Lather Tongue

His tongue lathered her neck in her dreams. And he was moving over her, in her, around her, like a breeze in the night.

Then she woke, and it was true.

His dark eyes were looking down into hers. His dark face was searching her own.

Had she moved against him in her sleep? They had fallen into slumber at last, weary from the day, without thinking of the fact they lay naked next to each other. Very improper for an unmarried woman, and her supposed protection. But they had been so tired, neither had cared.

Now, somehow, during her sleep she must have brushed him, maybe cried out as if in a dream. Regardless of the fact she knew not what she had done, she had his attention now. And behind his head, the stars frosted the dark sky, reflected in his concerned and gleaming gaze.

His fingers stroked her pale cheek, softly. And his mouth parted, as if he would speak. Then his lips lowered to hers, suddenly. And he was kissing her, so softly, so gently. She had never before been kissed that way. There was no intrusion, no fumbling or exploration. There was only the touch of him against her.

Still his fingers stroked her cheek, as if he felt the need to calm her. And indeed, within her chest her heart was fluttering, beating horribly, painfully. She should push him off. She should object. But she could not.

Like serpents, her arms went up and around his neck, pulling him down on top of her prone body. Like snakes, her legs went out and around his own, wrapping around the outsides of his thighs, and entwining around the backs of his calves.

And he continued to kiss her. His lips were so soft, like pliant supplicants at the temple of her mouth, his tongue an errant priest that had so much to sanctify. Then his mouth was moving lower on her face, kissing along the rounded curve of her chin, dipping against her cheek that his fingertips had only just abandoned.

She sighed, closing her eyes against that reproachful sky, as if the light of the stars would somehow give her a strength to stop him, a strength she wanted to deny right now. She couldn't stop him, she told herself. His hands were moving all over her naked form, claiming each and every inch of flesh. How could she stop him?

She had no desire to do so.

Soon, his mouth was against her ear. Once there, he began to whisper the reflection of her dreams, how much he had desired her, wanted her. He reveled with words in the touch of her skin, telling her of her perfection to which she had always been so blind. Her skin, an alabaster canvas. His hands, worshipping painters seeking to create anew a beauty that would come only from gentle lovemaking.

He wooed her with words, successfully, her back arching and her body trembling beneath his.

Then he began his descent.

Down her jaw went that mouth, that convincing, conniving mouth that made this sin such sweet heaven, with its words that made all the chaos acceptable. His lips touched against the hollows of her neck, moving to the curve of her collarbone. As his lips dragged their seductive kisses across her flesh, she was ignorant of his hands touching her here, there, everywhere. His mouth was so hot, so commanding of her attention.

Then his lips were playing in the dip between her breasts, like birds alighting in a valley of green, swooping and landing so forcefully. His mouth demanded the full attention of her senses, and she gave it to the last. Up the swell of one breast it went, his hand pushing that breast slightly inward, until the erect tissue of the hardened nipple was within his mouth's grasp. And he kissed at it, licked it, tugged on it. She sighed, heavily, her fingers working their way into his dark hair, her legs like crickets legs, rubbing along the outside of his own.

Over to the next breast he want, and the beast within him nipped at this new nipple with gentle teeth. Within the brief flash of pain each bite gave, she was reminded of who he was; warrior, fighter, combatant. And she was his charge, not his lover, not his intended.

Her body was meant for someone else.

But that was a truth easily forgotten as he claimed her, moving lower with that heated mouth. She felt that right now, she had been meant only for him.

Down went his mouth, over her ribs, moving back and forth, side to side, as if afraid to neglect any inch of her. His hands stroked her back where she lifted off of the grass, holding her trapped without full realization. She was in his cage, locked in his arms. And all she wanted was more of this torture and captivity.

Soon he was licking at the hollow of her navel, his tongue lathering her sensitive flesh before dutifully moving lower. And then he was moving across her mons, smelling at the sweetness of her sex. She thought he spoke. He commanded. And she parted her thighs, sighing into the night breezes her compliance.

