Cincinnati Apocalypse Part 2

"You're such a poet," Willow remarked, "and a flatterer."

"One of the good things about being a lesbian," Kennedy offered, "is that you can be multiple with another girl. Let's be multiple, Will."

Willow smiled in the darkness, looking out at the distant sea, its blackness under the ebony vault of heaven making it mostly invisible. She could see, on occasion, only a glint of light on its dark surface, but she could imagine the sound of its surf, reassuring in its eternal, recurring visitation to the shore, and she could smell the scent of the ocean. She could feel the pull of the tide, too, but it wasn't the tide of the sea. It was an internal tide, a surge and rush of the sea within her loins. She lay back, feeling the rough ground at the top of the precipice over the side of which, legs dangling, she and Kennedy had been seated, hundreds of feet above the valley below that was lit with the blinking and flickering and pulsing lights of Rio. She turned, and Kennedy knelt before her, a worshiper at the altar of love.

In a moment, Kennedy was lying on her belly, her forearms along Willow's thighs, her face adjacent to the witch's trimmed red pubes and the slit within. She lowered her lips against the parted lips of her lover's cunt, planting kisses on the moist labia before licking the liquid slit, lifting her head to allow her tongue to travel the length of the furrow, to the throbbing, pulsing clitoris at its top. The tip of her tongue worried Willow's clit, lashing it fast and furiously. The nub of her sex hardened still more, and her pussy released another stream of warm, wonderful womanly fluids. Pausing to lap up the nectar of Willow's loins, Kennedy redoubled her efforts, alternating between short, rapid licks of her tongue to wash inside the gash of Willow's sex, bathing the tender, petal-soft, sopping interior of her vagina, before pressing more-and more insistent-kisses upon her mount of Venus. Kennedy felt Willow's love juices along her cheeks and upon her nose and chin, and she smelled the scent of her girlfriend's sex upon her skin; it smelled wonderful, Kennedy thought, drinking deeply from the sacred font. Swallowing the warm fluids of the witch's loins was bliss to her, and she swallowed noisily, hungrily, greedily.