Silent Seeds, Scorching Secrets

You didn’t know it, but you were driving me crazy. It wasn’t anything you were doing, not at all. In fact, you weren’t even in the same room with me. You hadn’t been in the room for nearly half an hour, when you’d stopped in after your bath. I’d semi-sequestered myself in the study to write while you bathed, and when you came out, you came to check on me, and, after too many minutes of staring at a blank page, I was grateful for the interruption, not to mention the kiss and sweet embrace that had come along with it.

With that, the thought of you, sitting in the couch in the living room: your still-warm skin freshly scrubbed and smelling faintly of lavender, your thigh-length robe closed but not knotted and clinging to your delicious curves, your wet hair pulled back and flowing over your shoulders, a book in your hands, beautiful coltish legs bare. . .I could not get the image out of my mind. I was rather enjoying it, actually. Though my passion for you usually inspired my writings, today it only inspired an electric humming in my skin and a throb below my waist – wonderful feelings to be sure, but not conducive to writing.

Sitting there, stuck and staring at an endless expanse of white pixels, I could not take my mind from you, beautiful sexy sensual you, clean and warm and smelling good, sitting there on the couch, all alone, reading. . .

I thought about the taste of you. And I got up, abandoning the keyboard in favour of more tangible pursuits. The scent of your garden surrounds me and I basked in it: musky and sweet, light and heady, it was a scent I knew well and never got enough of. I kissed down from your bellybutton, smiling as I thought of what I was going to do. I felt your lips and tongue tasting you from my wet fingers. I smiled again and took a second to enjoy the feeling of your tongue licking the moisture from them, then continued on my downward path, more determined and hungry than before.

I came to your pearl first; it was full and pulsed gently against my lips, slick and damp with your delicious wetness. My tongue crept out from between my slightly opened lips, flicked over it, once, twice, several times, then circled it teasingly as I reveled in the feel of its hard, warm surface against my rough tongue. I could have stayed there much longer, but my desire to taste you had grown much greater and so I moved downward again, seeking the source of this delectable nectar.

I drew back, just a little, to look at your blossom, its petals engorged, opening, beckoning me into the pleasures hidden in its depths. I’d told you on several occasions that your blossom was beautiful, and whispered it again as I pressed my lips against it, taking a deep breath of you that made my head spin with wicked, wanton, naughty thoughts – tasting you, pleasuring you, your hips straddling my head, so many – I moaned out loud at the images that flew in my head. I could not stop my hand from leaving your thigh, sliding under my shirt and beneath my pants and boxers and wrapping my fingers around my throbbing, shaft. As I kissed the petals in their fullness, around the edges at first then slowly spiraling inwards, covering my lips with your moisture, I stroked myself gently, not at all surprised to find my fingers greeted with a flow of pre-ejaculate as they reached the swollen head.

As my lips had spiraled inwards, I spiraled outward with my tongue, dragging it lightly over the flushed petals, pausing only to swallow the taste of you, to drink deep of your wonderful ambrosia. Oh, I love this, I thought and whispered, love this, love you, love all of you, everything of you. . . At the edge of a petal, I stopped, gently closed my teeth on it, suckled it softly, lovingly while my tongue flicked over it, pulled in its moisture and swallowed it, taking you inside of me, and released it to do the same to the other, tasting and nibbling and awash in your sexy, hot moans as I did so. There were no words to describe my hunger, my desire, my need, and I gave up trying to speak, deciding instead to let actions speak for me. . .and my hunger would wait no longer.

I pressed my lips firmly against your wet petals, and felt your hips grind up into me – the motion sent so many images spiraling through my head that I shuddered with the thought of them, and tightened my grip on my cock, stroking it harder as you moved against me. Opening my lips, I lapped at your pretty, delicate skin gently at first, up and over your pulsing pearl, then back down to the bottom, gently up, gently down, sucking softly, drinking you in, a steady pattern met and matched by your sighing moans, increasing slowly yet urgently, the laps growing heavier, , my free arm going around your hips, pulling me closer, your hips grinding faster against my mouth, until my tongue slipped inside you, slipped inside and licked and stroked your walls, curled and retreated to bring more of that delicious ambrosia of you into my mouth, hot and wet and sticky, my fingers teased your pearl as I pressed my face tighter and sent my tongue deeper into you, curling, flicking, teasing, stroking along your inner walls. I moaned into you with the heat of it, the intimacy and pleasure and pure joy of this; moaned and felt your inner walls squeezing my tongue as I devoured your blossom, licked and sucked ily and hungrily and begged you please, please, to cum on my tongue, to coat my lips with you, and you did, beautifully, back arched, your hands on your breasts, pulling and teasing your nipples your head thrown back as great sighing groans broke from your lips, filling the air with the sound of your orgiastic ecstasy, so hot and wonderful that I only barely kept from coming from with and had to stop stroking myself, focusing instead on greedily lapping up and sucking every drop of the moisture that flowed from you, sucking and slurping as your writhed and groaned on my tongue, and I didn’t let up; instead I plunged my tongue deeper, as far between the oil-soaked velvet grip of your inner walls as I could and sucked harder at your petals, taking every last bit of pleasure from your release, until you came again, nearly screaming from the pleasure of it, one hand at the back of my head pressing me against you tight as your hips bucked and ground against my mouth, as I stroked my tongue over your most sensitive inner places and drank deeply, so deeply, of the flood of wetness that came with this second orgasm, wanting each and every sending drop, taking as much as I could as you sagged back into the couch, exhausted and spent, and when it was gone we were left there, kissing softly, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“What did I do to deserve that?” you asked in a hitching whisper, your lips against my ear as we embraced.

“You drove me crazy,” I said, smiling against your cheek. “And I love you.”

“I love you,” you said, grinning, “and thank you, very very very much.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, pulling back from the embrace. With a final peckish kiss on your sweet, sexy mouth, I stood, turning as I rose, intent upon walking away. My cock was throbbing, demanding release, but I thought I’d try to savour this ache for a while, to see if it would inspire me in my writing.

I made it two steps away.

Suddenly, your left arm wrapped itself around my chest and, through my shirt, pinched my nipple. Your right hand took the more southerly route and slid quickly under my pajama pants and boxers, coming to rest with its fingers wrapped around my throbbing, achingly-hard cock. Before I could react, your lips were at my throat and nibbled there gently; the combination of the three and my own strong arousal made me moan and shudder in your arms. Without turning to look, I knew exactly what expression you wore – a sensual look of want, of need, of desire and determination.

“You drove me crazy too,” you said, your voice a low, hot, sweetly-accented whisper in my ear. “Now it’s my turn. . .”

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Silent Seeds, Scorching Secrets

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