Wakening and Lunch

You are disturbed -- the summer's coming to an end but it's still hot in the room and difficult to sleep. You don't want the air-conditioning switched on -- too much noise, too much electricity, charging the air, intruding on nature. Too much running through your mind, too many thoughts.

You wake, you stretch, you get out of bed slowly. It's early but the sun is just rising over the horizon and a new day is beginning. You sleep naked; the crisp cotton sheet covering you is all you need in this heat. You walk to the window and draw back the shutters. Your arms are spread as you hold on to the wooden frames and you are silhouetted against the light; it's a monochrome sight as I stir in the bed. You're in the shape of an X, your long limbs outstretched and feet on tip-toe as you bathe in the light and gentle warmth. I know you're smiling though all I can see is your flowing hair, slim back, long legs and the vertical slice between your cheeks as you flex each muscle.

Dimples appear and disappear; you sway without letting go, as though you're tied in position, remembering when you were in exactly that situation unable to move and submitting to a pleasant torture.

You turn your head to the bed and see that I'm stirring, the sheets off me, my morning wood very visible. I see your smile now and your encouragement to join you at the window. We don't speak; neither of us wants to break the spell, the magic of a sunrise in this ancient farmhouse window. Awkwardly, I rise and walk to stand behind you, pinning your arms in position and resting my manhood in the small of your curved back. I look over your shoulders down your body and see the even summer tan on your breasts, your belly, your legs. Our time in this isolated space has been spent well getting in touch with nature without city clothes constricting us.

You shiver -- not with the cold -- but with a charge of sexual energy as you feel me pulse against you. I see your breasts swell as you breathe and your nipples begin to grow and stand erect. You reach higher and move your legs so I can slip between them and you close your legs around me to ride me, like a rope tucked into your welcoming warmth.

We stay like this for a while, luxuriating in the freedom we have to choose our own time and our own pleasure. We have no commitments today other than to our own thoughts and pleasures. We are wakening now; our breathing is synchronised with our movements. Me flexing my hips, you sliding along the rope, feeling the slick wetness spread. My hands move slowly down your body, revelling in feeling each part of you as they run down your arms, your waist, your hips, your cheeks and your legs. I trace your spine with my fingers and you give an involuntary shiver, arching your back and pushing your buttocks further back. The shiver transfers to me and I jerk upwards, pressing more into you so that we both gasp with an erotic charge.

I want to take you here as we stand, but I have a better idea now to keep this sensual charge and extend it. "Come," I say, and I take your hand to lead you down the stairs and into the farmhouse kitchen where we take our meals. I lead you to the large wooden table in the centre of the room, cleared from last night's dinner and ready for our day.

"Sit. Lie down." I say and guide you to the table, facing me and with your back to the edge of the thick wood. I push your shoulders backwards and as you begin to over-balance, I reach down to hold your legs. Your strong core muscles support you as you roll backwards to lie down. Your legs open in anticipation and I see your lips open, glistening and rose-pink in the soft morning light. "Not yet."

You move backwards on the table as I go to the fridge and the larder, and watch as I assemble fruit, yoghurt, honey, chocolate spreads, juices -- all the ingredients of our breakfast. I place the food around you and begin to spoon the yoghurt onto your abdomen. You shiver with the cold as it hits you, then relax as I bend my head to lick it off you. I put the spoon to your mouth to taste it and you lick it clean; you see where this is going now. I dip my fingers in the chocolate spread and smear some on your breasts, your stomach, your Venus mound. You react when I press on your mound. Your nipples become erect with my touch. Your hips rise, your pelvis tilts; you want me to go further, lower, deeper.

"Not yet. You have to be patient." I can see your lips opening.

