Flower Worship

Last time I had you, it was all about me. I promised you that this time it'd be all about you. So lie back, my lady, and indulge me in a bit of flower worship.

It's no accident that poets, painters and artists have referred to the vagina as a flower. The folds, the delicate pink color, the glistening drops of dew -- just lovely. The scent and taste differ from woman to woman, but I've never found one that I don't like -- and I particularly like yours.

I start by standing in front of you and deliberately eyeing your body from every angle; feasting on you with my eyes, drinking you in, amazed that such loveliness can be mine. I walk around you, touching you here and there -- a caress on the cheek, a gentle touch on your breast, a trail of fingertips along your neck and collarbone, a slide of my palm down the small of your back. I can see you shivering with delight and anticipation, and smile to myself. I step closer, behind you, and put my hands on your waist. I nuzzle your neck and plant a trail of small kisses from the knob of your spine up and around to your earlobe. I nip lightly before releasing it -- a breathy "Ohhhh" escapes you -- and begin to unbutton your shirt.

Inch by inch my fingers trail down your front, caressing, exploring, unbuttoning. I pull the folds of the shirt free and run my thumbs over your nipples, then cup your breasts and squeeze them softly. You moan deep in your throat. I pull your arms behind you and draw the shirt down and off, tossing it aside, then begin slowly sliding your skirt up your thighs. Again, it's a slow thing -- lots of caresses, lots of whisperlight touches, brushing my hands over your knees, the insides of your thighs, the curves of your ass. I hike the skirt up further, to your waist, then suddenly I press against you from behind, letting you feel the bulge in my jeans, rubbing it up and down the crack of your ass. I know you like the feel of the denim against your bare flesh because a soft sigh escapes you.

My fingers are now working their way up the insides of your thighs, teasing, brushing, rubbing firmly. I brush my palm against the front of your panties and am rewarded by a quick gasp. I can feel your growing excitement through the thin fabric, and grin again. I brush my fingers against your crotch again, this time harder, pressing a bit more firmly, making a slow circular motion. You moan more loudly this time and I feel shudders passing through you. They're amplified when I work my hand inside the waistband of your panties and slip my fingers lower, questing further, slipping one finger then two inside your slit.

You're hot and wet already. I must be doing something right. I push my middle finger deeper, curling it around, trying for your G-spot. My thumb begins to work on your clit, spreading the wetness from your slit all around your lips, but concentrating on the little button that makes you gasp and moan. Inside, my middle finger still slides in and out, feeling your gushing wetness, massaging the little knot at the front, pressing softly at first then a bit harder.

When the trembling of your legs and the quivering of your flesh -- not to mention the cries of pleasure you're making -- signals me that you're going to have trouble standing for much more, I relent and pull my fingers free. I help you pull down and step out of skirt and panties, then turn you to face me. You move in for a kiss but I stop you with a finger on your lips, wanting to admire you for just a moment. You, on the other hand, have different ideas, capturing that finger and sucking your own slickness off of it. I sigh softly as your tongue caresses my digit, and my cock hardens still more. But this time isn't for me. I urge you back and help you lie down on the soft carpet, then prop a pillow underneath your ass to raise and spread you better for my access.

I lie down between your spread legs, admiring what I see. You're splayed and spread for me, your legs open wide, your body laid out for me like a sumptuous banquet. And I intend to dine well this night. I begin working my way up your legs, starting with your toes and trailing kisses and slow licks up your body. As I approach your pussy the kisses are longer, hotter; the licks harder and more deliberate. My tonguetip works its way slowly around your outer lips, teasing, probing. Gradually I move from using the tip of my tongue to swiping its entire broad length along your sopping slit from bottom to top and back again. Your moans are music to me; I use them as directions, telling me what you like and what works best. Your taste, so spicy-sweet, and your scent, so musky and affecting -- they're making my head spin.

Now I work a couple of fingers into you, sliding them about, getting them well and truly coated with your girl gloss. Then I use my thumbs to open you like a flower unfurling. It's not something I have to fight to do -- your lips are plump and shining with your excitement, swollen with need. Your hips are moving in slow undulating waves, responding to my touch, to my tongue, to my invading fingers.

