[F35/F30] - Nectar of the gods [cunnilingus][squirting][rough]

This evening I am spending my time reading her messages (they always say the same words: SORRY SORRY SORRY!! in capital letters with two or three exclamation points, or I'M AFRAID OF A SERIOUS RELATIONSHIP, then SORRY again, and I DIDN'T MEAN THE THINGS I SAID TO YOU) and I keep deleting them. It's a constant cycle: she writes, I delete, she writes again, and I delete again. If Ron, who's sleeping next to me, were to find out, I'd have my hands full explaining that FLO—the sender of the messages—is really Floriana, my best friend and colleague, who I gave a ride tonight on my scooter. He wouldn't believe it; he'd definitely think it was a nickname for a man. And he might not be far off. I don't want to block her, but if she keeps going, I'll be forced to. Finally—it's already 1:30—she stops, it was about time. I put the phone down on the nightstand, exhausted as well. I don't think Ron has noticed anything so far; he didn't even notice the shower I took as soon as I got home, at an unusual hour for me, eight o'clock.

Thank goodness, I tell myself as, finally lying next to him, I stare at the ceiling of the dimly lit room, but I'm not sleepy; I'm still as agitated as if I'd had three coffees in a row. I'd like to get up and drink something, but so far Ron has remained calm. I hear him snoring; if I move too much, I wake him up, and he starts asking me questions. I clasp my hands behind my neck, sinking them into my long, black hair. I didn't know it was soft and fragrant, and that it could still please and give pleasure. I look at myself, raised, my head resting on the pillow, and I see two breasts that until a few hours earlier I hadn't believed were considered beautiful, firm, important, nectar of the gods. My legs are bare—it's already hot—and I look at them, long and slender, all the way down to my toes, with my toenails painted. I reevaluate my body, something I haven't experienced in ages. Routine, even though Rin and I have been together (well) for more than a couple of years, kills desire, it wears you down, it reduces your libido. But then...

Flo was on foot; we'd finished early, and I had my scooter. We don't live far from each other, so it seemed natural to offer her a ride. Flo is always so scared, uncertain, and shy, even though she's a very beautiful girl. She could have been picked up by at least three male colleagues (we work at a bank), but she declined the first one, the married one. The other two, the bachelors, got the message and didn't insist. I realized she didn't want to offend anyone, so I offered to take her home. She tried to act shy with me too; those sweet, clear eyes of hers, hidden by a pair of round glasses, she immediately lowered shyly. "Don't be such a silly, let's go. Are you ashamed of me too?" At these words, she raised those two lively, sensitive little eyes, shook her head, revealing her curly, jet-black hair, carelessly worn but still looking great on her. Then she put on her duster coat and bag, threading the shoulder strap through those small, pointy tits she has, and said, "Let's go." When she climbed in behind me, she didn't know first how to fasten her helmet, then how to hold on. "The truth is, I'm scared, so scared..." she pauses insistently, exaggeratedly, enigmatically, then adds, "...of the scooter."

I can't look at her anymore; I've left my jacket open, she's behind me, and I've already started the engine of this damned thing, which is hateful to everyone except me and the others who ride it. I feel two small melons, small but firm, hard, pressing against my back, pressed together with a flat stomach that's glued to me, with two firm thighs that are one with mine. I think that through the leggings, no matter how tightly she's pressed against me, she can feel the outline of the thong and the shapely curves of my butt. Yes, I really do have a nice ass. "Are you really scared?" I feel her nod, nod and squeeze even tighter, I almost feel crushed. Yes, I tell myself, she's terrified. "So, if you're scared, excuse me, why didn't you accept rides from the boys? They all have cars." "They scare me." I laugh. "Them too!" "They only think about one thing." "What's the harm in that? Don't you ever think about that?" She doesn't answer; I've embarrassed her. I don't press her. "Hold on, come on." The answer is an almost silent yes, as Flo's hands move from my hips and interlace on my stomach, halfway between my navel and my breasts, which are also firm but not exaggerated. It's a slightly peculiar grip, very close; I don't know what else to describe it, almost aggressive. If it were a man, I'd think he was trying, but instead I convince myself it's fear and move on. The surface, along the bike path, is a bit rough, too many tree roots protruding, poorly maintained.

