Suki's worship has only begun

Jo lies utterly spent, a vessel drained of everything but the faint, shimmering echoes of the cataclysm that just tore through her. Her body is a map of their worship—glistening with saliva, marked by the memory of lips and tongues, trembling with the aftershocks of not one, but three shattering orgasms. Her breath comes in ragged, shallow hitches, her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.

The weight of Allison’s head rests on her inner thigh, a warm, damp anchor. Anita’s fingers, still nestled deep inside her, twitch gently, a final, possessive pulse before slowly, reluctantly, withdrawing. The loss of that intimate fullness makes Jo whimper, a soft, broken sound.

Into this profound, saturated quiet, a new voice emerges. It is Suki’s, but it is changed. Gone is the shy, poetic awe. In its place is a low, reverent thrum, thick with a desire that has been simmering, watching, and is now ready to consume.

“My turn,” she says, and the words are not a request, but a statement of intent.

Jo feels the air shift as the others turn to look at Suki. There is no protest, only a collective, breathless anticipation.

Suki moves closer, her movements silent and deliberate. She doesn’t speak to the others; her entire world has narrowed to the ravished, beautiful form of Jo splayed on the rug.

“You are a masterpiece,” Suki whispers, her voice husky with emotion. Her gaze travels over Jo’s body, drinking in the sight of her glistening skin, the sheen of sweat, the trails of saliva and the unmistakable, pearly evidence of her pleasure drying on her inner thighs. “You are covered in… us. In our desire for you. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

She pauses, her dark eyes burning with a fervent, almost **** light. “Jo… may I…?” Her voice, so confident a moment ago, wavers with a sudden, endearing vulnerability. “My dare is for me. I want to clean you. To venerate you. I want to taste every single inch of your skin. I want to taste the sweat, the salt, the honey, the… everything. I want to worship you with my mouth, from your toes to your head. Will you let me? Will you let me show you how sacred you are to me?”

The request is so intimate, so filthily reverent, that it steals the breath from Jo’s lungs. To be cleaned, not with a cloth and water, but with a tongue. To be tasted in her most raw, exposed state. It is the ultimate act of devotion and desire combined.

Jo, too wrecked to form words, merely gives a slow, dazed nod. Permission granted.

A soft, shuddering sigh of relief escapes Suki’s lips. She moves into position with a solemn grace, as if approaching a holy relic.

She starts at the very beginning. At Jo’s feet.

Suki kneels at Jo’s soles, which are still slightly damp from the twins’ fervent worship. She doesn’t hesitate. She takes Jo’s right foot in both of her hands, cradling it with a tenderness that borders on heartbreaking. She leans forward, and her tongue, pink and precise, flicks out for a first, tentative taste.

“Mmm,” Suki hums, the vibration traveling straight up Jo’s leg. “You taste of sandalwood oil… and Sam’s peppermint gum.” Her tongue swipes a broad, slow stripe along the arch, and Jo’s toes curl involuntarily. “The skin here is so soft,” Suki murmurs, her words a warm caress against Jo’s skin. “Like the finest silk. It tastes of devotion.”

She takes Jo’s big toe into her mouth, sucking gently, her tongue swirling around the nail. “So perfect,” she whispers, releasing it with a soft pop. “Each toe is a pearl.”

She moves to the ankle, that delicate, bony protrusion. Her tongue traces the fine bones there, lapping at the faint, salty perspiration. “Your ankles are so slender,” she comments, her voice full of wonder. “So elegant. They taste of the day’s travels, and of the heat of this room.” She presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point there, and Jo can feel her own heartbeat hammering against Suki’s lips.

Suki’s mouth is a meticulous instrument. She works her way up Jo’s calf, her tongue mapping the gentle curve of the muscle. The skin here is smoother, tauter. “Your legs are so long,” she whispers, her lips brushing against Jo’s shin. “So strong for such a delicate frame. They taste clean, like lavender soap, but underneath… underneath there is a warmth. A musk that is all you.”

She reaches the back of Jo’s knee, that secret, intimate hollow that had received her own shy kiss earlier. Suki’s approach here is different. She nuzzles into the crease, inhaling deeply. “Here,” she breathes, her voice thick with want. “Here, you smell like… like warm skin and innocence.” Her tongue delves into the hollow, a slow, wet, lascivious stroke that makes Jo jump and gasp. “And you taste like heaven,” Suki adds, her words muffled against Jo’s skin as she continues to lick and suckle gently at the incredibly sensitive skin. “Salty and sweet all at once.”

She continues her unhurried ascent, her tongue painting wet, loving paths up the long, graceful line of Jo’s thigh. The skin here is creamier, softer to the touch. Suki’s worship becomes more fervent, more open-mouthed. She is not just tasting; she is devouring the evidence of the night, her tongue seeking out every dried droplet of honey, every smear of saliva left by the others.

“I can taste Cathy here,” she moans, her lips pressed high on Jo’s outer thigh. “The vanilla of her lotion… and the sweetness of the honey she painted on you.” She moves an inch inward. “And here… Allison. I can taste her shea butter… and her passion.” Her tongue licks a broad stripe. “You are a feast of all of us, Jo. A symphony of our desire for you.”

She is getting closer to the epicenter, to the place that is soaked not with the worship of others, but with the very essence of Jo herself. The air grows heavier, more charged. Suki’s breathing is as ragged as Jo’s now, her own arousal a palpable **** as she venerates the trembling, taste-covered altar of Jo’s body, working her way with painstaking slowness from toe to thigh, a priestess consuming her sacrament.