The temptation has been there for months, and it grows each time we come together. There is the musky aroma of your arousal, your slick fluids coating my fingers, the way you writhe and wriggle as I learn your folds and hidden places by touch. My nostrils flare and my saliva dampens my mouth, and the temptation is so very strong: to drop my head, pull you toward me, and cover your mound with my mouth while I bury my tongue in your cunt.
But we wait. We go together to the gynaecologist, and I sit by his desk with your coat and bag on my lap, while you are behind the curtain getting your first smear along with a battery of STI tests. We go to the pharmacy and get a huge prescription filled for birth control pills and condoms, and giggle about how you need to find a cock to put the condoms on. And we go to the blood testing centre – I am there for you when you stagger out, very pale, having gotten the final test despite your horror of needles.
But then, the results come, and you are clean (and so am I), and your birthday is approaching. I know just the present to give.
The evening before your birthday proper, having gone out to dinner and then returned to collapse on the sofa with full tummies and tired bodies, we relax. There is no rush, no pressure – I have planned to spend the night, and neither of us have work until the next afternoon. But as we curl together and I rub your shoulders and neck and back and more, we eventually find ourselves together – and naked – enjoying the feeling of the faux -fur throw on your bed. I learn the curves of your body again, suckling your nipples and trailing my tongue down to your belly, with it’s delightful tiny pooch that I love you and hate. We kiss, we grapple, we play.
And then, then you are sprawled on the bed. Splayed on the bed. And I am lying between your legs, my own dangling off the edge until I bend my knees and rest them against the wall. My face is lined up with your cunt, and I take my time, drinking in the view of you. Normally clean-shaven, you’ve let your bush grow slightly, creating a patch of sweet moss above your clitoris. I stroke it gently before I slowly slip my finger down, feeling your wetness. And then, unaccountably nervous, I dip my head.
The first taste of you is marvellous. It’s your taste, unique to you, a building-upon of the aroma I know and adore. At the same time, your wonderful umami taste is reminiscent of all other women I’ve had the pleasure of pleasuring in this manner. It gives me confidence, so I begin, so very gently, with my lips closed upon yours while my tongue slowly explores. Slipping up, down, tracing your inner and outer labia, then travelling upwards to your clitoris. Such a lovely button, so stretchy and flavoursome! I delight in slow, lascivious licks from below it to above, and feeling your thighs shiver around me is delightful.
My nose is buried in your moss, and I slip it lower to nuzzle your clitoris while my tongue explores the cavern between your lips more thoroughly. I breathe your aroma in my mouth, huffing it softly out my nose to tickle your clit. I lap the sides of your vulva, teasing and tasting and irrepressibly invading.
You don’t seem to mind.
I take my time, quite content to spend hours here. The terrain is complex, and the environment lush. It welcomes me, opening, heating, tensing, spilling. I take all my hostess offers, and come back for more.
Patience pays off.