There are some jolts, she clings tightly, both forearms under my breasts, I can feel her clearly as if she were leaning against the windowsill of my balcony, which is quite large. My breasts squish and swell. My nipples, I don't know why, react, I feel them hard, standing up under the light shirt I'm wearing. They can't be seen, I say, I'm wearing a jacket. "I'm not scared, now. I feel safe with you," Flo says. A moment passes and now I'm the one seriously scared, the weather has suddenly changed and it starts to rain. She clings again, it's practically as if she's holding onto my breasts. The first drops hit our faces, the rain increases in intensity and my face is completely soaked. But more than that, I think that I don't know why, but I feel dampness everywhere else too. Since we're precariously balanced, she now shifts her hands, one of which rests on my belly, seemingly caressing it even as she clings tightly. I continue to have uncontrolled, uncontrollable reactions, and I feel my nipples now protruding 2-3 centimeters above my shirt. On my back, I feel something that seems to have blossomed from her sweet melons: her nipples are hard, too. It must be the cold, I decide in my head. In any case, by the time we get to her house, I'm soaking wet. I've protected her with my body, and she's embarrassed, she doesn't know how to repay me. I feel wet underneath, too, and the rain hasn't reached there. "Come on, come on my place, I'll give you dry clothes while you wait for the rain to stop."

My sixth sense tells me not to accept. I'm about to make up an excuse, but then her eyes focus on my breasts and the nipples, so clearly visible under the jacket open over my sweater. They're turgid because of her, not the rain and the cold, because of her touch and not the temperature, which has suddenly become cool, if not downright chilly. Even her little nipples are cute, visible through her light-colored sweater. That look at me and that image of her persuasive breasts overcome my resistance. In an instant, we're in the elevator and then inside her house. I know her well; we've been to dinner several times with other friends, including Ron. It's a nice, cozy apartment, about eighty square meters, divided into three areas: the living room, the bedroom with the king-size bed, the kitchenette, the bathroom, and a small balcony. "Want to take a shower? Make yourself at home," she whispers, grabbing a tablecloth for me and one for her. She begins to rub her damp hair. It's a gesture that highlights the beauty of this lonely, introverted girl, waiting to be discovered. "No, thanks, too much trouble." Her eyes are once again fixed on my breasts: and my nipples aren't soothing, quite the opposite. I feel a spasm between my thighs: I'm wet, and yes, it's definitely not the rain. "What would you like? Tea, lemonade? Can I make you a juice?" She's almost maternal, but she's a few years younger than me, just over 30. I know she's from the countryside, that she only lives in the city for work, but I don't see any signs of a man. Floriana never talks about her private life. "No shower, but I'll dry myself in the bathroom to avoid making a mess," I smile at her. "Perfect," and without giving me time to think, she pulls off her shirt and her bra in one fell swoop, leaving her naked from the waist up. It seems like a low blow to me, because those two little tits are just as I'd imagined them when I felt them behind my back, dotted with large nipples and large, round areolas, they're all ready to be eaten. She sees my admiring look—"What the fuck am I thinking?"—I wonder, and she's pleased, perhaps she's getting wet too, which is a scary intriguing thought, and yet I can see from miles away that she's hungry, wanting to look at my much firmer boobs.

Aren't you going to undress?" She asks. The look, the tone of her voice, the expression on her face. I feel my pussy opening, like every time Ron shows up naked in bed, his hard cock in his hand. There's nothing wrong with me undressing, I tell myself. We're two girls, and what's going to happen? It seems silly to be shy, so I take off my wet shirt too. His gaze is now intense, as if enraptured. "What beautiful hair you have," he surprises me. "It smells wonderful, and I always look at it while we work. I'll smell you." She laughs, but it throws me off, I almost feel sick: suddenly it occurs to me that Flo has wanted to fuck me for who knows how long, how could I not have noticed? "And what a beautiful bra," she adds, seeing me wearing the latest white lace creation from Victoria's Secret. She says it in such a warm, thick tone that now I can't wait to take it off and stand naked in front of her. Something keeps happening between my legs, it's the first time this has happened to me with a woman. "I don't have big, beautiful tits like yours, unfortunately I can't lend you one. What size are you wearing?”

Those words, "nice and big," have an effect on me. I feel my panties soaking up my pussy juices. Strong juices, of pleasure. "It doesn't matter, I'll do without bra to get home." "I could feel you while we were on the scooter... They're nice, they stay up on their own, you don't need push-ups." Shit, then she was really trying: I almost feel like cuddling, I don't know why but I'm soaking wet between my thighs, my body feels soaked with inexplicable juices. She sees I'm shy, almost understands that it's difficult for me to get completely naked with her there, she smiles.

