3. Songbird #2
She increases the pressure, her movements becoming more purposeful, more demanding.
She’s no longer just teasing; she’s driving me toward a cliff.
My vision or the dark void where it should be starting to fracture into sparks of white light.
My muscles coil, tight and trembling, as the tension builds to a point of pure, exquisite agony.
“Please,” I sob, the word catching in my throat, “please.”
“Please what, Lily?” She asks, her voice dropping to a low, dark velvet. She slows her hand just as the peak approaches, a cruel, masterful hesitation that makes me feel like I’m falling through space. “Tell me exactly what you want. Use your words.”
The words tumble out of me, unbidden and raw, stripped of all the poise I tried so hard to maintain in the lounge. Without my eyes, my voice feels loud, vibrating in the hollow of my throat, sounding far more desperate than I intended.
“Your mouth,” I gasp, the air catching in my lungs as her thumb continues that maddening, slow grind. “Your tongue... please, Katheryn. I want you to taste me.”
The silence that follows is heavy like a physical weight.
For a heartbeat, she stops completely. The sudden absence of her touch is a vacuum, a cold void that makes me whimper in protest, my hips searching blindly for the heat she just withdrew. The tension in my body is so high it’s almost painful, a coiled spring of pure, unadulterated need.
Then, the bed shifts.
The mattress groans under her weight as she moves down the length of my body.
I can track her progress by the sensation of the air moving, the heat of her body passing over my stomach, my hips, my inner thighs.
My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it might bruise my ribs.
I’m suspended in the dark, waiting, my skin electric; my entire existence narrowed down to the singular anticipation of her lips.
When she finally arrives, the sensation is a revelation.
Her breath is hot and damp against my most sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. A soft, shaky exhale escapes me as she brushes her lips just the lightest, most tentative graze against the swollen center of my heat.
“Is that what you want, Lily?” She murmurs, her voice muffled against me, vibrating directly into my nerves. “To be tasted?”
She doesn’t wait for a verbal answer. She doesn’t need one.
The first sweep of her tongue is long, slow, and incredibly wet.
It’s a deliberate, heavy stroke from the bottom of my slit all the way to the top, catching the very peak of my clitoris.
The sensation is so intense, so sudden, that my back arches violently, my wrists straining against the padded restraints with a frantic thud.
A loud, uninhibited cry breaks from my lips, echoing in the silent suite.
She is masterful. She isn’t rushing; she is exploring me
like a connoisseur, her tongue swirling around the swollen
bud of my clitoris with a precision that feels almost surgical. It’s not just a lick; it’s a command. She uses the tip of her tongue to tease the edges, teasing the very entrance of me, before plunging deep, her tongue mimicking the rhythm of a lover’s thrust.
The sensation is overwhelming. Without my sight, the feeling of her mouth the wet, hot suction, the way her teeth occasionally graze me just enough to make me gasp is all there is.
I am drowning in it. My hips lifted, desperately seeking more of her mouth, her tongue.
I was giving in entirely to her. Every time she licks upward, a fresh wave of electricity shoots through my nerves, making my toes curl and my breath hitch in ragged, uneven bursts.
“Katheryn... oh god, Fuck!” I moan, my head tossing from side to side on the pillow. The blindfold makes the darkness feel like it’s vibrating, pulsing in time with the friction she’s creating.
She’s not letting up. If anything, she’s becoming more relentless.
She uses her hands to spread me even wider, her fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs to hold me steady, while her mouth works with a terrifying, focused intensity.
She finds the exact spot, the exact angle, and she stays there, her tongue flickering in a rapid, maddening rhythm that sends me spiraling toward the edge.
The tension is building, a coil of white-hot energy tightening in my gut, winding tighter and tighter until it feels like I might actually shatter.
My lungs are burning, my vision behind the silk is a kaleidoscope of frantic sparks, and the only thing keeping me grounded is the sensation of her tongue, driving me, demanding that I break.
Suddenly, she changed. The slow, agonizingly careful exploration vanishes, replaced by a frantic, hungry desperation.
Her tongue becomes a blur of heat and friction, lashing against me with a rhythmic, punishing speed that leaves no room for air.
Her hands, which had been holding my thighs steady, suddenly grip the 1esh of my hips, her nails digging in just enough to anchor me as my body begins to thrash.
“That’s it,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice a
dark, vibrating command that sounds almost like a growl.
“Break for me, Lily. Let it go.”