The Next Bite

He chewed that last bite, savoring all that she had offered. “Take a drink,” she said. “Then, lick my clit.”

He sipped the champagne, eyeing the feast that was, literally, spread before him. The tender light of the candle glowed off her naked crotch. He was led toward the light, like a moth. His lips and tongue touched the fire and came back for more. She was ambrosia, addiction, lust, greed. Her body was his.

She wanted torture. She wanted to be led down a long path of discovery, to burst out of a deep mountain tunnel into the light of a secret valley. When the muscles of her inner thighs tightened, she directed him to take a bite of the second scallop. He did as he was told, tasting her as he tasted the sweet meat of the ocean. She watched the muscles of his jaw as he chewed, watched the dimples in his cheeks, the movement of his lips, the piercing gaze of his dark eyes. When he swallowed that first bite, she moved a little closer toward him. “Make me cum,” she ordered.

Her clit stood rigid against its hood, engorged with senses. When his tongue made contact, she moaned and threw her head back. She thought of water and sun and touch. She fantasized of hard cocks surrounding her, brushing up against her like fish. She felt the rain of cum upon her opened body, and heard the pulsing cries of man after man. His tongue on her was even, relentless, insistent. It forced the air in her lungs out of her. It forced the gripping spasms of her vagina to push and suck and push and suck and push and suck, until she erupted.




There were bruises on the inside of her knees when she stopped flailing. Her stomach lurked with every post-coital slurp across the head of her shameless clit. He backed off to allow her to breathe, and marveled at her beauty; all the sensuous curves and angles of her nakedness, made him hard against the silk. He rubbed the head of his cock, gently. His balls were moving, positioning, getting ready.

“You may finish that one,” she offered. He did.