His hands stroked the insides of her thighs, and she felt him draw away. The priest that was his mouth spoke prayers of reverence as he looked down on her naked sex. Then he was entering her secret folds, pulling apart the doors of her virginity, pulling apart the petals of a flower many a man had wanted to so adore, but none had been born to do.

She felt the shocking heat of his tongue again, felt it as she had never before felt anything in her life. In all her years of intimacy with herself, she had never touched herself so personally as this.

And he did it so easily, so gratefully.

She gasped, eyes wide, the stars in the sky spinning round and round and out of control. She came almost instantly.

And still, he did not release her. His hands went beneath her, to her rounded bottom, cupping her and lifting her to his mouth as if her sex was a bowl of water and he a man in a desert. She could feel him drinking her in, his tongue wandering still all over her outer folds.

Was this what it was like to be loved and adored?

Then, to her shock and surprise, his tongue began a sweet penetration of her innermost secrets, pushing apart her inner labia and teasing at the untouched slit between. She gasped again and cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair.

Maybe she should stop this. Maybe he should not kiss her so.

But it was soon too late, his tongue entering into her where no one had ever gone before, not even a doctor. Into her his flesh drove, and she forced her thighs apart, pushed her hips upwards, grinding instinctively into his mouth.

His fingers on her buttocks squeezed her in joy and delight as his tongue writhed inside, twisting and turning, departing only to return again, furiously.

She came again, clutching at his hair with her fingers and shaking her head side to side. Again she fed him on the nectar of her sex, and he lifted her, drinking like a man parched. Then he began to kiss at her flesh, her less sensitive parts. Still, each kiss on the inside of her thighs, against the curve of her hips, made her shake and tremble. He rose up higher, kissing each soft nipple until it was erect again.

He was on his knees now, and she blinked up at him, gasping still for air. Something in his eyes commanded she drop her own.

There, between his legs, was his own sex.

She had seen animals. She had seen pictures. She had never seen man so resplendent in what made him man.

His cock was perfect, nearly un-veined, straight and rigid and hard. One slick pearl of lust lay on the tip, near where there was the smallest of slits in the tensed and taut flesh. Beneath lay a skin bag of rounded shape.

She looked up at him, unsure. But his eyes were completely sure.

He put a hand on himself, and she gulped, feeling her cheeks color and flush as he stroked his long, thick shaft. She felt her hands gripping the grass next to her. His mouth had been so loving, so tender. She had known only sweetness and gentleness the last few minutes.

What he held now, the evidence of his sex, while he kneeled between her shaking thighs, did not seem to promise more sweet, gentle knowledge.

He moved forward and put a hand on her lower belly, as if to hold her slender body still. Then she looked down. He was moving the head of his cock against her now, parting her with its hardness. She felt almost bruised as he did so. He rubbed the length of her, up and down, coating the head with the nectar that only moments before he had been drinking.

She moaned, her hips almost scooting away from the abrasive touch of his cockflesh. He did not heed her worried look, and did not meet her gaze. He only watched as he placed the head of himself against that incredibly small slit, her sex and privacy.

She could feel him intruding there. There was no supplication this time. There was no prayer begging for entry. She was slick, hot, over heated. And he was using that against her, slicking himself so that he could force his way inside all the more easier.

She tossed her head back, gasping, and the hand on her belly pushed that much harder, keeping her still while he released his cock and began to push himself inside her.

She was so tight, too tight, she thought. He would tear her, rip her.

But wasn't that how she had been told it would be?

She opened her eyes to the night, seeking refuge among the wildly spinning stars and finding none. The pain began like a fire, blinding her eyes so that she squeezed them shut. He was pushing onward, inward, both hands now going to her hips. With her held so in his grasp, he began to slide her forward, towards him on the grass.

He was stretching her.

She began to weep for the pain of it, even as he began to fill her. Was he inside her now? Fully? Or only half way, a gods forsaken half way?

Halfway, she realized as he continued to push into her.

He came up against the hymen of her virginity, and her eyes flew open, meeting his own. Everything he had heard, everything he had been told was truth was now proven a lie. She knew the lies, but had believed he was different, and that he had believed her. He was chosen as her protector for that truth, as protection of that truth.

