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A Hunting Ritual: Part 4

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He placed a hand on her left breast, the other on her stomach, and he leaned down to lick up the paste. It was sweet, with a hint of spice, and it was all the more delicious with her sweaty skin glistening in the candlelight. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts large and bulbous. They had agreed that her breathing could not be helped, and the more he licked her, the more heavily she breathed.


She sighed, his tongue and lips making their way over her belly-button and up between her breasts. Her skin was so soft, so warm, which made his penis bounce in satisfaction. She wanted so badly to play with her breasts, to ease herself over the edging that came from his damp saliva on her skin. It was ***, more so to not move at all than the teasing that his tongue provided, but she was his plaything and she did not want to disappoint. She could take his punishments, and usually she could endure his discipline. What she could not cope with was the sadness in her chest every time she upset him. She stared up at the tree canopy, since a dead *** cannot move it’s head, and she closed her eyes to focus on the sensations of his mouth now travelling down the side of her body.


He was a messy eater, which was part of the fun. Though she could not touch him, he eagerly touched her with every possible part of his body. She could not watch him, but she could feel his thighs pushing into her side where he kneeled, and his stomach laid over hers while his arms caressed her body. He grabbed her neck, massaged her breasts, and played with her clitoris, all the while his tongue was busy cleaning up the side of her body, where he had drawn a large patch of paste in a giant pattern.


The way his fingers had applied it, she remembered drawing the image in her mind; translating his artistic movements into what she believed were swirling vines. Now, though, his tongue lapped up the pattern with a roughness that was both hungry and meticulous. His chin dragged along her saliva-covered stomach and he came back to her chest. His fingers still played with her clitoris, his knuckles loosening the cloth around her waist.  He moved the candle away from between her legs and both of his hands now met her breasts. She groaned, more with teased disappointment, than from the pleasure that had been prematurely ceased. She wanted more. She needed more. She may have been enjoying the feeling of his tongue on her skin, but she was desperate to have his penis inside her.


He straddled her, sliding down so that his face could be buried in her cleavage, and he licked furiously once again. His hands were aggressive, squeezing her breasts together and clawing them apart. He bit into her skin, tugged on her nipples, and made his way up towards her neck. He was like a starved beast, making sure that it had not missed a single speck of paste. His lips reached her chin. She could not deny that she was excited for what he was going to do next, despite how odd it was.

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