Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

he’s waiting for.
“Of course you were. Perfect little cum slut, ready to be fucked any time
her husband takes his dick out.” A slap lands on the top of my pussy, pulling
a yelp of surprise from my throat. “Now, what was your favorite form of
poetic delivery? Recitations with the tongue?”
Kal’s fingers run slowly over the scars on the inside of my thigh—the K,
plus the A he added the night of the recital. My own personal brand.
Good luck getting rid of me after that, asshole.
I stare up at the patio covering, tracing the cobwebs with my eyes, seeing
his head dip between my legs again. His tongue tracks behind his fingers,
leaving a trail of cool saliva in his wake, and when they graze my clit, I
shiver, my body already dangerously close to falling apart, wound tight after
weeks of abstaining.
“The key, as we know, to any good poem,” Kal breathes, swiping his
tongue across me once. Twice. Three times, until I’m tossing the annulment
papers aside, gripping the edges of the table to keep from bowing off of it. “Is
passion.”
With that, he buries his mouth in my pussy, forming a tight seal around
my lips, sucking my clit into his mouth and showering it with lashings of his
tongue. An arm snakes up my torso, fingers hooking in the top of my
sundress and yanking one breast free.
He squeezes as his tongue penetrates me, massaging in and out, then
slides up between my folds and swirls over my clit. Repeating the passage,
alternating between the sucking and licking, he creates a tempo that has
pressure building in my belly, spreading outward like a heatwave.
“Do you know how many nights I dreamed of having you here, just like
this?” he asks against me, the vibrations from his lips sending shock waves of
ecstasy through me. “How many times I pumped my cock dry to the image of
you spread open and whimpering for me?”
I shake my head in answer, even though I’m sure he can’t see. He hums
against me, speeding up the flickering of his tongue, and this time when I
come, he doesn’t even have to ask me to look at him; my eyes immediately
seek his, locking on as my orgasm rocks my entire body, back arching away
from the table, a strangled sound ripping its way from my throat.
“There. I know I’m a little rusty on my spoken word, but judging by the
flush on the audience’s cheeks and the cum on my taste buds, I’m inclined to
believe I still know what I’m doing.”