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Former lovers meet up.

My sex is pulsating, demanding attention. I swear I can feel my labia engorge, blood surging to feed a frenzy of nerve ends awakened from hibernation. I push his head from my breast down to where I need his touch; my fingers replace his lips massaging his saliva across a nipple pinched twixt finger and thumb. I wantonly part my legs waiting for the brand of his tongue. He moves slowly, kissing gently across the span of my stomach sending tremors through my body, I can barely stand. His hands, hot on my thighs, move onto my bottom, bending my hips to meet his mouth. I know if he tongues me I'll orgasm, and I won't be embarrassed, or ashamed. His mouth covers my sex, his tongue parting the folds of skin, penetrating me, teeth grazing against my clitoris. I'm rocking against his mouth his hands cupping my bottom to match my rhythm, pulling me onto his face, fingers prying between my cheeks. It's a shock when he brushes the rim of the tighter hole, my whole body contorts and I move a hand and push him away, but he returns to the spot, his fingers laden with seeping moisture, gently probing, my hand covering his, ready to stop him, until a finger slips into the orifice and the outrage is enough to trigger my orgasm. I thrash wildly against his mouth, wanting to swallow his head, and his hand. I no longer care what he thinks of me. If today is to be all, it will be enough.

We stay like that until my spasms subside and the sound of my secretions against his face ease into my consciousness. Now I felt faintly embarrassed, aware that my vaginal discharge is often thick, astringent. I try to move, to slide down the wall, he holds me in position and stays suppliant, kneeling at my feet, nuzzling my sex, gentle slow licks, each making me shiver.
"Why are you doing this?"

He glances up, smiles with his eyes, mumbles into my sex. It tickles and I stifle a laugh. And slowly he increases the pressure of his tongue; I try to concentrate on what he's doing, try to ignore the feelings rising once more across my body. I thought I wanted his phallus buried deep inside my body but now I don't want him to stop what he's doing. Imperceptibly I began once more to rock my hips to meet the brush of his tongue. I want him to touch my bottom again but don't know how to ask and I shift position slightly, and my hands move to my bottom separating the cheeks, he doesn't appear to take the hint and I grow anxious until I once again realize he's waiting for me and reach for his hand and blatantly, wickedly, bring him to the darker cavity.

The sensation of his finger in my bottom is almost unbearable, transcends all of my beliefs, my upbringing. I feel capable of anything, and relax to feel his ministrations, confident he knows where to steer me. He doesn't stop, his tongue now flicking at my clitoris, finding the right pace, working me up again. I'm moving against his finger, my hand over his pushing him deeper, I'm in control now... to a degree. I desperately try to prolong the onset of my orgasm, holding his hand still then thrusting him violently into me, the violation jerking my sex against his mouth. I begin to understand the unspoken balance of giving and receiving.

My orgasm is completely different from before, slower, and I'm aware of every change in my body, a surge that begins to rise simultaneously in my brain and my sex, imploding, violently colliding and the euphoria of my release coating his mouth.

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