Honeysuckle Kiss
It drove him nuts. Honey lied to him, cheated on him, stole his heart and broke it in two, but he couldn’t stay away from her. She was special. She had something the other girls didn’t have. He always kept coming back for more.
Like now, when he was buried to his eyebrows in her pussy, licking and sucking for all he was worth. Fickle, high-maintenance bitch, it took forever to work her up, to convince her to come for him. She treated it like a favor. And god dammit, she was right. It was.
She was beautiful, skin like the honey she was named for, thick black hair, green eyes. He could’ve had other beautiful girls, but he just wanted her. For the taste. For the taste.
She flowed so freely, dripping, sticky, her pussy, pink as petals, always wet with nectar. The taste of her, musky salt, like seawater, and so slick, made his mouth water. He pushed his fingers into her, exploring, stroking. When he found the right spot, he knew it. Her hips came up. Juices trickled out along his knuckles, dripped down his wrist. It was like splitting a peach with his hands. He licked up the drips and kept fingering, rubbing her G-spot. Scientists might have argued in circles about it, but he knew it wasn’t a myth. If he worked her up enough, she’d come hard, and he’d get a mouthful.
The first one wasn’t the best one. She pulled his hair fiercely, yanking his face away, her fingers taking the place of his mouth on her clit. She came, and the spurt leaped from her pussy, squirting him in the face, hot and tangy. He dove back in, shoving his mouth back between her thighs, tongue-kissing her slippery, welcoming cunt.
She had him fuck her, stop and go, stop and go, and she squirted twice on his cock, once in little rain shower bursts, and once a heavy, startling geyser that drenched his pubes and even wet his jeans. Christ, she was amazing. Her hands ran through the flow, rubbed up her body, massaging her own tits. The smell of her was like heat in the room.
He came inside her and she shoved him away in mock disgust, but he held her leg, kept her on her back while he fingered her again, bringing out finger full after dripping finger full, feeding it to her so she could taste him. Them. He could feel her growing tighter, her pussy was hot, swollen, flushed with lust. Ripe.
He had to have another taste. He slid down. She was saltier, more bitter, what was left of him still trickling out. He didn’t care. He had to feel it. This would be a good one. Her G-spot was swollen, he could feel it, pressed it and rocked it with two fingers crooked up inside her. She moaned, heels digging into the cheap mattress, shoving her pussy up. His tongue lashed her clit.
She gushed into his mouth again, her hips bucking. His fingers slipped out of her, he clung to her thighs for a grip as she rubbed her button on his tongue, shrieking in what sounded like an amazing orgasm. Her waters flooded his tongue, ran down his chin. He knew he’d always find himself craving just one more taste of Honey.
~ Alexandra Rose ~