"Ro'" - that's what she calls me, Roberta, she abbreviates it, and only she does it, in the sweetest way - "Ro', so are you ashamed of me? If you want, I'll go out." "No, no, no," and I say it like someone caught with their hands hermetically trapped in a jam jar. "No, no, no," I repeat, but in my frenzy, I can't open the clasps, and then I feel her fingers overlapping mine, the bra comes off, my round, shapely breasts seem sculpted by Phidias. She observes me, notices my erected nipples, now intoxicated by this uncontrollable excitement, and her eyes fixed on me are like two headlights illuminating the darkness of my unrecognized and always repressed desires. "Excuse me for telling you," she whispers, "but they are two of the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen..." "...and groped," I dare finish the sentence, "because on the scooter..." She laughs, it's so sweet when she does it: "Yes, you've piqued my curiosity, I groped you, yes. I hope you didn't mind... Nectar of the gods, your breasts are beautiful. Were you sorry that I touched you a little?"

And now what do I say? I shouldn't have gotten myself into this exchange. I feel the effects of her way of talking to me right down there, between my thighs; I'm on the verge of orgasm just hearing her speak. I don't know why it has this effect on me, but it does. "So, did you like it?" and she reaches out a hand, brushes my nipple. "Do you like my breasts?" Where do I get such boldness from, damn it, I'm inviting her to the wedding. "Yours aren't bad either." "Yours are gorgeous..." she continues. "Do you want to... touch them Flo?" Fuck fuck fuck, what am I saying? But I surprise her. "Do you want me to touch them?" she asks, unsure of my own conviction, but I commit another folly. I nod. "Touch them," I whisper, and a moment later, her soft hand is glued to my right breast. The contact is warm, sweet, reminding me of the unforgettable caresses of my first boyfriend, twenty, twenty-five years ago. My nipples go wild, pointing upward, like two little skittles, standing out like useless watchtowers on a now indefensible mountain. "Wonderful," she whispers again. "Lucky is he who plays with them." Her tone caresses me with a sweet, incisive musicality, and not just her tone. Now she's touching my breasts with both hands, and I feel something dripping down my inner thigh. "Flo, please..." "If you want, I'll stop." "No no no," it sounds like a conversation between crazy women. I encounter a sweet smile that stands out between his lips and his dimpled cheeks. "Can I?" and he doesn't wait for an answer, he dives into my nipples and I feel a pinch on each one, my whole body vibrates and fuck, now definitely yes, I'm about to have an orgasm.

"No no no," I repeat like a broken record, but she doesn't listen. She’s understood my deep crisis and touches my ass. "I could feel your thong on the scooter," she mutters, confirming my intuitions. She unbuckles my jeans, undisturbedly slips a hand into my crotch, finds a pond, and her face lights up with a happy, radiant expression. "Wonderful... where have you been hiding all these years?" "I don't know, I don't know, I've never done it like this, but now I can't resist, damn it..." "You need some lessons," and she kisses me on the cheek, then on the lips, and slips her tongue into my mouth. I've never kissed another woman like that. "No, no, no," I repeat again. "What, no, no, no? Look at you, look at me!" And the scene is unmistakable. She presses her small breasts against mine, which are towering, maternal, inclusive. We're stuck belly to belly, her hand freely explores my pubic hair, even her bare feet play with mine. "Flo...," I stammer. "Flo... I'm about to... come." The response is a powerful kiss, with tongue. My boyfriend has never kissed me like this, no man has ever done it. I feel myself being grabbed by the hand and dragged toward the bed. We fall onto the mattress, onto the scented sheets and pillows. I feel a busty girl biting me, standing on top of me, and meanwhile she fumbles with my leggings, pulling them down in two moves. She has no problem, she pulls my panties aside and plunges her fingers into my pussy, torn apart by her hand and the pleasure flooding me. "I'm coming, damn it, I'm coming!" I think for a moment. It's been a while since that happened. She's very good at masturbating me and accompanying these gestures with powerful kisses on my breasts, neck, face, mouth. I scream without restraint, I'm cumming like I haven't since college, I push the boundaries of my arousal, I stop being a good girl, I just feel like a whore, I touch my tits while she fucks me, I feel her insistent groping on the scooter again. "Lick me, lick me, please! I want to come in your mouth." It's not an order, it's a plea, I'm practically in a trance, at her complete disposal, she adjusts her hair with sly eyes, slides between my thighs, her tongue is a panacea, it rubs on my clit and then goes inside, along with a couple of fingers, I grasp the pillow with my hands, I scream again. The neighbors gonna call the police, I think. "I can't take it anymore, I can't resist!" I squirt all over her face, but she continues undaunted. She knows how to do her job so well. I can't imagine how many times she's licked me. I grab her head violently with both hands. "Lick me again, lick me, I've never felt this good in my life!" She complies without a word of objection, she goes at it like a dream, I'm now a moaning fountain, she licks my entire inner thigh so as not to miss a single drop, I want to kiss her, I pull her up so hard I almost tear her hair out, I stick my tongue in her mouth and feel my pleasure through her, Ron does it too, but he doesn't know how to do it like this, he gets tired quickly and then he wants his cock sucked, a nice cock, for goodness' sake, but Flo's pussy... yes, her pussy: I haven't touched it yet, and she almost reads my mind, she lays me on my back on the bed, undresses herself in an instant, and straddles my face.

