Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
I set up a rhythm and you begin to respond to me, your legs kicking freely, your hips bucking almost as if you would avoid the intensity of my ministrations, but with one hand I keep you in place, keep my attentions on target. You can, have to, must count with me, a steady twelve, and then down, up, repeat, and you know it will build to twenties and soon after you will have no break at all, just the long steady march that takes you where you need to be. Even here, in your most sensitive, most inner of all inner places, you are not quick to heat and fire and slake your thirst, and I know that, and you know I am well prepared to go on for as long as you need. My lips circle you, pushing your own lips back so softly, while my gentle, gentle sucking draws you toward me, sensitizing you all the further to my relentless tongue. Up one side and then the other, tiny tiny circles, direct lashings that go on and on - you are subject to each of these in turn, in groups, at random.
You thrust your hips outward to reveal yourself and then, sensitive, retreating, you withdraw, but I follow. There can be no escape. A hand strays downward and your wrist is captured, a bond, a connection, a lifeline. Your back arches briefly as I pull your hand down toward me, then you reverse to offer yourself to me again, flexing outward, turning up the bright hot cheeks that my other rhythm has so recently enflamed. Ten, eleven, twelve, my tongue slides down firmly between your lips where you are almost too sensitive for even this soft wet touch, down, touching you lightly inside and then up, upward along the same path and then one, two, three. With each lick you are exposed further to me, positioned all the more sensitively to my next lick and the next and to all of the oh-so-many after that.
I was firm tonight, first warming then stinging then hurting and finally stinging again, your need had been great but it rose with each step and now it is a pure ache, here and here and here, where you feel how badly you want, need me. My tongue pushes your left lip back, and then the right, up over my upper lip, my sucking expands you, the lashing resumes. Faster, you think - need - and is it a thought just before I speed up or just the spilt-second after for seemingly as you think it I accede to your silent craving.
Even still, here, now, you try to remain in control, tipping this way and that to adjust my onslaught to where you would most choose to have it fall, but it is fruitless - I am too powerful and too well positioned, I hold all the cards and have you at my mercy and now that I have you so you will receive what I choose and not, perhaps, the less focused, the more oblique experience that you would choose for yourself. It is too much, too much, coming to fast, too direct, too intense, you can not absorb it all, not there, not again, not now, oh wait, just wait just not quite so much so fast so soon so long oh please…..
I outrun you, overwhelm you, you can not take it, control it, absorb it you must give up the effort and you do yet I do not relent, you are mine and I will give you what I will as if you are here just for me and not I for you, seen through the looking glass, you give yourself to me even as I give you what you most want, need, in the way that you must have it.
Come to me, my kiss beckons, and as my lips pucker the focus tightens, you rise, rise to me, leaving yourself now it is too much, it is it is, your release is here, before my eyes your tummy ripples, my head bobs so slightly as I rides the waves of your passion and you try to give it all away, every ounce of infinite feeling, here, take it, let me give you more more more your mind says. The broad flat tongue still separates you, reversed, the tip prodding you roughly below and you would take it in, gladly, give it cover it coat it with the hot bitter tang of your most distilled juices, undiluted, new from the stretching, emerging secret inner flesh - but - the tip rises and returns and now it is too much, your legs try to close on me, you fold and curl and hide or try to, but my position is too strong, a single lash reaches out, finds its home, going through you with the bite of a whip, one, and you hide as I wait, you flinch and a second one finds its mark, a third, a fourth oh it is too much your mind screams really this time oh this must stop.
My shoulders, torso rise from between your legs like a tidal wave, hands under your shoulders, gripping pulling you downward onto me, arms along your sides, pressing, clasping, and in one motion the wait is over, you are filled with me, I am part of you, melted in this fire and recast as only one.
I set up a rhythm and you begin to respond to me, your legs kicking freely, your hips bucking almost as if you would avoid the intensity of my ministrations, but with one hand I keep you in place, keep my attentions on target. You can, have to, must count with me, a steady twelve, and then down, up, repeat, and you know it will build to twenties and soon after you will have no break at all, just the long steady march that takes you where you need to be. Even here, in your most sensitive, most inner of all inner places, you are not quick to heat and fire and slake your thirst, and I know that, and you know I am well prepared to go on for as long as you need. My lips circle you, pushing your own lips back so softly, while my gentle, gentle sucking draws you toward me, sensitizing you all the further to my relentless tongue. Up one side and then the other, tiny tiny circles, direct lashings that go on and on - you are subject to each of these in turn, in groups, at random.
You thrust your hips outward to reveal yourself and then, sensitive, retreating, you withdraw, but I follow. There can be no escape. A hand strays downward and your wrist is captured, a bond, a connection, a lifeline. Your back arches briefly as I pull your hand down toward me, then you reverse to offer yourself to me again, flexing outward, turning up the bright hot cheeks that my other rhythm has so recently enflamed. Ten, eleven, twelve, my tongue slides down firmly between your lips where you are almost too sensitive for even this soft wet touch, down, touching you lightly inside and then up, upward along the same path and then one, two, three. With each lick you are exposed further to me, positioned all the more sensitively to my next lick and the next and to all of the oh-so-many after that.
I was firm tonight, first warming then stinging then hurting and finally stinging again, your need had been great but it rose with each step and now it is a pure ache, here and here and here, where you feel how badly you want, need me. My tongue pushes your left lip back, and then the right, up over my upper lip, my sucking expands you, the lashing resumes. Faster, you think - need - and is it a thought just before I speed up or just the spilt-second after for seemingly as you think it I accede to your silent craving.
Even still, here, now, you try to remain in control, tipping this way and that to adjust my onslaught to where you would most choose to have it fall, but it is fruitless - I am too powerful and too well positioned, I hold all the cards and have you at my mercy and now that I have you so you will receive what I choose and not, perhaps, the less focused, the more oblique experience that you would choose for yourself. It is too much, too much, coming to fast, too direct, too intense, you can not absorb it all, not there, not again, not now, oh wait, just wait just not quite so much so fast so soon so long oh please…..
I outrun you, overwhelm you, you can not take it, control it, absorb it you must give up the effort and you do yet I do not relent, you are mine and I will give you what I will as if you are here just for me and not I for you, seen through the looking glass, you give yourself to me even as I give you what you most want, need, in the way that you must have it.
Come to me, my kiss beckons, and as my lips pucker the focus tightens, you rise, rise to me, leaving yourself now it is too much, it is it is, your release is here, before my eyes your tummy ripples, my head bobs so slightly as I rides the waves of your passion and you try to give it all away, every ounce of infinite feeling, here, take it, let me give you more more more your mind says. The broad flat tongue still separates you, reversed, the tip prodding you roughly below and you would take it in, gladly, give it cover it coat it with the hot bitter tang of your most distilled juices, undiluted, new from the stretching, emerging secret inner flesh - but - the tip rises and returns and now it is too much, your legs try to close on me, you fold and curl and hide or try to, but my position is too strong, a single lash reaches out, finds its home, going through you with the bite of a whip, one, and you hide as I wait, you flinch and a second one finds its mark, a third, a fourth oh it is too much your mind screams really this time oh this must stop.
My shoulders, torso rise from between your legs like a tidal wave, hands under your shoulders, gripping pulling you downward onto me, arms along your sides, pressing, clasping, and in one motion the wait is over, you are filled with me, I am part of you, melted in this fire and recast as only one.
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