Independence Day

Cleo needed her independence.

She went on another “adventure”–to find him.

She knew that she needed to see him again, because she was so heavy when she went to touch herself that she could barely bring herself to achieve pleasure because her labia was thick. She ached for him, and she was afraid he would know it when he touched her.

“He”—she did not even say his name in her head, she thought of him “Him,” like something reverent. She texted him, and he texted her what was she waiting for? 

He touched her like she touched ripe fruit. Between her legs heavy and wet, he caressed her until she groaned with her need and ache.

“What?” he asked, as he touched her like he was picking a mango or something. Cleo was wet and sticky to the top of her thighs. She leaned against him helplessly, and he did not stop touching her.

“You…know…what!” she was incoherent to herself, as he played with her even more. She had memorized his fingers, and he touched her like he had memorized her.

“You have to tell me, you keep coming to me but you never tell me. I need to hear what you want from me,” he semi-pleaded.
“I want you,” she said helplessly, and he stopped touching her. He took her face in his hands and she could smell herself on his fingers. He kissed her, and she nibbled his lips like she was ingesting them. So hungry she was his lips, his taste, his mouth that she did not even need him to make contact with her body in any other way but their lips.

Cadmus had asked her if she had enjoyed her adventure—this was not an adventure anymore. She wanted this man, needed him in a way she had never needed Cadmus and she did not need to want Cadmus that way.

What she felt as her lips throbbed–both sets–was something she was not expecting to feel, and she wanted to explore it as much as she could.

With Him.

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