When she looked at me, her eyes were frozen lakes reflecting the morning sky; icy blue but melting, and black whirlpools of pupil that drew me in; they dragged me into the pitch that swirled at their center. They held the key to what I had been missing all along, what I’d instinctively known all my life, yet failed to understand.
I used my tongue as a soft, sable brush, and her body as a canvas; I painted it with long, slow strokes, bringing it to life with tender licks and kisses.
At first, she predictably followed the rules of Newton’s third law and for each of my actions, she responded with an equally opposite reaction. I was not to be so easily deterred. If a war raged within, her body responded to each caress with humility and acquiesce. There was no resistance when I spread her knees with my own and she felt the heat of my sex pressed against hers. And still, I continued to ply her with kisses and murmurs of how beautiful she was and how much I loved her.
It was true we’d been born of the same womb, and presumably were conceived at the same time, but we were individuals and as different as any other two living and breathing souls. It was those differences that drove us towards one another. How odd it was to hear myself say that I was in love with a woman who was my sister and to know that she had not denied she was in love with me as well.
She showed the first sign of wanting to become better acquainted with my anatomy when she ran her hand along my shoulders and down my ribs. My lips were closed on one nipple, focused on coaxing it to attention and I flinched when her fingers flexed and her nails clawed lightly at my hips. I shifted my weight to one side, granting her access to examine my cock by feeling it in the palm of her hand.
She closed her fist tightly between the crown and the root, squeezing and testing the resiliency, pulling it closer to her. I signaled my encouragement in my throat and she answered with soft feminine moans. I knew she was anticipating how it would feel once fitted inside her.
Her cunt began to weep salty tears. At first, only a few; then a slow, drizzle before a cloudburst of soaking rain. I could smell the rain, a mixture of musk and earthy perfumes. I could feel electric flashes of energy between us and the faint rumble of desire building.
I climbed my way downward, between her thighs, and made an appetizer of my tongue by delicately feeding it into her. Her cunt was a delightful garden and the garden awakened with blistering heat and humidity. The exotic petals of flesh thickened and blossomed, smooth lush lips, opening to the core of her sex. I sampled the fruit with licks and sucks before threatening her with the edge of my teeth as a reminder of my authority.
Her clit swelled and ventured forth, begging my attention; pleading for both restraint and release at the same time. She gasped when I used my tongue as a whip and administered several sharp lashes as a form of teasing punishment and denial.
There are times when a man wants to bend and break a woman’s will; a form of retribution for how she makes him crave her like an addict. I waited patiently for her atonement. When it came, it was music for soothing my soul.