Ibis by Leviathan Laroche (best summer books TXT) 📖

top of the angle, her face right at a level to inspect between my thighs. I thought she might be about to play with my ass again, a thought which both scared and excited me, but her hands went lower, beneath me, to grab what was there. "Mmm." Her glove slid down the base of my penis, which was eager again for the attention, but it continued down to gently squeeze my balls. Rolling them gingerly between her thumb and fingers, she lowered her head and brought her lips down to the tight skin. Her tongue flickered in and out. "A tasty treat. I'll save it for later."

She slid up further, settling her breasts on my buttocks as she pushed the red shirt up over my shoulders, covering my head. "Ahhh...." Her claws hooked over the meat on my shoulders, then she drug them all the way down, causing me to arch and doubtlessly leaving eight red strips. "Now this makes me hungry." Her tongue, once again dripping wet, wandered up my spine from between my shoulderblades to the back of my neck, where she bit. Her low voice teased, "Tastes like chicken." I felt her squirming on top of me, then she shuddered with delight. "No more playing. It's time for this pussy to eat!"

I realized how sharp her nails really were when she caught the ziptie still around my wrist with one claw and snapped it. "On your back again – quickly. Take off that silly red shirt and spread those arms and legs!"

I hurried to obey while she kneeled beside me; as I rolled to my back, she tied the first foot to a strap she had pulled up from beneath the bed – somehow it was fastened tightly under there. Similar straps awaited my hands and other foot. Once I was restrained, spread-eagle (spread-Rrrobin, she said), she stood over me and hooked her claws into her own costume. I quickly learned that what I thought had been decorative piping was the outline of a separate bikini over her catsuit – once removed, heavy breasts hung free. Her nipples were dark and delightfully wrinkled. It took a little more struggle and twisting on her part to find the snap that released the bottom piece of the bikini, baring a cut-out around her crotch.

Once unencumbered, and with the purple pieces flung into a far corner, she dropped to her knees, straddling my neck. The arch beneath the shin and toes of her boots fit neatly over my shoulders; she only had to lean back on her heels to keep me firmly in place. She was breathing heavily with excitement, causing her breasts to heave above my head. Her eyes flashed, her lips were curled in an uncontrolled smile, and her fingers wiggled slightly while she decided just how to begin. Then her thighs closed around my cheeks, and the heat and scent of her body washed over mouth and nose. I licked my lips. Her fingers ran through my hair and clenched, finding natural handles. "I showed you what I can do with my tongue, Rrrobin – now show me what you can do." 

*

I can't promise to recall every detail of what happened over the next half-hour, though the memory itself is incredibly vibrant in my mind. 

I remember her scent and taste vividly – they were musky, almost oily, a little bitter and salty. At first, each touch of my tongue, each whiff, was a surprise to my senses, they were so strong. But she was addicting; once I'd lapped away the residue of her earlier rut, tasting only the bare flesh beneath, I strained my neck searching for more. She pulled away and I stretched after her. I was eager to set her juices flowing, to taste that tang.

I clearly remember she was trimmed, but not shaven. Her hair was wiry, tightly curled close to the skin, but it didn't chafe. It trapped her flavor and my saliva, and tickled my nostrils whenever she lowered herself over my tongue.

 

At first she kneeled above me, hovering an inch or so over my face, while I explored her. Internet advice flashed vaguely through my brain: don't go straight for the clit. Tease her first.

But she was impatient – when I flicked around her labia, she firmly steered my head with a glove directly back into her pussy.

So I followed her lead and nuzzled in. My tongue pushed, first flicking, then thrusting deeper, as far as I could stick it in. She wanted more. When I lifted my head her hands slipped behind it, grabbing it for leverage, and she pressed down and began grinding back and forth.

She released my head, and I fell back into the pillow, gasping. My neck and chest was slick with sweat. I looked up, past her two ripe breasts, to see her flashing eyes. Her mouth hung open, accommodating her heavy breaths. She glanced down, and for a moment our eyes locked through our masks. Her claws scraped over my cheeks, and she chortled, or moaned, or both. 

Then she settled back over me, resting her arms against the headboard for support. She sat on her heels, but I lifted my face to trace between her outer and inner lips with the tip of my tongue, then drew them into my mouth for light suck and lip-nibble. It was too much for her – her heels slipped out and her full weight fell on me. One glove caught my forehead, cupping it tightly to hold me in place while she squirmed against my mouth. Her clit found the knob of my nose and she mashed into it, spreading herself over my upper lip and the tip of my tongue.

