Deflowering Spring...

Spring feels his hard body press against her, or, rather, press her against him. His lips, his fingers; his tongue slide over her flesh creating a multitude of mini-explosions as if a fire burned, shooting sparks, zinging, each ember inflaming her senses. His fluid motion flipping her under him, his tongue licking her neck.

She arches herself to him, the pulsing between her thighs jerks her muscles, spurring her legs to twitch; to rub together, against Kiril’s thigh, pressing it between hers, her hips bobbing erratically; an itch, caught between needing to be scratched and too much stimulation.

His mouth laves her breasts, useless appendages she’d thought until now. The feeling of his tongue as it caresses her skin, twirling around and around her peak until all her thought is focussed on his gentle teasing. When his wet mouth closes over her nipple she nearly screams in pleasure – the jolt as his teeth graze the tender tip forcing her hips to grind against his, naturally.

He rolls the other breast in his large hands, kneading, her point caught between his forefinger and thumb, extending it, pinching it slightly; his lips trailing across her chest as his warm mouth shows her other breast the same generous joy the first has received.

Her back arching and her heels digging into the mat, her breath spiked she feels a shudder rip through her entire body – she can’t recall anything in her life that compares with this ...this pure joy!

Her arms fling around his neck crushing him against her; her fingertips sizzling with energy – needing to explore his body, as he is hers. His fingers caress her buttocks, squeezing the fleshy globes as she finds herself once again staring down into his expressive eyes.

Swallowing she lowers her head to his, her lips pressing, demanding. She tentatively licks his lips before cupping his head and sparring, their tongue’s in a battle neither will lose.

Gently rolling on top of Spring again, Kiril places himself between her thighs, the tip of his ‘snake’ rubbing softly along her wetness. He murmurs in her ear, his breath hot and she nods, her arms around him, her fingernails, short as they are, tickle up and down his spine, stretching to stroke his buttocks.

His eyes capture hers, rising on his elbows, he slowly moves, wetting his iron pole in her copious liquid, before lunging forward, falling on her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, kissing the tears that escape, laying still. He understands the pain and knows it will pass. He whispers to her, his arms comforting.

As he lunges forward, Spring cries out, his mouth covering hers, her pain lost in his mouth. At first she feels as if a great sword has split her in two and is driving deeper to finish the deed, but as she lays, still, cocooned in Kiril’s arms, she knows the stories her so-called brothers fed her, were naught but fibs.

The pain is slowly replaced by an euphoria as she gradually moves against Kiril. He pulls back and moves forward so slowly she thinks she will go mad! Her breasts tingle and the juncture between her legs, filled, pulses pleasure signals back to her brain.

“Oh gawds! Yes. Kiril, yes...” her eyes open and close as the sensations; the tingling – the bliss – crowds out coherent thought. Her fingers clutch his hair, their lips crushing against the other’s. Kiril’s hips begin moving insistently, hers matching his, rising to meet his deep thrusts, her tunnel tightening around his shaft, squeezing as he slides back and forth, her eyes rolling back, her hips grinding into his; his mouth torturing her breasts... “Oh, gawd Kiril,” her voice shaky, wonderment quivering in her voice. “Kiril...?” 

His lips move from her breast to her neck to her lips, covering them as she cries out, her body arching into his; his rod pounding deep as she grips him, pleasure ripping through her, Kiril knowing she has found her zenith, holds her tight as his own stream of ‘poison’ erupts, filling her channel with its hot, thick gift, his groans of pleasure echoing in the cavernous room.

“Oh gawds, oh gawds,” she moans, her body a mass of tingling nerves unable to form a legible thought. “Oh gawds,” she pants, her arms wrapping around him and hugging him tight, briefly, before falling, exhausted to her sides. “Oh, Kiril, is this what... is... that was incredible!” She pulls his mouth to hers.

His whispers in her ear make her shiver with joy; his concern, touching. Looking into his eyes, visible in the strong moonlight, she stretches, his member still deep inside her, she pulls his face to hers, touching forehead to forehead, she licks her lips and boldly asks, “Can we do that again, please?” Her back arching, pressing her ample bosom against his. “Pretty please,” she pouts uncertainly...

o0o