Floriane and the Mirror of Memories (03): My First Taste of Forbidden Ecstasy
Pauline’s bedroom. Morning light filters through curtains. Heart hammers in my chest. I’m on my knees on her bed, tray balanced—croissants, apricot jam, orange juice, honey pot. She’s curled fetal under beige quilt, black cotton nightie, no panties. Tangled hair, sleepy eyes. Silver cross on black linen string. This is it. No turning back.
Lean in. Kiss her right ear, warm under messy strands. She’s never looked more beautiful. We’ve danced around it before—nights of touches, but this morning feels like the edge. Innocence cracking. Fingers trace inner arm. She curls fist. I slide my index in. Squeeze tight. ‘Pauline, you’re beautiful.’ She shivers. Kiss cheek. Then that nose—straight, fine. Suck it whole, tongue tip in nostrils. She wriggles, stretches with sleepy moan.
The Approach: Trembling Anticipation
Lips to lips. Morning breath, feverish, sticky. Tongue flat on hers, sliding back-forth, side-side. She’s passive, mine to use. Hand grips mine fully. Joy surges. Lift quilt. Hike nightie to chest. Bare belly smooth golden, round navel. Firm thighs. Black curly bush over pussy lips. Fingers graze. Dry still. Last night’s satisfaction lingers.
Deeper now. Wetness blooms. Clit stirs under touch. She shifts, eyes open. ‘Floriane, hi baby.’ Kiss lips, fingers relentless. ‘Hey Pauline.’ She props up. I follow, teasing nonstop. ‘Thirsty?’ Points to juice. Sips, lips glisten. Shares glass, eyes lock. Kisses over rim. Pushes warmed juice tongue-to-tongue. Spills on chin. I lick triumphant. Croissant bite—chew, pass mouth-to-mouth. Paste changes, saliva-mixed bliss. She nips, I fetch with tongue flick.
Honey pot. Fingers in, smears face—brows sticky, nose gold. I clean with kisses. She goops my lips, licks off. Pressure her down. Straddle thighs. Kiss trail: forehead to toes. Valley between breasts, thighs, calves, soles.
The Instant and Trace: Surrender and Awakening
Nose dives bush. Breathe her scent. Wriggle. Tongue full plunge inside. Her taste—woman, intimate, mine alone. Possessing depths no one else knows. Heart races wild. Clit swells hard. Honey-slick hands spread thighs, part lips. Expose glistening pink, vaginal depth. Hold wide, caress edges frantic. Groan escapes her, savage. Shiver racks me.
Tongue lashes thighs saliva-mixed cyprine strings. Suck clit lips-tight, incisors graze tender. She bucks, hands tangle blond hair. Presses erratic—hard, then feather. Hips roll huge, ass lifts, slams pussy to face. Nose buried, smeared juices. Swallow gushes greedy. Head syncs rhythm, fingers knead brutal.
‘Hi!’ Shrill cry repeats. Convulses. ‘Look at me!’ Pull up, face slick—lips, cheeks, chin, nose shine. Bite mouth fierce. Eyes burn into mine. Grabs hands, thrusts fingers in. Right hand all in vagina, she guides. Explodes. New cry. Accelerates, moans, screams. Stops abrupt. ‘Floriane, can’t anymore.’
Still. Huddled against me, honey-stained sheets. Hand trails my thigh. Senses ignite. She’s my breakfast. Orgasm hers—now mine. Innocence gone. New world opens, pulse thuds eternal. Adulthood tastes like her.