I take the honey and mix some juice into it to make it more runny. Warm it a little so it flows. I pour the mixture directly over your pussy so it flows directly over the open lips, mingling with your juices and pouring in the crevice between your legs, over your cheeks and into the dimple of your butt-hole. The warmth and the shock of the liquid pouring between your legs surprises you and makes you quiver with excitement -- and also a little embarrassment -- the release of such liquid isn't usually so sensual. Your nerves are alive now. Your sexuality is fully awake. You want to use your hands to spread the breakfast around your body, to paint pictures with the yoghurt, the chocolate, the honey/juice. You writhe and twist to feel the moisture between your thighs and the smell and feel of the chocolate on your breasts has stimulated senses in a way that has transferred to your womanhood.

I see your arms and hands want to move. "Not yet -- be still. I haven't finished yet." I reach for the fruits and sprinkle blueberries and crushed nut over the yoghurt, the chocolate and the honey/juice coating your pussy. There's a pool of the sweet sticky mixture underneath your ass but it needs more on your lips so I pour a little more over your mound; it spills across your hips and across your belly as well as flowing down your pussy lips and past your anus. You shiver again as the new liquid stimulates more waves of pleasure and sexual energy. Now I reach for the banana and peel it while you watch. I compare the size of the banana to my manhood the one erect and rigid, pink and ridged, the other thick, pale cream and curved and soft to touch.

"Now to eat" I say. I dip the banana to your pussy lips and stroke upwards, edging inside the vestibule of your vulva and stretching under the hood to touch -- oh so gently -- your clitoris. I go to your side and continue the soft fruit's exploration of your pussy while I lick the breakfast from your belly, from your soft breasts, from your nipples. I make a lot of noise -- there are so many senses her it would be wrong to stay silent now and let sound be absent. My noises are of enjoyment, of gluttony, of lust. Like an animal, I apply my whole face to your body, as much of the creams and sweet spreads smeared on my face as there are on your body. I nip and suck at your nipples to clean them of chocolate yoghurt -- you squeal appreciatively; I lick and munch at the berries and honey-juice from your belly. All the while, the banana continues its journey from pussy to clit and back.

Finally, I reach the cleft between your legs -- for me this is the main part of the meal. By now the banana is soft at the tip so I clip the end off with my teeth. You rise on your elbows to see me and take your sensual delight as I take my refreshment. I lap at the inside of your thighs to cleanse them of the fluid, working my way up to your ass and love-opening. It's very sweet, but as I get closer, I can taste a slight saltiness -- like eating salted caramel with sea-notes in it. I push the banana a little further into you -- the curve hits a sensitive spot inside you, the sensitive inner part of the clitoris as it curls around and shrouds your femininity. My tongue has reached your outer lips now and you can no longer bear your weight on your elbows. You head sinks back to the table and you begin to moan.

"Now; now you can touch yourself. Please, touch yourself." I instruct you -- without any need; your hands automatically go to enclose your small breasts, pressing them flat into your torso, crushing them in response to the need from further down your body and accentuating your passion. A hand stays with your breasts and the other strays down past your stomach to your mound and onto the top of your hood. As my tongue creeps upwards, over the banana, eating it as well as my lips wrapping around yours, I find your hand coming to greet me, combining our touches over your clitoris as the first waves of a climax wash over you. I ride out your orgasm as your legs clench and thrash; I keep licking at your lips to tease out all of the remains of the honey, the fruit juice, the soft banana, the salty taste which is all your juice flowing more freely now. You keep cumming and my mouth stays attached to your lips, my tongue now pushing inside, my hands under your buttocks as if I'm holding you like a drinking cup, my thumbs parting your cheeks and pressing towards the sweet hole of your ass.

We continue locked together -- you climax again and again, in a continuous stream of ecstasy now until I run out of strength and your cries become hoarse with moaning and wailing. Slowly I rest you back down and stand between your legs. I'm erect and aroused, but my satisfaction has come from pleasing you rather than any temporary passion I could gain from releasing my climax.

You rouse; you sit up with a broad smile, body still streaked from all the breakfast ingredients. You stand up and hold me in a warm embrace and kiss me. You go to the fridge and take out a cucumber. "Lunch?"