For The Connoisseurs

Bridget’s face suddenly became serious as she sat there on the couch, opposite me. She stopped talking, and moved her hips forward, slumping a little in the seat. She then wordlessly fixed me with her eyes and drew her skirt up, revealing first more thigh, then that she was not wearing pants, and soon enough her thin thatch of pubic hair and the pink line of her cunt.

I was transfixed, but I didn’t know where to look. My eye was drawn to the pink frills of her sex, but my mind was drawn to her eyes, to savour the cheeky desire I met there. I tried to drink it all in.

She lifted the skirt further, and opened her legs. Her labia opened to show me more of her luscious folds and deep pink depths. She wriggled further down the seat, and I moved to meet her.  Kneeling on the floor, I placed my hands on her inner thighs, and my tongue plunged into her juicy pinkness.

I licked in long, slow strokes. I gently pulled at her thighs, to open her cunt wider, and I licked. I pushed my tongue into her warm hole. There was urgency rising in me. I wanted to climb inside.

I licked in long slow strokes, and they grew longer, and soon I was tasting the spice of her little anus, and I gradually let my tongue drift a little further down.

Bridget gave a small gasp of delight when I pushed the tip of my tongue into her ring, and then she gathered her thighs into the crook of her elbows, and tipped her pelvis so that, with her legs as wide as they could be, I was presented with the easiest access to that puckered delight. My nose was buried in the wetness of her cunt, and I licked and probed that arsehole with my tongue like there was no tomorrow. Bridget began a little cry that told of her deepest pleasure. The intimacy of the moment was profound. I felt I was licking her very soul. She felt a mesmerized peace. And I licked, and licked. There was nothing else I wanted to do. If I did anything else I would have to stop licking, and I did not want to stop. I could not stop.