You looked so innocent, but you're just a bitch, a slut!" she insults me and presses her lips against mine. I plunge my tongue in and almost devour her labia. Her clit feels like a small dick, it's so swollen. She continues to insult me. "Slut, slut, slut! You don't know how long I've wanted you... and you're always telling me about Ron this, Ron that... Whore, make me cum now!" And holding her little tits in her hands, massaging her dark, turgid nipples and moving her hips so that her pussy and clit rub against me, she starts to squirt, screaming, an industrial amount, she comes, she comes, and she comes again and I swallow it all, it's pleasurable and in that moment I think I've never swallowed Ron’s semen before, he loves coming on my face, splashing my eyes and in my hair, that I hate him because he forces me to shower right afterward, the pig, and for the first time I think I don't like Ron anymore, that's why we're a bit low and that now I'm here, in bed with this wonderful lesbian who's wanted me for so long and I'd never noticed.

She throws herself next to me, panting, her chest heaving with labored breathing. I look at the ceiling, panting too. "You lick like a goddess, are you sure you've never done it before?" I look for her hand, find it, and squeeze it, intertwining my fingers with hers. "I swear." She slips out of my grasp, turns toward me, and smiles sweetly. "Now don't tell me you love me too." I'm speechless. I was just about to tell her. "During your first lesbian sex, you all say you love me, but it's not like that: you do it out of curiosity, a desire for transgression, a bit of an innate and always restrained sluttiness." "Flo, what are you saying?" "You don't want a relationship with me, do you?" Shit, I hadn't thought of that, but I wouldn't mind, but she's brutalizing me. She treats me worse than a man would, a dickhead of an occasional lover. And I've had plenty of those.

"We're colleagues, sitting next to each other. They'd find out in five minutes." I'm about to say: "And even if they did?" but I hold back: I don't understand her. She stands up on her elbows, looking at me closely. "I don't want you to fall in love with me, understand? I have nothing to offer you, just a lesbian life that everyone winks at, maybe with the secret hope of fucking both of us at the same time, or of fucking you and your wife or partner. Do you know how many fucks like this one I've already had? As the guys say, one night stands." "I just came in your mouth and you in mine: and you talk to me like that?" I answer. "Do you know how many times I've come in mouths? "Flo, you're a bitch, actually, a piece of shit." "I know, but I fuck like a goddess, and if you want me, I'm here, at your disposal," and she accompanies these words with a gesture—she spreads her thighs—that really pisses me off. "Fuck you Flo!”

It's not raining anymore, thankfully, but on the way home, all that's streaming down my face are tears. I feel my phone vibrate in my bag a few minutes after I get out, but I'm focused on driving and crying. I get home and jump in the shower, almost without saying goodbye to Rino. I read the messages after being under the hot water for a good twenty minutes; the steam envelops me, preventing me from looking in the mirror, but if I could, I'd look like crap. Now I read: they're all messages from Flo. SORRY, SORRY SORRY!!! COME BACK TO ME, PLEASE, it's the first. She wrote it all in capital letters, my heart skips a beat, I walk into the living room, Rino is there with his frayed slippers and his feet on the coffee table, watching football. I decide not to reply, Flo is crazy, I tell myself, maybe a little crazy about me too. The messages start, SORRY SORRY SORRY, I WASN'T SERIOUS, etc., now that it's the middle of the night I'm feeling an incredible desire for her, no one has ever wanted me like this, no one has ever mistreated me like this, but she's crazy, I tell myself, love is crazy too, so crazy that thinking about her I touch my scented hair that I'd never noticed, her shapely, wonderful breasts that I'd never realized were nectar of the gods, and then a hand slides inside her pajama shorts, under her thong, in a vain search for the unusual and indecent taste, the sensation irresistible feeling of Flo's tongue licking me down there.