Diving for Pleasure

The truth is that I’ve never been much for the water.

The deep always scared me. It always made me feel so small, so insignificant. I felt lost just thinking about how it could swallow me whole.

And then I met her.

She was beyond deep. I think “abyssal” might be more accurate. From her eyes to her heart to the places no one else gets to see, there’s a depth to her that leaves me aching and feeling so unworthy.

But she still invites me to explore. She still opens herself up to me and my probing curiosity. There are places there that no man has ever touched, ever laid claim to.

The fear in me tells me that I have to tread lightly.

The lust in me tells me that I have to devour everything I can.

The lust, like always, wins out, and I make my voyage.

“Mmmm,” she moans at first contact.

My tongue, strong and wet, meets its match between her strong thighs. Her moist folds welcome me and my curious mouth. I’ve visited numerous times before but every time feels like the first.

Her scent is sweet and strong. It tells me that she wants this every bit as much as I do. I catch hints of her soap but nothing man-made is going to overpower the Nature inside of her. My mouth was watering before I began this meal. There’s no stopping the flow now that I’ve had a taste.

Her hard, tender clit tells me that her body has prioritized pleasure just as much as mine has. The blood that’s rushed there mirrors my own in my swollen shaft. Our bodies are always in sync like that.

I take the time to wonder if maybe that’s the part that scares me the most: how perfect it always feels when we’re alone and she’s opened up to me.

“Keep goin’, baby,” she whines.

I give her lips a long, slow lick. I collect her dew on my tongue and send up silent thanks for the meal. Her lips are thick and always nice to nibble on. I pepper them with little love bites, nipping at them playfully. She likes that, a lot. Experience has been the best teacher and her body is my favorite subject.

I finally move my wandering tongue to her lonely clit, standing out so proudly from under its hood. One lick. Two licks. Three licks.

She squirms the entire time. Her body is so honest. From the goosebumps racing across her mocha-brown skin to the hands gripping the sheets, I know that I’m doing something right. I’m sure that if I stopped pleasing her long enough to look down I’d see her pretty painted toes curled up as well.

“Fuck,” a gasp escapes her barely parted lips.

I lick and lick, feeling her taut nub harden even more with each pass. Once it’s hard enough I seal my full lips around it, cutting it off from the rest of the world and trapping it with a tongue that’ll never be satisfied. I press hard against it and get rewarded with the most feminine sounds. Sighs, whimpers, moans. She’s speaking fluently in a language I’ve come to know and love.

A small but very strong hand grips the back of my head. It’s the silent encouragement that I look for in every treasure hunt.

I’m doing something right.

Her clit feels so good in my mouth. I don’t want to let it go but I have to. I’m looking for a buried treasure and as beautiful as her pink pearl is, I know there’s more to be had.

I release her momentarily and her gasp tells me that she’s both relieved and frustrated.

There’s not much of a wait before I return to the expedition, this time with my hands. I begin massaging her inner thighs before kissing them, licking them. Her body was made for me to pay tribute to and I won’t be slacking on my offerings.

But even a goddess’ patience is limited.

Her shifting hips tell me that she wants, no, needs me to return to my mission.

I’m not one to disappoint.

“Mmmmm,” she moans as my tongue returns to work.

I lick her lips like before but each attempt is more forceful and parts her more and more. Eventually my licking leads to penetration. My tongue presses past her lips and into her rich, sweet center. Her hidden path is soaked with her lust, a testament to my persistence.

I continue to rub her thighs while pushing deeper into her. Each thrust gets me only a fraction of an inch but a long way toward my goal. The feeling of kissing her lower lips is intoxicating. Their fullness is a perfect compliment to my own.

“Shit,” I earned a curse that time.

I stop rubbing her thighs long enough to enter deeper inside of her. My middle finger glides into her, lubricated and welcomed. I’m knuckle-deep in an instant.

Her body betrays her pleasure and she locks up at the sensation. I wait a few moments for her to adjust to the invasion before I begin the in and out motions that will have her over the moon.

I don’t want my loyal tongue to feel left out so I resume my assault on her engorged clit. My finger picks up speed. The sounds of her lower lips, her wetness, start to compete with the sounds of her other lips. It isn’t long before a beautiful symphony plays.

My manhood starts to ache. It knows just like I do that it was made for this job. Crafted by God’s hands to find her treasure and add to its bounty. But that’s not what this is about. This is about me braving the depths on my own, using the tools at hand to get the job done.

“Ooooh.”

Another encouragement.

I add my ring finger to the party. Her tightness makes using two fingers effort but there’s no denying how good it makes her feel. Her grooved walls practically suck at my digits.

I twist my wrist just so. Now the pads of my fingers are turned upward. I can feel the change in texture that tells me that I’m getting closer to the lock on the treasure box.

In and out. In and out. In and out. My fingers are consistent and persistent. Her tensing muscles tell me that she’s building toward something powerful.

“Fuuuuuuck,” she groans, her hand gripping my own wrist for dear life.

And I haven’t even applied the real pressure yet.

Even with my wrist locked in place my fingers still know their role. They slide back and forth in her pathway, forcing the muscles to react. With a well-practiced flick they find their objective. The firm, bumpy ridge that Nature hid away from everyone, including its owner.

I press down. Hard.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah,” the first of several yells escapes her perfect mouth. I don’t let up. I keep rubbing and pressing. She eventually loses the will to fight back. My wrist is free. The time is now.

I build up momentum with my two fingers. The wet sounds have returned with a vengeance. A light sprinkling of her feminine nectar hits my arm, her inner thighs, the surface beneath us.

She’s primed.

I have a job for my other hand. Its thumb presses down on her clit, drawing circles around it, spreading her damp lust around its sensitive surface.

I look away from her beautiful flower to observe the living chocolate, rich and decadent, that has invited me to explore her depths. Even twisted up as they are, pleasure running rampant through her body, her features are immaculate. Her eyes, her lips, her nose. I see God in them and know I was put here to spread the Gospel according to Her needs.

“Baby, baby…,” she finally addresses me.

Our eyes meet. For someone so strong she couldn’t look more helpless. Even as vulnerable as she is in that moment I don’t see anything resembling regret. Instead, I see how thankful she is that I accepted her call to action, that I stepped up to attend her needs.

My hands stay busy for a few minutes longer. The moans give way to grunts, the wet sounds dull as her body constricts around my thrusting fingers. The time is approaching.

I kiss her cheek and she smiles weakly. She’s running toward the edge now.

I press on her hidden place one last time.

And she arrives.

Her body locks in place as wave after wave washes over her. Her eyes flutter. Her breathing gets shallow. Her voice leaves her, replaced by a sound barely above a squeak.

I hold my hands in place, enjoying the show. I always enjoy the show. I always like working with my hands, building arousal, building anticipation, building bonds like a craftsman with his tools.

Finally, I’ve claimed my treasure…