, I began to gain confidence in my aero-pursuits. in that time though, i lost sight of her, and took an ungraceful rest on a nearby flower. listened for the subtle paper-thrush of her wings, the sweet melodic tenor of her nonverbal voice—I was being drawn to a nearby butterfly bush—I tried calling out to her but found I didn’t have a voice
I flew straight into the butterfly bush, It was absolutely filled with other butterflies, sucking and slurping the sweet nectar of the blooms surrounding us. It was intensely colorful, overwhelming, a spectacle even—the devouring, the feeding, the absolute GULPing was a cacophony of sound— but beyond that, i could still hear the small and special slurp of my sweet muse—i was greeted by many, but found her in the center of the bush.
she was also feeding, sucking the sweet nectar from a deep purple flower. she looked up at me, never stopping her gorge of the saccharin fluid pulsing from the depths of this single bloom—and never breaking eye contact with me, those two vacuous cloudy marbles staring deep into my newborn soul
i watched her spiral tongue, dipping in and out of the violet flower, in and out, drips of honey on the tip of her proboscis, spilling down her chin, my left eye maintaining sight with her right eye, her left eye maintaingin contact with my left. in and out, in and out, steady rhythm never breaking. the stem of the flower beneath me broke, I fell to my instantaneous death
she saw me, she watched me, dying on the ground, sugar on my tongue. she was the first and last that I saw.