5. The Noble
Olens stared at the bright red flesh splayed wide open right before his eyes. Even the light brown pubic hair surrounding the flower was drenched and sticky with moisture—a sight utterly unfamiliar to him. Despite his considerable experience, he had never once brought his mouth to a woman's most intimate place.
At the Templeton Academia in Leon, he had been a handsome, taciturn noble's son, much like his sister Olivier—outwardly impeccable. Dressed neatly and armed with impeccable manners, Olens had drawn quite a few noble ladies who approached him with affection. They chased after his refined, reticent profile, swooning over how it looked steeped in melancholy. He had bedded a few of the lighter ones, skillfully teasing them with his fingers, but he had never brought his face close to their secret folds.
But...
Olens slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The fully bloomed petals, brimming with nectar, unfurled brazenly, releasing a lethal fragrance. It was the same sweet bodily scent that had ensnared him from the moment he drew near Evril, who leaned against the study wall. Yet from these lower petals rose an even richer, denser aroma—one incomparable to the mere trace of her natural perfume.
It was nothing like Olivier's faint scent. Drawn by the heady fragrance, Olens opened his eyes. No sooner had he slipped under her dress than he untied the thin strap draped across her hips; a blood-red panty clung to one pale thigh like luxurious wrapping on a gift box, while the core inside burned hot as glowing embers. Slick with transparent fluid, that scorching, swirling vortex of heat tempted him relentlessly. His gaze upon it burned with fever, his breath clouded with desire.
Olens drew closer to the heart of the blaze. Parting the light brown curls with his lips, he pressed his tongue to the red flesh glazed with sticky, transparent nectar—like sweet icing on a mousse cake. He felt her hot breath from below, then her parted folds yielded as his warm, melting tongue made contact.
"Ah..."
The hypersensitive spot convulsed instantly at the touch of his tongue. Evril shoved against the wall with her palms, her waist jerking as her head snapped back, a low moan escaping her chin's tip. His tongue was soft and sweet, his plush lips tender, his hot breath searing, his slick tongue gliding with heart-pounding pleasure up her spine to the crown of her head.
To stifle the moans bursting forth, Evril clamped her mouth shut and bit the inside of her lip. Olens lapped from bottom to top, savoring the lush bloom. The overripe, potent fragrance carried an intoxicating sweetness that tingled his tongue. The delicate pink inner flesh quivered helplessly under his tongue, radiating heat. Transparent fluid from the deep red swamp below soaked the petals thoroughly. The sweet whisper invading from his nostrils to his mind left him dizzy. A fevered sigh slipped through his lips.
Olens extended his tongue long and licked the slick flesh upward with fervor. It twitched at the wet contact. He mashed the soft mound, flicked his tongue in circles, wrapped it around. As the plump petals swelled taut, he stood his tongue on end and probed delicately into their seam. The red pearl atop the sticky pulp hardened and stood erect—like a translucent pomegranate seed. He teased it with his tongue tip, tasting it. His hot tongue swept the bulging nub, pressing heavily now and then. He pinned the center firmly, released, plunged back in, circled the heated core unbearably.
Then he captured it with his scorching lips, tickling it with his tongue before sucking gently. Trapped by his mouth, the red protrusion made the firm petals below bloom wide like a flower unfurling. From the warm swamp beneath rose an even denser sweet aroma, hazily igniting her blood. Olens tightened his inner lips for a deeper suction.
"Ngh..."
Evril's scalp prickled at the enveloping tongue's clingy motion. The slick texture, the electric teasing of the soft tongue—it curled her whole body inward. The drenched, supple tongue tormented her pleasure center with sweet, sticky, seductive, scorching kisses that stretched on. Lost in the viscous sensations, nothing registered; her mind clouded, indistinct. The languid, binding wetness of the coiling tongue, its slow sensual dance, sent lazy heat rising from her braced fingertips on the wall. The invading tongue delved deep, slowly guiding her to sloppy ecstasy. The place, already soaked from stimulation, let out lapping sounds from beneath the dress hem. The ceaseless tongue churned wet smacks. Each viscous friction echoing in her ears twisted her body through.
