Underwater Leisure Activity
Truth be told, I've always been apprehensive around water, especially natural bodies like the ocean.
The depth of it all frightened me. It made me feel tiny, insignificant. The idea of being swallowed up in its vastness left me trembling.
Then, I met her.
She was more than just deep, she was downright abyssal. From her eyes to her heart to the hidden places, there's a depth to her that leaves me yearning and feeling unworthy.
Yet, she invites me to explore. She exposes herself to me and my curious nature. There are places inside her that no man has ever visited, claimed, or touched.
The fear within me demands that I tread cautiously.
The lust inside me urges me to devour everything I can.
The lust, as always, triumphs, and I embark on the journey.
A heavy moan escapes her lips at my first touch.
My tongue, slippery and wet, relaxes under the pressure between her strong legs. Her wet folds open up to me and my insatiable mouth. I've been there before, but each visit feels like the first.
The scent around her is sweet and intense. The hints of soap are negligible in contrast to the natural scents surrounding her. I've been thirsting for this, and now that I'm savoring it, I can't stop.
Her stubborn, sensitive clit tells me that her body has made pleasure a priority. The blood rushing there harmonizes with mine, hard as ever. Our bodies are always in sync like this.
I wonder if perhaps that's the part that scares me the most: how flawlessly our moments together always align.
"Keep going, babe," she whispers.
I give her lips a lengthy, slow lick. I scoop up her dew on my tongue and give thanks for this meal. Her thick, plump lips are a delight to her. I nip at them playfully, and she loves that. Experience has taught me well, and her body has become my favorite lesson.
Finally, I move my wandering tongue to her exposed clit, standing out proud beside its hood. One lick. Two licks. Three licks.
She squirms the whole time. Her body's honesty leaves no doubt that I'm doing something right. I'm sure if I looked down, I'd see her pretty, painted toes curling up as well.
"Fuck," a whispered curse escapes her parted lips.
I slip my tongue over her sensitive nub, growing harder with each swipe. Once it's hard enough, my full lips engulf it, sealing it from the world, and drowning it in my never-ending passion. I press hard against it, and its soft, sated voice pleases me. Sighs, whimpers, moans. She's fluent in my language.
A small, but strong hand grabs the back of my head — a silent prompt for me to continue.
I'm satisfying her.
Her clit feels luscious in my mouth. I don't want to let it go, but I must. I'm after something more, something buried deep in her that I long to unearth.
I briefly release her delightful taste, and she seems both relieved and exasperated.
Almost immediately, I'm back to the search, now with my hands. I massage her inner thighs and then kiss them sensuously. Her body made for me, and I'll never grow tired of paying tribute.
Her shifting hips show me she wants — no, needs — me to resume my mission.
I'm not one to disappoint.
"Mmmmm," she murmurs as my tongue returns to work.
I lick her lips like before, but each lick strikes harder and opens her up. After several attempts, the level of penetration increases. I slide halfway inside her.
The feeling of kissing the lower lips is divine. Their plumpness complements my own.
"Shit," she utters sharply.
I stop massaging her thighs long enough to penetrate her even further. My middle finger glides into her, slick and welcomed. Instantly, my finger is buried to the knuckle.
Her body trembles at the sensation. I wait a few moments for her body to acclimate to the change, and then I start the push-and-pull motion that will send her over the edge.
I want to make sure my devoted tongue doesn't feel neglected, so I go back to stimulating her swollen clit. My finger moves aggressively. The sound of her lower lips, her fluids, begin to compete with the sounds of her other lips. It doesn't take long before a visually and audibly pleasing harmony develops.
My manhood feels a strong itch. It knows instinctively what role it occupies. Fashioned by the higher power to locate her valuables and supplement its wealth. But that's not the goal here. This is about me delving into the depths on my own, with the equipment available, satisfying her needs.
"Ooah."
She offers another motivation.
I add my pointer finger to the fray. Her tightness makes the employment of two fingers challenging, yet there's no denying how beneficial it is for her. Her ridged walls almost pull at my digits.
I adjust my wrist slightly. My fingertips now have a different texture that indicates I'm approaching the latter part of the hidden treasure chest.
Rhythmically, in and out, in and out, in and out. My fingers stay engaged, committed. The tightening muscles indicate that she's working toward something massive.
"Fuuuuck," she grunts, her fingers grasping my wrist so tightly.
I haven't even utilized the true pressure yet.
Even though my wrist is imprisoned, my fingers still understand their duties. They glide through her crevices, stimulating the muscles to react. With an assertive flick, they locate their objective. The solid, bumpy bump that nature kept concealed, even from its owner.
I press down intensely.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah," the first of several cries escapes her stunning lips. I make no concession. I continue to rub and push. After a while, she loses the determination to resist. My wrist is free. My time has come.
I create some momentum using my two fingers. The previously loud wet sounds return, more intense than before. A light sprinkling of her female nectar hits my arm, her inner thighs, the surface beneath us.
She's ripe.
I have responsibility for my other hand. Its thumb presses onto her clit, creating circles around it, distributing her wet desire around its surface.
I move my gaze from her splendid blossom to appreciate the live chocolate, abundant yet tantalizing, that drew me into her depths. Despite being twisted in agony from pleasure, her appearance remains impeccable. Her eyes, lips, nose. I recognize divinity in them and understand that I was placed there to fulfill her requirements.
"Baby, baby...," she addresses me for the first time during this adventure.
Our eyes meet. She appears both robust and powerless. Even in her vulnerable state, I notice no trace of contrition. Instead, I see how grateful she is that I responded to her invitation, that I took action to meet her needs.
My hands continue their mission for a couple more minutes. The moans fade to strangled sobs, the wet sounds lessen as her body strains around my thrusting fingers. The time is drawing near.
I kiss her cheek and she smiles weakly. She's en route to the peak.
I press on her secret place one more time.
Her body rigidifies as wave upon wave washes over her. Her eyelids flutter. Her breathing becomes shallow. Her voice leaves her, substituted by a sound resembling a whisper.
I maintain my hands in place, caught up in the spectacle. I always enjoy the show. I always relish the act of assembling arousal, the anticipation of satisfaction, the formation of bonds like an artisan with his tools.
Finally, I claim my prize...
Read also:
- My Close Friend, a Female, Fondled Me
- A Stepmother's Varied Testimony: Volume 3
- Listening to Their Groans: The Complete Narrative
- Slim, Youthful, and Well-Endowed in Part 2
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