A Lonely Witch

My tongue slid over flesh that burned with pure sexual fire. Her wetness was considerable, enough that I was able to catch some on my tongue and swallow, taking her essence into me. She screamed and writhed, her body jerking powerfully already. Though my inner senses were dulled now, even I could tell that this first lesbian encounter of her life was not only making her fantasies come true, but she was discovering that reality was even better than her wildest dreams had dared to hope.

I licked and nibbled, sucking flesh into my mouth and humming, releasing and flicking my tongue against her sex. Her cries grew wilder, hotter, and her body's reactions to me - the jerks and spasms in her body - told me that I was getting closer.

"I'm going to make you cum!" I moaned as I drew back to breathe.

"Hurry!" she moaned. "Oh god I need to cummmmm!" she wailed.

Music to my ears. I dove back in, my mouth open to cover her entire pussy, my tongue sliding from entrance to her button and back down. The flood of her cream forcing me to gulp and despite the thunder in my ears from the blood rush, I heard the piercing shriek as her body barreled over the edge and went straight into that orgasmic maelstrom. She screamed and shuddered and moaned and her pussy exploded with wetness, forcing me to lap. I lapped and did not care that drips from her body fell from my mouth, over my chin and landed on the swell of my breast. I kept licking, and sucking and humming into her body, and her orgasm swelled and faded then swelled again, another round of noisy cries and creamy perfection.

Her orgasm subsided and then the sensation grew overwhelming. "No!" she squeaked weakly, shoving me away and gasping. I looked up, her cum dripping from my chin and hitting my chest, and looked at her face. It was gorgeous. It was perfect. Half-lidded eyes showing cloudiness, nostrils that flared with each desperate breath, a mouth gaping open and pretty. I stood and pressed my mouth to hers, moving her sweet creams to her tongue and lips and after a startled squawk, she kissed back hard and hard and hard, and her hands came to life finding my hips.

"I need to know," she hissed.

"Yes, you do," I said and spun her. Now it was my ass pressed to the cold countertops, and my hips shoved roughly forward, opened obscenely between wide-spread legs. My hand rested at the connection to my torso and leg, not touching myself yet, but even so knowing how hot and wet I was. I hoped that she found me as delicious as I found her!

"I've never done this," she whispered as she knelt down as I had done. I grabbed her hand and brought one to my breast, larger than hers. Let her fingers caress my engorged nipple, let her feel the plump heat of my breast.

"You'll love it," I promised her.

She did begin, and it was good but tentative. Her licks were gentle, tasting me. Not knowing what she would find and how she would feel when she got there. But my heat once more pulsed hard just from that first lick and then she was lost again, giving over to the instinct that she felt. Then it was like I was the subject of a frenzy, of movement and groans, grunts and licks that drove me into the deepest throes of pleasure.

With other more steady lovers, I am a slow build to an orgasm. It is unfortunate, but it is reality. But when my lust is triggered at that instinctual level, like she had done, then I am fast, wild, and multi-orgasmic. And I offer a sheer torrent of my own essence.

The orgasm did not just hit. It slammed me, that massive wall of water rushing down the valley devouring everything in its path. That's how I felt, this orgasm began with a trickle expanding into a floor before dashing all before it, laying waste to my mind and body. I was outside myself, tumbled about in the deep dark waters of the orgasm, unknowing and uncaring. Like the flotsam caught in that flood, here and there I broke the surface for a gasp of oxygen before my body sucked me back down.

I knew that I had given her more essence than she had dared believe possible. I knew that she had gotten her fill from me, and that - as she had done - suddenly her perfect movements were too much. I shoved her away and with a long moan, sank slowly to the floor as my legs could no longer be trusted to support my weight. The collapse was complete, and I fell to the floor on my side.

My arms opened and Suzanne crawled into them. As I had done for her, she now kissed me hard and I got a wash of my own sweet nectar. We laid and breathed, our legs moving together, slipping one into the other's until we were intertwined. After a brief recovery, the hardness and coldness of my floor overrode my desire never to leave this woman's arms.

"To my bed?" I had to suggest.

Her face wrinkled. "Yes, please," she said. We extracted and climbed onto unsteady legs. Our hands clasped provided us a glimmer of strength, only enough to propel us forward a few feet until we crashed onto my bed. We returned to that position of clinging to one another. Lying on our sides, our noses touching, breath hot on the other's body.

"That was better than my dreams," she told me.

Now that her essence was in me, I saw her emotions and thoughts far more clearly. "I knew you were coming to me, for months now," I said softly.

"How?" she wanted to know.

"I am a witch. I know things," I told her.

She smiled, thinking it was a joke. "I've been bewitched!" she proclaimed. Then kissed me. "But I don't care," she said more firmly.

"And I don't care either," I smiled at her. "You are an amazing woman," I told her.

She frowned. "My parents would not approve of this," she told me.

"Luckily for us, they are not here," I said. I gave a little nod. "My land approves of you," I told her.

"Are you really a witch?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a little.

I nodded. "I am."

"What does that mean?"

I smiled softly. I could have said many things. That I would outlive her. That she would be my lover for the next forty-seven years, until the heart disease that would plague her later years would eventually steal her from me. That I would spend each and every moment of those forty-seven years loving her as completely and fully as any human can love another. And that in the season following her loss, as it had happened each and every time in my long past, I would enter a long winter of discontent. Yet I would emerge anew, like the first rays of warm sun hitting the earth just so the seeds could awaken and sprout, refreshed and replenished, but always with my memories. Of Suzanne and the others whom had been my wives and lovers and companions.

"It only means that I will love you more perfectly than you dared hoped you would enjoy in your deepest most secret dreams," is what I said.

I have been alive for perhaps a thousand years. I don't know. I don't recall. But it's all right. I had been lonely. I won't be lonely for forty-seven years. It's all right; I've been here before.