Sensual didn't begin to describe it—the sticky, sloppy tongue play, the sweet sensation approaching like a blazing lure. Her body melted. Nerves stung taut. Her waist-end shuddered. Her mind filled with hazy heat. Skin sensations sharpened excruciatingly. Amid the squelching slurps, hot fluid gushed from her depths.
"Hng..."
Evril clenched her teeth to swallow the erupting moan. Continuous shivers from under the dress stiffened her rigid waist into tremors. Her body quaked on the verge of rapture. Uncontrollable heat made her standing legs quake. Heat surged unbearably from her toes, trembling her whole frame. She writhed in vicious bliss. Caught in the sensation, convulsing, her mind blanked as hot tension coiled low and burst—a scalding rush poured out. Feeling the hot fluid gush forth, Evril squeezed her eyes shut. Her rigid waist shuddered, transparent nectar flooding from her spring like a deluge. Even after spilling, the flower brimmed with honey. Slick mucus from the red-hot, lava-like core tempted Olens.
Clear, dense mucus kept surging from her depths; he couldn't endure it. Drenched in fierce lust, his vision blurred. His hot lips trailed the deep valley, starting sticky echoes. His slow-descending tongue brought clinging breaths hot against her. Olens lapped up the pooled nectar, stealing her essence. Wetting his tip gradually, he savored it; her slick, sticky fluid flowed over his tongue into his mouth. The thick, fragrant nectar was honey-sweet, dizzyingly intoxicating, addictively narcotic. The spreading soft sweetness drove him mad with ecstasy; he thrust deeper into the narrow crevice for more. Her swamp kept yielding sweet honey, all flowing into his mouth. He lapped, and she trembled, pooling more at the end. Seeking the ambrosia flowing inside, his pointed tongue tip stimulated her entrance. Her depths sloshed, spilling more honey. The taste coating his tip was honey-sweet; the rising dense fragrance was poisonously lethal.
Thirsting for more pleasure, Olens sucked her deeper. Gripping her thigh pinned to the wall, he extended his long tongue into the wide-open, honey-flowing heat, plunging deep. Like a ladle devouring thick mucus, his soft hot tongue thrust forcefully inside; her wet entrance quivered and clenched instantly. As his tongue plunged in and out the deep swamp, the pink swollen flesh writhed endlessly, spurting honey between. When he thrust deep upright, it clenched and bloomed like the heart of a lush red flower, leaking nectar inside. As Olens licked and sucked fiercely with force, her walls clenched roundly, overflowing thick fluid. Transparent streams trickled down her inner thigh with musky scent, glistening to her knee. Olens latched his glistening lips to the lewd entrance, sucking deep. Drinking every drop of the sweet honey from her spring, her gripped thighs convulsed. His firm supple tongue unwittingly stole her soul. Her mind burned too hot. Dizzy vertigo hit. The air around her slumped against the wall hung heavy, foggy, oppressive. From the dense lethal fragrance or ceaseless suction below, bitten lips stifled moans as the world beyond heavy lids rippled like water. Squelching slurps of watery suction embarrassed and tormented from under the dress, resounding outward. In the ecstatic festival of soft lips, plush tongue, sticky sweet saliva and nectar, Evril clutched his hair, writhing. Through slitted eyes, the study landscape in hazy afternoon sunset warped dreamily in languid colors. Beneath profound dense rapture, Evril braced her fingers, swallowing deep moans endlessly.
*
"But those two said they were going for a walk, and they're late. The garden didn't look that big."
Shaylin set down her cooled teacup after their long chat, glancing toward the parlor window. Olivier subtly scanned the room. Caught up talking endlessly with a lady whose interests matched hers, she hadn't noticed Evril and Olens's prolonged absence. Looking to Emily by the window, Emily bowed demurely.
"Earlier, it seemed the two had finished their walk and returned to the mansion, heading toward the study."
Olivier narrowed her eyes slightly at Emily's words.
"Hmm, it's gotten quite late. To avoid rudeness, we should head back before dinner, I suppose."
At Shaylin's words, Olivier nodded toward Emily—fetch them.
Writing this was tough. ^_^;; It only takes a few minutes to read, though. Can you see the effort I put into turning Olens into the god of pleasure? Haha.
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