My Sexual desires were taking birth and taking over all my other senses. I felt an electrifying sensation on my nipples, my breasts firming and a rage between my legs. He was not just my comforting brother that night, but also my lover, and like a father giving me a new life. He was now also fondling me a bit as he held one of my breasts. The eroticism was rising. I opened my shirt buttons with one hand, still kissing him. He then put his hand under the shirt up my back and clicked open my bra like a champion. He now slid his face down via the neck and on to the breast, licking them and then slowly sucking on it. His other hand now fondling the left breast. I sort of stood up on my knees on the bed and lowered my tracks a bit and even my pink panties. His tounge and lips almost immediately stared downward, as if I was showing him the way and he was following. I could smell my cunt juices. I had never smelled so wonderful before. He made an oomph sound that told me that he likes it. Their bodies were like art. They flowed together, like two rowers in a boat; they complimented each other. In motion they were like the brush strokes of a skilled artist. And like the work of an artist, their movements were thoughtful but imperfect. Jane wriggled and writhed as the pleasure grew ever closer to its climax. Jerome anticipated it coming and resisted his urge to quicken the pace of his tongue. Most runners sprint the last 100 meters of a long distance race, but Jerome’s pace was consistent. His pace had got him here, where he wanted to be and abandoning it was risky. When Jerome was taught art in school, he learned of a painting technique his teacher called stippling. His tongue action was similar to stippling in that it provided a beautiful reward for consistency and discipline. The heavens were about to open. As Jane reached deep for her breath, taken away by the wonderfulness of Jerome’s brush strokes, she reached her climax and caught her breath. ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-‘.
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