Chapter 6: Hymen

Mahila’s Diary.
7:03 a.m.

I shivered all over. The effect wasn’t an aftermath of some cold backwash; no, surely not! No gust of air, not even a whiff, could blow in through the damp stony walls. Her canal was as sealed as any securely plastered rainbow envelops could be. The coldness no longer lingered around ... or my awareness of being naked and vulnerable to the cold space was overcome by the potent feel of this warm flesh.

Kumari lay before me on a life-size marble altar, as low as a rectangular pedestal, which seemingly emerged and rose from the ground spotted with her yoni’s drippings. She had her arms stretched around her head, letting a good view of those pillowy breasts and hardened nipples stir me up. Her supple legs were splayed, incredibly parallel to the level expanse of flooring. The midline of her flat belly, from under the symmetrical swell of her bust and ribs, aesthetically met with her belly button. The rise and fall of her chest, as she breathed, concurred with the subtle movement in her belly. Under that shaved mons veneris, her yoni looked as blooming as pink calla lily. Its nectar oozed down, glistening the skin between her massive buttocks.

‘Don’t just stand there, O Sundari! Pleasure me and let your parched throat be appeased. The illumination of pleasure must never be lost for gratuitous delays.’

Her voice made me fix my eyes on her immaculate face. She smiled as some host would, letting her guest feel welcome. I reciprocated, and shivered at the anticipation of returning her the pleasure that shook me a while back. She was a good lover indeed! I could still sense the wetness of her tongue and the soft feel of her mouth on my skin. She had titillated me to that arousal I had known long ago.

As though enchanted by her au naturel charm, I walked nearer to Kumari and knelt between her spread out legs. Still shivering from head to toe, I stooped and clutched at the wide curve of her hips. Her yoni, open and redolent of muliebrity, coruscated with pink luster. I closed my eyes as her odoriferous bliss incited an aching pulsation in my nipples. Her soft curling labia gave way to my impinging mouth, letting my lithe tongue snake its way into her soppy sheath. Tasting her creamy appetizer, I drew it into my mouth. Moving my tongue and lips, I swallowed a mouthful of her nectar. It was highly pleasing, undeniably provoking do more with less affair. She neither uttered anything nor budged as if she were an inanimate figurine. I licked her, teasing the throbbing nub pocking out of the prepuce, and continued licking along the perineal raphe to horn in her rear orifice.

‘B-bring me the liquor you’ve just tasted.’

I looked up as the canal reverberated with her mellifluous voice. A sigh, which my ears perceived, had been given out. The stutter, as she spoke, sounded unnatural to her tranquil conduct. I asked: ‘How may I bring you this liquor?’