Cunnilingus Sweetness

A night sky full of stars appears through the window as the sun sets over a city covered in snow. Our lips connect, my hands on her hips, I feel the tip of her tongue massage mine. Her soft body, a sip of honey, she rips off my shirt. My senses set ablaze, an electric heat flows through my nerves. Time slows for the moment; there are no seconds or days, only impulse. A trillion butterflies dance in my belly to the beat of my pulse.

We had met at the gym a few weeks earlier and tonight was the first date over at my place. I cooked dinner and opened a bottle of blood red 2014 Torres Celeste Crianza, which we barely finished, unable to keep our hands off each other.

Passion intensifies, I carry her to the bedroom. The air feels heavier than a summer afternoon. She lays under me, fragile, then slides her jeans off to reveal red lace underwear fitted perfectly to the curve of her loins. I take her shirt off and unsnap her bra. The near-naked sight of her silhouette rushes a pint blood to my lap, ounces of pure awe.

No textbook or sex education in school could ever prepare anyone for this surge of excitement and tension experienced at the dawn of the coitus. The wave of lust can overwhelm you with its power and force an early retreat, either by stopping the erection or hastening the climax.

Slow foreplay prevents both, and what better exercise than cunnilingus to pave the way for a thrilling intercourse. I nibble her neck, move down to feel her breast, kiss her nipples, and finish at the stomach as my hand caresses the surface of her lingerie. There is nowhere on earth I would rather be.

My lips follow the junction of her thighs around the red contour, I lift the lower elastic to unveil her most private garden, the sacred Eden, then kiss its outer edges. Her neck extends back, raises her closed eyes to the ceiling, her body undulates like the surf along the ocean, but she clenches her thighs and lets out a gasp.

"Am I moving too fast? We don't have to do this." I ask.

Communication is the most important medium of a powerful orgasm, both spoken and not. The body talks louder than words sometimes, and I would never want to make a woman feel uncomfortable.

"No, not at all, but my ex never went down on me. It's just an intense feeling." She replies.

"Let me know if it's too much."

She pushes my head back down; the girl knows what she wants. I strip her panties off intently. I like to start slow at first (when we were both clothed) and gradually increase the intensity of my efforts as the layers strip, the right balance of tenderness and dominance.

The vagina is nature's finest work of art, fresh as a lotus flower that blooms in the August heat, the portal for a new soul to enter the physical world from beyond. Each piece is unique in shape, color, and taste. The fingerprint of a woman's spirit.

There it was laying in front of me, calling to my deepest instincts. My mind is empty. I find the marble shaped clitoris in the upper section with my tongue, her outer pleasure epicenter. She gasps again but I keep going this time. Sensitivity is important to gauge before moving onto other steps. Some prefer clitoral stimulation over vaginal, while others feel nothing, or too much, many enjoy both. I play it by ear to know how to focus my energy.

I start with smooth, consistent paper-thin licks until I feel her body relax. The core compresses, her hands dance all over the place. I taste the bittersweet nectar, my weakness.

"Oh my god!"

My licks increase in pressure, and I start altering the angles from clockwise to counter, diagonal and across as if I was rubbing a crystal ball with my tongue. My lips surround her clit; I keep a steady breathing pattern, she accelerates her's.

"Your breath feels so fucking good, wow."

I slip my major finger inside her cove to get a feel of her inner world, then curl it in a come hither motion like a scorpion's stinger to find the prized g-spot, typically aligned with the clitoris from inside. Her body will let met know once I hit the right point.

Her legs twitch as I score the promised land, slightly to the right in respect to her outer marble.

"Oh ya, right there."

That's my cue to slip my ring finger inside, the bottom of my face soaked in our bodily fluids. I pick up the pace of every tongue stroke, synced with my digits to hit both spots simultaneously.

I maintain the speed, my jaw muscles start to cramp, but I keep going. Every word echoed by her body signals an oncoming orgasm.

"Yes...yes! ...yess!!! Don't stop." She commands as she grabs my head and pushes it into her crotch; I couldn't get out even if I tried.

She cums a minute later, grabs onto the bed's headboard. There is a short moment of silence, time stops as if we were both holding our breaths. Her canal convulses around my fingers, her legs and her abs spasm into a frenzy as she lets out the powerful song of victory, the walls shake. I hope the neighbors hear.

She starts crying, then laughs hysterically, then cries again, laugh, cry.

Such reactions never fail to startle me. "Was it so terrible?"

"No, silly. You were amazing. My legs are numb."

There is no way for me to tell if she is full of shit or not, sometimes women fake to make you stop without hurting your feelings, but she seems like an honest human so I might as well take her word for it.

The room smelled like sex.

Disclaimer: Practice safe sex with someone you trust, folks, and get tested when you don't. Antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea is a new reality.