And here he was, caught in the disbelief of his comrades and commanders. She was everything he had been told she would be by those who put him in charge of her flesh.

And she was everything he wanted her to be, pure, untouched, virginal. She was not the overheated tramp of rumors and lies. She was not the seductive whore who melted a man's insides intentionally with a kiss here and a smile there.

Never before had this girl beneath him felt the touches he was giving her. She read all this, in his eyes. And it made her weep, diamond like tears slipping down her cheeks, proof of her loss of belief in him.

He could not stop himself now, she knew. She lay back, quiet and acquiescent as he knelt frozen between her thighs, within her walls.

To pluck the flower, to taste the fruit.

Was that all he had come to do?

Then it was done, and she cried out, stifling the betraying sound with the back of her hand. He was inside her, her maidenhead raped from her life with only a thrust of hardened flesh.

He did not move except to lay over her, holding her tightly in his arms as his cock flesh throbbed deep inside her.

And then, she felt his mouth again.

Hot against her ear, the lips parting to speak. And he prayed to her, to the goddess within her that she shared with all of womankind. He prayed for forgiveness, begged for mercy, and sacrificed his pride to tears which she felt as they slid down his cheek and ran hotly against hers.

She put her fingers into his hair. She stroked the back of his neck as the pain subsided. And he lifted his face and looked at her.

She was everything he had been sent to protect. And now he had a chance to repair what had been damaged, if not the flesh then at least the soul.

Earnestly she looked at him, unsure of the heated desire that was weaving its wicked way through her loins.

And then he began to move within her. She felt the aching pains begin to subside as her privacy stretched around him. Her lips tugged at him as he withdrew, and she wondered if her body spoke where she could not.

Don't leave me, it would be saying right now.

And he did not, only moved himself deeper yet inside her. Confusion reigned in his eyes as he watched her face. She hid nothing from him, answering his every prayer for salvation in this, the taking of her sex. She began to writhe beneath him, and he began to move faster, encouraged.

Soon, he was plunging in and out of her, burying himself as deeply into her tightness as he could then withdrawing only to do it again, deeper still.

She cried out, but not in pained agony. This agony was a sweeter kind. With her fingers, she clawed over his back, daring even to move them lower, her curiosity still present even as he pushed her over the edge of sanity.

What was allowed had already been tossed aside. Anything was possible, now. She clutched at his ass, digging her fingers into the muscled flesh and gripping him tightly as he drove himself wildly in and out of her.

His mouth was at her ear again, whispering those prayers, praying for forgiveness of sins and offering up the supplication of the priest in moans and groans.

She smiled in spite of herself. And then she began to move her hips with his. The effect was immediate, and he cried out, gripping her ass up off of the ground as he ground himself deep into her.

She could feel him throbbing, feel him holding something back, something she had no clue of. But she wanted to. So she ground against him, learning the lesson of his own body, mocking his movements with her own. It made him struggle to breath.

Something was about to happen.

Then, it was as if he burst. He was filling her with a hot spurting liquid, his seed, she knew. She cried out.

The act was so forbidden, so against everything she had been taught, and so out of the realm of what he was allowed. But all of this only served to make it even sweeter, even more desperate.

He continued to fill her, defile her. And some sick part of her wanted that, writhing beneath him, her new muscles milking his cock.

Milking him, stroking him, begging for more.

And that was what drove her through the gates of wild abandon and into heaven. She came again around him, climaxing in waves and beating her weak fists against his back in her fevered frenzy. He stroked her, he held her, and he didn't release her until she had released herself, completely, around his still hard flesh.

The ride down from heaven was sudden, quick, and left her breathless.

She looked up at him, where he was, still framed by the black of the night and the pinprick of the stars white in the sky.

His fingers were on her cheek again, stroking her, calming her. She wondered if he could feel the flush of her overheated skin.

What was that sparkle? That shining in his eyes?

She smiled, closing her own as she realized the truth.

With all he had taken from her, all he had been promised to protect in her...

Now was his time to weep.