Trust Erven with a kiss

You are weakened with desire and find comfort in yielding to Erven's advance. You close your eyes and pout your full lips to meet him. His lips are soft and his whiskers tickle against your face and chin. He withdraws a fraction of an inch and then kisses you again, harder and hotter, his lips pressed tight against yours.

A moan vibrates between you and you realize that it is your own. Your lips open to him and the lighthouse keeper's tongue invades your mouth, tasting and exploring as your tongue meets his. The hot, tea-flavored kiss mingles your saliva with his and your mouths seem to meld in the long, hot embrace of your tongues.

You start to rise to embrace him. Erven's strong hands gently urge you back into the chair and he kneels before you, holding your head with one hand and continuing to explore your mouth with his hungry kiss. You are completely at his mercy, but you are unafraid. Whether wise or foolish, you trust the old lighthouse keeper.

His hands unwind the laces of your gown - Lahana's gown - and expose the pert mounds of your breasts. His warm hands enclose them and squeeze them, your nipples rubbing wit jolts against the roughness of his palms. He kisses your neck, freeing your mouth to moan his name softly. He hot lips and the scratchiness of his beard descend to your breasts. He gathers them and squeezes them together. His lips brush your straining nipples. You gasp as the hot wetness of his tongue travels around an areola.

"Yesss," you hiss. "Suck it. Suck at my breast."

"Your nipples are so small and delicate," he moans, kissing beside one nipple before finding it with his lips and sucking. The suction sends hot pulses through your body. He holds it tight in his lips and pulls back, drawing out your breast and stretching your pert mound. His hand moves between your thighs and you spread your legs to him, moaning again, louder as those rough fingers travel your dewy furrow and gently massage the aching pebble of your clit.

"Beautiful," he moans, kissing and sucking your other breast. He moves lower, kissing down your gown-covered belly, raising the hem up your thighs and continuing to softly murmur, "Beautiful. Beautiful."

By the candlelight, you spread yourself to him and he looks upon the nectar of your loins, gathering and slowly dripping at the pink flower of your sex. He spreads you with gentle fingers and rubs at your bud, sending shocks of ecstasy rolling into your abdomen and up, like static into your nipples and head. Your toes curl as his face descends. You know the pleasure his forbidden kiss will bring.

Only, you cannot imagine his skill! His tongue is a fire at your aching threshold, tracing the swollen mound of your sex with slow, purposeful licks. The tip of his tongue teases your folds. It flicks at your aching bud and drums an agonizing rhythm there. He looks up at you, his eyes bright above the red thatch of your hair, and he clamps his mouth atop your clit and the upper folds of your quim. The gentle suction of his mouth pulls at your bud and draws in your lips. The arrow of his tongue finds its mark and he drives you wild.

"Yes! Oh, goddess, forgive me! I am cumming!"

You seize Erven's shaggy head with both hands and thrust your sex into his sucking mouth. Your whole body seems to vibrate. Your thighs quake and you lift your bottom from the chair and grind against that exquisite suction and devilish tongue. You can only say "Yes!" over and over, through clenched teeth, as powerful waves of pleasure ripple through your body. Your contractions of orgasm are dizzying and seem to go on past the point of your body's exhaustion.

At last, you slump back into the shair, still trembling and breathless. A dreamy smile graces your flushed face. Erven lifts his head from between your thighs and wipes his wrist against his glistening lips.

"Sweet. Never tasted sweeter."

You blow a strand of crimson hair from your face and cannot help a laugh.

"Not even a mermaid?"

"Not even," he says, rising higher on his knees and leaning in to kiss you. "Have a taste."

You share your own sweet nectar on his lips and tongue. As you kiss, you absently reach a hand between you and feel the hardness in his trousers. It must be painful for a man to be so inflamed without release. Surely it would be cruel to leave him in such a state after the pleasure he gave you.

"What about this, Erven?" you ask, squeezing his cock through his trousers. "I wish I could satisfy you the way you have satisfied me."

"I will not ask your vow," says the old lighthouse keeper. "But if you trust me, there is a way we can both find even greater satisfaction."