I remember my view through the wide 'V' of her thighs, the rotating, jerking motions of her hips, the way she gripped her breasts so tightly and dug her claws into her own skin. Her tongue rolled over her lips, not to keep them wet, but in some kind of vicarious fantasy of what I'd do to her. I tried to match her flicks with my own, and was rewarded with a vice-grip as her thighs tried to squeeze my head as tightly as she did her breasts. Her breath caught. After a long, tense moment, she exhaled, her thighs relaxed, and her head lolled down. Her convulsions had shifted her mask, so she nudged it back in place with a knuckle as she began her slow, forceful gyrations again. With her vision unobstructed, our eyes locked together.

She seemed to delight in my reactions to each thrust of her hips, her moans, her nibbled lips. Her grindings were thoughtful, experimental, like she was searching for new ways to fit us together. She judged her success as much by my expression as her throbbing pleasure. When I gasped and my eyes blinked with relief after she finally released me from minutes of suffocating thigh-kneading, she laughed aloud, low but melodically.

I remember the aching stiffness in my cock. It ebbed between bobbing aright, hard and yearning, as I was aroused by the soft skin of her inner thigh, the way she shuddered when I suddenly thrust my tongue into her, the raspy surprised cursing and vulgar demands for more, and the promise of the pussy I now knew so intimately, then falling limp against my thigh while she satisfied her own needs and left me straining against the empty air. I couldn't even twist over for friction against the sheets; the best I could do was squeeze my thighs against the growing ache in my balls from their lack of release.

*

She was somewhere between two and twenty orgasms – her insistent moaning, quick gasps and thrusts, and relentless urging of clawed gloves in my hair left me with no idea where – when she finally rolled off me. She left one leather boot sprawled across my chest. "God, Robin!" She took a deep breath, clutching her ribs, and let it out in a shuddering sigh. "God, Robin," she repeated, "are you still alive down there?" She slipped a claw under her mask to wipe away the sweat collecting there. My own hair was slicked to my face with a mixture of sweat and her juices; she brushed it from my forehead, then leaned down for a gentle kiss. She pressed in again, and her tongue flicked between my lips, brushing my teeth before it slid out of my mouth. She slicked it over my cheek and painted saliva around the bottom profile of my mask before lashing over my mask to my eye, which I quickly shut. She sucked lightly at my eyelid, cupping her thick lips lightly in the bowl beneath my brown, then crossed over my nose to keep the other eye company.

"I taste good, don't I."

I nodded.

"No, Robin – I'm fishing for a compliment here. Tell me."

"You taste... I'll remember your taste for years, and it will still make me horny. It makes my mouth water. It makes me want to bury my face between your legs."

"Mmm... Good." She opened my mouth with a finger, catching my lower lip between two clawtips to pull it open. I thought she was going to kiss me again, but her face just hung over mine, inches away. Her breath was hot, and smelled slightly of her own juices. But her hand slide down my chest and circled my cock, which was once again hard and begging for her touch. "But it's not really about Robin eating out the Catwoman, is it? It's about the Cat eating the birdie. Don't watch."

She left her right hand draped over my face, blocking my view, while she swung her leg off my stomach leaned over me. A hard nipple slid over my taut skin, then pressed down when she settled into place. She made a tight ring around the base of my penis with what felt like a thumb and finger; while she held me thusly, the soft, wet touch of her lips and tongue dabbed and lapped up the shaft.

Then she shifted over me again, and her voice was right in my ear. "If you cum before I tell you to, I won't be the one swallowing it. Good enough for me, good enough for you, right? So I hope you have some self-control. Don't watch." She tugged my mask up a half inch or so, leaving me with a great view of the headboard, then took both hands and her mouth down to tease me.

Tease me she did; while she rolled my balls between her fingers or slid her claws up the inside of my thighs or reached beneath to threaten the resistance of my asshole again (this time, combined with her other attention, I gasped), she took just the head of my cock into her mouth and squeezed or lightly sucked, daring me to let go.

How can I describe the battle I fought with myself? Is it enough to say that I arched and bucked, fighting my restraints until I cramped in both a calf and a finger? That I felt like I was holding back an entire flood of churning heat with the tenuous obedience of one lazy muscle somewhere deep in my pelvis? That I begged her to stop, then not to, that I sobbed I was going to explode (she threatened against it between sloppy mouthfuls) and somehow I managed to contain myself while her lips and tongue insisted all the harder that I shouldn't? If she'd ever released that tight ring grip she'd kept at the base of my... 

But she had? I caught a glimpse of her the bottom edge of the mask, pawing quickly through the nightstand while I still fought the broiling froth inside of me. Still that tight grip kept me from release. But I could see both of her gloves?

It was only a moment, though, before she was back on the bed, and rolling a condom down over my cock. Then she crouched on the bed, and,