"How about we make this love thing real, yeah?"~Qaphela Makhathini.
In this fleeting span of mortal existence, Ayize and Qaphela are graciously granted another opportunity to love each other. However, circumstances don't appear to be as delightfu...
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𝚀𝙰𝙿𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙰 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝚂𝙿𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚂, with his head trapped between my legs, having his afternoon meal, as he calls it. I cling onto the chapel's pew chair, finding this position quite compromising.
Muah
Muah
Muah
Three kisses grace my sensitive clitoris.
"Lord, bless the meal I'm about to indulge in," he utters, gingerly. He flattens his tongue, lapping my pussy at a steady pace.
"Goodnessss..." I moan, gripping his head, making a mess of his minimal waves. "My...Qa...the...people...waiting," I stammer yet he doesn't cease.
We are furtively pleasing each other, in true Ayize and Qaphela fashion. We sneaked off to one of the chapels in this vineyard, to bless each other in unspeakable ways. I mean, this is the last of him I'll be seeing until tomorrow afternoon when we finally tie the knot.
A familiar tightness in my pelvis along with a shiver up my spine arises and like a faucet, I leak into his mouth.
"Let it go baby, surrender to your pleasure." Qaphela is unhinged, he can't be human.
"Oh yesss!" I wind. "My God..." Moments like these are when I wish Qaphela had hair or something. I know that's absurd but, gosh! I need something to pull because only God knows that Qaphela is sucking the soul from my body through my lady parts. Everything I possess to keep me alive and kicking, Qaphela steals with just the flick of his tongue.
Makhathini licks up my centre, navel, between my breasts, the nape of my neck, finally landing on my lips. We hungrily ravish one another. It feels like it's been a decade since I'd been in his arms, when in actuality, it's only been a couple of hours.
"Stop..." I whisper, feeling him poke at my entrance.
"Mm, mm," he declines, pushing himself deep within my depths. "Shit..." Pulling himself upright, he grabs my feet placing them on his chest as he strokes me, slowly. Lifting my right foot, he sucks on my little toes and I damn near levitate.
∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎
Exactly 36 minutes later, hand-in-hand, we return to our chosen reception space. As Qaphela and I gaze at the esteemed venue, I feel compelled to express my profound admiration for the decor department, whose extraordinary and remarkable creations have indeed left an indelible impression.
"Wow!" I manage to muster.
I now understand why this wedding planning company came in so highly recommended. Trust me, I felt ashamed when I had to forward the invoice with extortionate charges to Qaphela's accountant via email.
The reality is sinking in, ndiyatshata, soon. Soon as in tomorrow, at 2 P.M. sharp. I will walk out of this venue a Mrs. Makhathini. In my man's words; unkosikazi kaQaphela.
