[m] [aw] you'll be free, child, once you have died

Max Klein · 07-25-2012, 11:01 PM

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Everything swam; his vision, his hearing, his head. Max felt the ground under him but it was unreal—the grass formed a cushion over rocky earth, and all he could hear was the river, the birdsong, the way his own breathing was thick. He did not think of her silence as strange, as one might expect. He was used to silence. They did not need to speak aloud, but his body heard her. He called back, eagerly, and flinched as she touched the plum-colored head of his hard shaft. His hips rocked towards her, his eyes singular and focused on her face. A warrior always watched the eyes, his teacher had warned. Max didn’t realize this was why he stared, and found his gaze looking for something he did not find.

Then her tongue reached him. A fire burst in his loins and he sucked in a breath of air. His elbows, propped against the ground, did little to hide the way his muscles flexed and pulled, fingers opening and closing over the ground. She was too far for him to reach.

Her exploratory stage changed, however slowly, into a regular pattern. The pressure of her tongue, the sensation of hot-to-cold as she came and went, it was maddening. Max’s hips rocked up towards her mouth as his own fell open. From behind his large, dog’s teeth, a mottled tongue lolled. He wanted to taste her as she was tasting him—he wanted to tell her this, but all that came out of him was a low, rumbling noise; not quite a growl, not quite a moan.

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