My cheek is resting on Metis’ ankle, and my gaze is focused on her cunt. Her glorious cunt. It’s glistening and fleshy, petals opened, with the dark tendrils of her pubic hair curling around it. I can smell her aroma, and when I lick my lips I can taste her saltiness.
Hermes can taste her saltiness too. His tongue is flicking across her clitoris, back and forth, back and forth. His eyes are open and focused, his chin pressing down into the cleft. I can see the delight on his face as he pulls back briefly for air, before returning his tongue to its delicious play.
Before, when I gently pressed her thighs apart and settled myself down between her legs, I approached reverently. Still new to me, her labia, mons and clit were barely explored terrain. My tongue remapped itself, sliding along folds and across delicious curves. My mouth latched onto her bud and sucked, suckled, teased, aroused.
But my style is not his style. And his style is practised and sure – he knows her cunt, her reactions, her hot spots. And so he licks and sucks and flicks his wicked tongue. And I rest my cheek on her ankle and look on in appreciation. And she groans and writhes and gasps and tenses. The energy flows as her orgasm blooms, and I clench my thighs tight and ride the wave.
Later Hermes kisses me, and her taste mingles on our tongues.
Metis’ cunt is a glorious, wonderful region. I smile when I think of how lucky I am to have such a willing guide on my journey.