The Passion of Agnes Part 1 - Sex Stories

The Passion of Agnes Part 1

... legs. I cried out, startling a lone owl in the tree above us who squawked his disapproval and flapped away. Cordelia laughed as she placed her hand over my mouth. She led me back to the shore. We dressed and walked joyously back, to spend the night in the same bed. I wish I could recall every second but the transports of ecstasy into which she and I plunged seem to preclude any clear precision on the part of memory. I do remember lying there, her face between my spread legs, her azure eyes locked on mine as her mouth clamped to my sex, sucking and licking while I reciprocated, bucking my hips to press her face, wanting her covered in the elixir of love her tongue so deftly called forth. I remember her lowering herself over my face, how I eagerly spread her hot musky sex and set my tongue to explore her mystery. Feeling her hips roll and buck over me. How I fucked her tender rosebud with my erect tongue. I no longer felt human but object, her object. I wanted nothing but what would give her pleasure. I remember the dew that glistened in droplets on the hairs of her cunt and how eagerly I sought to lick and how hot and marvelous that nectar felt in my mouth and dripping down my face. It ...

... hung from my chin and slid deliciously down my neck. How I wished I could bathe in it endlessly. She was not remiss. Her tongue lolled lovingly over my clitoris. Her fingers played and stroked between my enflamed lips. Her hard finger entered me. I gave a deep and muffled cry into her pussy, unwilling to discontinue despite her distracting attentions. I squirmed like a piked eel as she found a sensitive spot within me, as if she knew it was there and deliberately coaxed and worried it. As our bodies shook and quaked we gripped each other by the thighs, making sure our ministrations would continue even unto complete exhaustion, nay even unto damnation. I remember her slithering and sliding over my body. The feeling of her wet pussy as it left long slimy trails all over my breasts and my tummy. The remembrance of our passion makes me wet with delirium even now. It was true. I had been given the gift of love. Afterwards as we lay contented and satisfied in each others arms, my sweet one dozing happily in my embrace, I marveled at the cruelty of Man. At how his oppressive laws, masquerading as Gods, would deny to women like me and my Cordelia our true nuptial rites, our true mode of worship.