Free Helena by Leo Barton

through the cotton of my bra.
You pulled the half cups down and firmed your tongue around the
swell of flesh, flicking it across the hardened nipple, then
dragging it down over the declining slope, raising each breast in
your hand to lick the underside and then the parting.
    Suddenly, you
tensed your teeth around the stiff bud of my nipple and nibbled on
it hard as I held onto you by the nape of your neck, holding on to
all the pleasure that you were bringing to my body.
    What words can
I use to explain the ecstasy of your touch? The slow burning need
that prickled every pore of my skin, the winter cool air
contrasting with the red heat of my desire, the teasing tickling of
your tongue on my throbbing breasts.
    Your hands
went further down, parting my legs and then tucking finger and
thumb into both the waistband of my tights and panties, pulling
them down, first to the knee, then down to the ankles, before
pulling off my shoes, so all that remained of my exposed flesh was
the waist high skirt dropping down to tickle my upper thighs.
    It was so
fantastic for me, the cool air stimulating me further, my bare
bottom resting on the unvarnished wood of the desk, your hands
returning to prise my legs apart, your tongue snaking between them.
As I balanced on the desk, my outstretched arms resting on the
wood, as my genitals were exposed to your delicious eyes, I watched
you looking at me.
    And then the
fire of your tongue, snaking between me, going up and down the
outer flesh of my moist opening in broad strokes, flicking in and
out of the aperture of my sex. My hand resting on your head, gazing
through a slit in the blinds to watch the toing and froing of the
street, the businessmen and the tourists, the sex touters and the
diners. I saw a couple of streetwalkers who I was sure would pay
for such sensitive attention. To watch all this and then look down
to see your coal black hair buried in me, your hands tensed around
my ankles, the spark of my lust burning, becoming flame, a flame
sensually burning me, transporting me to a place I had never been
to before.
    Your
forefinger pressed against the taut flesh of my anus, seeking entry
as you lapped at me, your tongue furling around the bud of my
clitoris, enrapturing me, my lust increasing, augmenting to some
savage burning need, beyond the description of mere itch. My thighs
clenched around you, my hand grabbed hold of your hair, the slicked
strands, my mouth parting as my neck arched back with the erotic
tension created by your fervent ministrations.
    I shook my
head from side to side as I felt my climax rivet my body. A tiny
snowball of pleasure located in the hard bud above the engorged
labial lips avalanched through me, until I was buried in an ecstasy
that had no specific location, but engrossed my whole body, that
was beyond my body. It knotted in some unknown core of me and then
suffused my whole body, my whole consciousness as I came on your
rigid tongue, frantically jerking and spasming on you as your hands
clenched around me. Everything was blanked but ecstasy: there was
no consciousness, no Gregory, no London, no Freddie, no Helena,
just this sweet heat searing my skin, my flesh, my
consciousness.
    Your finger
snaked up me as I came gasping and screaming, prolonging my climax
as you flicked in and out of me, and nibbled on the hardened knot
of my climactic pleasure. As the release came my arms buckled in my
delight and I slithered down onto the desk, my breathing slow and
deep, my face reddened, my delight, what can I say immense,
intricate, overwhelming.
    You came
beside me, our lips touching, before I clasped your head in my hand
and buried my tongue deep inside your mouth, with love, with
gratitude, with disbelief that any man could do what you had just
done to me with his tongue.
    You pulled
away, went back to the sofa, and retrieved our wine.
    "That was
fantastic, Freddie. I've never had an orgasm like that," I told
you.
    You raised
your glass, took a sip, looked back