As he moved upwards, her skirt draped across his back like a caressing veil. Her leg petals warmed under his kisses, floating apart to allow him passage.
For a lass who is so slim, she had thick, glorious hams. Meaty ones. Thighs that could satisfy a man through long winter nights. When he reached the midpoint of these luscious thighs, the fleshiest, thickest part, he kissed them with great reverence, as if he'd now reached their prime part. (You've heard of prime rib, but a lady's mid-thighs are her prime ham.)
Her flesh is creamy smooth here, with a little layer of baby fat. Something you just want to bite into. His mouth opened wide and took in as much of that baby flesh as he could, clamping down, but not too hard, so she moaned softly. Stuffing his mouth with the creaminess of her woman flesh. Nibbling them a while, giving her a little 'thigh hickey', as she mewled and twisted.
The smells of her, enclosed under the bell of her skirt, filled and infused his consciousness. The earthy, sweet-musky, primal smells of a maiden. With skin so smooth, entirely hairless here. Satin like.
He kisses his way so slowly and absently, hoping to convince her that no, he would never go 'all the way', and touch her sacred female center. He was a leg man, content with just her legs. They were beautiful marvels. So her maiden fears were allayed; her chastity safe.
~
A Lady's Groin
But after a while, he was up in her innermost thigh, in the softest, most tender, sweetest part, in her groin. Licking out the concave hollow that lay just before her nest. The little, round, dimple hollow, a bassinet, on each side of her nest. Long licks like licking clean a cat bowl. She mewled and squirmed.
He was into her truly intimate zones. Breathing ‘her’.
His cheek, his beard, brushed up against the mat of her hairs, her lover’s fur. Her cat fur. He did not look; seeing this only obliquely. His head was clamped in tightly between her legs, as he licked out one hollow, and then turned to lick the other groin, at the top of her other thigh. Whereupon she again mewed. She's so savory here. Salty sweet.
~
It felt to her as if the Sun-God's sunbeam was touching her with little butterfly kisses. Everywhere. No, it must indeed be a butterfly, that had flown into her flower, and was now walking, with the softest of flitting feet, along her petaled legs. She realized her flower had lured it in. She let it explore and flit about. Almost ticklish, but soft.
~
'The Garden of Earthly Delights....'
He backed off to look into her nest, into her steam jungle. It's a thick mat of tangled lianas over her princess parts, and Tomek loves a woman with a good thatch, because it's such a 'brewing ground' for the female scents. The thatch work holding in, entrapping, all her female parfums, bouquets, vapors and mysteries from the eons.
Witches have thick baskets like this, and there's a reason. It's a protection against evil spirits. It hides their sacred, potent treasures.
~
His tongue began lapping up through the tangles, up one side of her moss garden, and down the other. Like he's walking into the aboriginal bush. That forest of ferns, feathers, and fairies.
He worked his way up over the triangular Venus mound of hairs above. Her love carpet, where her shrubbery grows thickest. The welcome mat that maidens weave to say they've come of age, to welcome suitors to their door. Eyes closed, he brushes his entire face round and round in her love nest, into her soft fur, breathing her garden air.
He trails kisses back down the other side. Over her 'majora'. Still avoiding her epicenter. Just circling where her treasures lay.
~
For a moment, she had a feeling that maybe the Sun-God was going kiss her 'right there'. At her most female of places. At her vortex. But no, how ridiculous! What a thought! Ashamed of it, she put it out of mind.
But her Venus lips, now being the only place on her body that had not been kissed, never been kissed by anyone, now palpitated for some touch.
~