Flowering

"I'm a virgin," she breathed nervously.

He laughed.

She laid there completely still. He looked at her surprised. She was in her thirties and gorgeous. She had beautiful dark hair and eyes like sultry green jewels.

"How could she still be a virgin? Was she lying?" He wondered.

Yet, from looking into her eyes he could see her whispered confession was no lie. She looked terrified, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as if she expected him to run from the bed screaming, never to be seen or heard from again. Her lower lip began to tremble as tears overflowed on to her cheeks. She started to sit up, to cover her nakedness, ashamed now that she had revealed herself.

"Shh. It's ok." He whispered while holding her face in his hands. "Sorry. You surprised me there." He brushed away her tears with his thumbs and touched his forehead to hers. "It's ok. Do you want to?"

"Yes." She said.

"Ok." He replied. He kissed her softly once, twice, and then, as he felt her relax again, he laid her back down on his bed. He put her arms over her head and gently grazed the soft skin on the underside of her arms with his rough, calloused hands. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Using the same soft caresses, he explored her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Her eyes remained closed. Her arms remained above her head as if tied by invisible cords. She breathed out soft sighs and gasps, enjoying the new sensations.

He opened her legs slightly and moved toward the end of the bed so he could lie between her thighs, his hands holding her hips, his face hovering above her lips, ones that had never felt kisses or the hot breath of a man. He looked up at her.

"Open your eyes." He said smiling. She opened them, looking at him curiously, not sure what to expect.

"I want you to watch what I do to you." He said still smiling. Then, he pressed his lips against hers, her soft, dark curls entwining with his beard.

He could smell her. Her lips were closed, but her fragrance was already affecting him. It was rich and dark and made him think of sage and honey. He pressed hot, short kisses against her lips. Soon he felt her lips moisten. He licked his lips to taste it and sighed against her curls. Her nectar reminded him of the sea. He ran his tongue up the line between her moist lips. He was already so excited, but her gasp made him even harder.

He wanted her now. He the urge to bury himself in her, to take her now hard and fast. He had never deflowered a virgin before. How tight would she be? He wondered. He bit the inside of her thigh then licked it. He looked up at her. There was no fear in her eyes, no worry, just curiosity and the seed of desire as she looked back at him. It made him want to be patient. It made him want to keep going slow, to let her enjoy her first time, to continue his exploration of her.

He parted her lips with his hand so he could look at her. Inside she was a soft, velvety pink and glistening like dew on a spring morning. He could see the petals of her vagina, moist yet still closed; hiding deep within them were her moans and deep, aching lust that would soon be his.

He looked at her clit. It was full, round and wet like pink a fragrant dew-covered berry that a man could nearly taste with his eyes. He pressed his lips against it. She sighed. He caressed it gently with his thumb. She trembled. He licked her dew off his thumb, not wanting to waste it. He pressed his lips against her and gently took her succulent berry into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it.

He was enjoying it. She felt like silk. He was surrounded by her scent; he was drinking in the pure taste of her desire like it was the only thing keeping him from dying of thirst. He was tasting her all over, trying to capture every last drop with his tongue. The more he found, the more pleasure he gave her. The more pleasure she found, the more moisture she gave him. Instinct made her hips move against his mouth, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

He felt her movements and parted her petals with a finger to feel inside her. She moaned loudly. He loved the way she was squeezing his finger. He gave her two fingers. Her moans were delicious. He was licking, savoring the silky fruit of her clit while stroking, discovering the tightness inside her with his fingers. She was close. He could tell from the movement of her hips and the rhythm of her moaning. He could not hold back anymore. He wanted to feel her squeezing his cock. He wanted to be surrounded by the tight, silken wetness of her. He wanted her to feel what her pleasure was doing to him.

He gave her clit a few more licks, removed his fingers from her and put them in his mouth rescuing every lust infused drop. He grabbed her hips and began sliding his cock inside her. Feeling the squeezing, beckoning wet of her against his throbbing hard member was about to put him over the precipice of reason.

He had meant to enter her slowly and gently, to let her get used to the thickness of him, but he had waited too long and hearing her groans of pleasure from his entry was too much for him. He thrust hard and filled her. However, instead of pain at his rough deflowering she only felt a sweet ache inside her. He was thrusting hard and fast, and the new sensation was growing vast and deep as if she was going to drown in it.

When she came, she not aware she was screaming his name. She was not aware that her spasms of passion were in time with his. Instead, she felt as if she had gone from under the ocean of desire -- a deep agonizingly sweet place -- and had suddenly been propelled upward to the surface, gasping what felt like a first breath of real life. She lay there floating, enjoying the waves, vaguely aware that he had collapsed on top of her, that his hot breath was teasing the sweaty hairs clinging to her neck. She was drifting away with the current like flower petals floating on a river, winding their way freely to wherever the river might take it.