An Absinthe-Loving, Polyamorous, Kinky, Sex-Positive Couple talk about all things Sex, Kink, and LGBTQ.

Craving Her

For roughly the last six hours today, while struggling through work, I have found myself craving the taste of Mrs. AP under my tongue.  I love trailing my lips across her skin, exploring her lips and her neck, meandering down to her luscious breasts and erect nipples,  The feeling of her nipples hardening, puckering, rising underneath my tongue and against my lips is one of the divine pleasures of being able to explore the fantastic curves of my wife’s body.  Right now, though, in particular, I yearn for something very specific.

I long for running my tongue and trailing my lips down from the soft, pouty lips of Mrs. AP, caressing down her delectable neck, and into the glorious cleft of her cleavage.  Downward still, strolling my tongue across the beauty of her stomach and teasing over the rise and fall of her sensuous mons pubis before spiraling slowly inward and down until my lips and tongue nestle into the perfect placement between her long, lean legs.

Oh, but to dip my tongue between her lips and gently coax them wide.  Her heat, her scent, dancing across my taste buds to encourage deeper, more forceful explorations.  Flattening my tongue, pressing, entering, to be greeted by the sweet taste of my beloved’s arousal.  Sweet!, but not in a honey way, or even vanilla and strawberry, like most people like to use for descriptors of sexual juices.  She’s more primal and raw, like what would happen if the forest and panthers and hibiscus and orchid and pomegranate and the nectar from lilies could all be blended together and then coaxed forth from within her.  This!  This is for what I long, and crave, and cannot shake from my mind for hours upon end today!

Oh, but I shall be home soon, and then, for all that is good and naked and wonderful in this world, will I close and lock my door, and strip my gorgeous wife bare, and explore her every twitch and tremble with my tongue until her sweet, subtle nectar becomes a flood upon my tongue and across my cheeks, and she gasps my name and grips the sheets and loses herself into the bliss of erotic release, and then!  Oh, but then I will still be thirsty, and will have to drink of her some more until her crescendo repeats, again and again, until she can bear no more and must both push me away and pull me upward so that more than my tongue will slide between that velvety lips.

Soon.  Soon.  For my daydreams are vivid, and my need is pressing, and the memory of the taste of my wife is … sweet.

Stay SINful, friends.

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