We are alone, you and I, in your candlelit bedroom, sitting together propped up by pillows and sharing a bottle of champagne. We have been enjoying a relaxing evening of pleasant music and banter, and now there is a lull. The champagne and the patchouli scent of your cologne are making me feel a bit lightheaded, or maybe it’s just the effect of the closeness of our bodies. You put your glass down, take mine and put it beside yours, and press your lips to mine. I respond, my lips parting, and our tongues dance together. We bask in the moment, our hands entwining in each other's hair.
I am wearing a short, clingy dress. As we continue to kiss, you slide a hand downward, caressing my breasts through the fabric and making my already-aroused nipples stand out all the more. Slowly, without breaking our lip-lock, you let your hand wander down my belly toward my crotch. You can feel the outline of my mound through the fabric, and you can tell that I’m not wearing underwear.
You reach inside my bodice and cup one of my breasts in your hand. Your fingers move to my nipple and pinch it lightly, rolling the nipple between your fingers as I moan in approval. You release the nipple, then lift your champagne glass. “To us,” you say, as you carefully spill a small amount of the wine on the breast. I gasp and shiver slightly as the cold champagne hits my nipple. Soon, though, your warm mouth is on my breast, your swirling tongue lapping at the champagne and teasing my nipple as you attend to my other breast with your hand. I moan louder, my body arching in ecstasy. “Nice vintage,” you say, your eyes sparkling as you drip your champagne on my other breast, and your heavenly tongue resumes its ministrations.
Gently, you trail your other hand down my body until it finds my pussy. You dip a finger inside. "You are so wet," you murmur, and bring your finger to your lips to taste me. "Mmm..." You gaze mischievously into my eyes as you suck your finger clean.