I stop for a moment and survey your body, grinning. Your face is flushed and your hair is tousled from where you've been tossing it back and forth on the floor. The tips of your breasts are capped with nipples gone rock-hard from arousal. One hand is lazily massaging one breast, squeezing and pulling on a nipple, making it stand out like a pencil eraser -- but larger. You lick your lips as you see me gazing at you, and blink sleepy eyes dazed with pleasure.

Back I go to your dripping wet pussy, now working on you in earnest. I slide two fingers into you again and crook them in a reverse C, making a "come hither" motion. I put a bit of pressure on your G-spot and go back to work on the outside as well, licking and sucking around your outer lips, spiraling inward, plunging my tongue into you like a cock, then withdrawing it and making little circling motions around your clit. More moans drift from your mouth and your hips rise up towards me. Now I'm licking in long slow strokes from the bottom up to the top, using the broad side of my tongue, steadily increasing the pressure. I finish off each stroke with special attention on your clit. Sometimes I use the broad side on you, sometimes I use the tip to circle around and below it, sometimes I slip it back and forth across it, flicking gently.

Teasing is all well and good but I want you to crest the wave and fall, screaming. I gently capture your clit between my lips and then begin rippling my tongue back and forth across it, pressing from above. I know this drives you wild and very soon it has the desired effect; your hips are bucking furiously. I have to use my free hand to wrap around your thigh and hold you down; my other hand is still busy, two fingers inside you still pressing on your G-spot. I can tell you're getting near the edge, but refuse to be hurried; I continue the long slow strokes of my tongue on your clit with the same rhythm of my fingers inside you.  I feel your hand wind into my hair and clench hard, keeping me in place -- not that I'd want to go anywhere else!

Abruptly your body goes rigid and a high, keening wail bursts from you. "Yes! Yes! Yes, right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere.....OHHHHHHHH!" I keep up the oral / digital assault for a few more seconds, guiding you gently over the edge, then halt before you grow too sensitive and push me away. Gasping and moaning, you shiver to conclusion, going rigid all over, then slowly relax. I wait for about ten seconds, then go right back to work on you, trying for round two. In no time at all you're throwing your head back and forth and your hips are rising to meet me once more. "Oh yeah. Oh, like that. Oh, don't stop. Yeah, right there. Oh, god, that's good. Yes, yes, yes.....yes.......yes.......YES!!!"

This time you're shuddering and shaking as you come even harder. It's almost half a minute before you've stopped quivering and thrashing about, stars exploding in front of your eyes and sunlight filling your head. But you're just coming down from that when you feel it building again; I've resumed licking you gently, rippling the broad side of my tongue across your clit and this time sliding two fingers in and out of you. I feel you clenching around me, so tight, so hot, and shake my head mentally at the heat and wetness you're generating, but only mentally; I'm still busy, taking you to the finish line for the third time. My free hand now slips up to your breast and begins fondling it, first gently then much more roughly. I hear you shriek in surprise as I tweak one nipple hard and your hips buck twice in surprise, but then you're begging me to do it again, do it harder, to squeeze your tits, to eat you like an ice-cream cone. I'm licking at you harder now, most of the niceties gone, but still in the same deliberate rhythm. My fingers, on the other hand, are pistoning in and out of you faster and faster.

I raise my head long enough to murmur, "Now, baby. Come for me," and it seems you were just waiting for that signal. With another scream of pleasure you come for the third time, your hips rising up to meet my invading tongue and fingers, arching like you're trying to emulate a rainbow. Quivering and shaking, heated chills racing over your skin, rippling waves of pleasure washing you from head to toe, you cry out your joy then fall limp, your pussy clenching around my fingers, your girlcum trickling out of you to pool on the carpeting.

I wait for you to come down a bit more, then slowly slide my fingers out and pull my mouth off of you. I sit up, wiping my face absently on my forearm, and behold one of the sexiest sights a man can ever see -- the sight of a woman who's been given exactly what she wanted and enjoyed the hell out of it.

How lucky for me that it was exactly what I wanted as well.

-- PB