Reading her Astrology

She came dressed for inquiry--if inquiry meant a silent demand to be devoured.

A white blouse, nearly translucent, clung to her skin with a humid weight, plunging low enough to flirt with scandal. No buttons--just loose ties that hung untied, allowing the fabric to part with each breath. The breeze caught it, lifting the edges like a whisper, revealing the teasing swell of her breasts, bare underneath.

Because really--why dilute the message?

Her nipples pressed visibly against the fabric, firm, eager, casting shadows in the late golden light. As she walked across the candle-lit studio, her chest swayed gently, rhythmically. Hypnotic. Her skirt clung to her hips like it didn't want to let go--high-waisted, silk, thigh-slit daring. Each step revealed the delicate curve of her inner thigh.

She wasn't here for answers.

She was the question.

He was already waiting.
Leaning against a broad leather chair, arms folded, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. His forearms were thick, veined, lined with quiet power. His jaw--sharpened, deliberate--was coated with the kind of stubble that promised to leave a mark. And his mouth? Curved in a way that didn't ask for permission. It summoned surrender.

Amber-tinted glasses sat on his nose, concealing his eyes just enough to make you want to misbehave to see what color they flared when they dropped.

She took a slow breath. "I have questions," she said, her voice soft. "And a very revealing neckline."

He circled her once, slow.

"Questions," he murmured, "are good. Exposure... is better."

She tilted her chin, the breeze lifting the corner of her blouse again. "Then read me."

He didn't touch her. Not yet. He stood just close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around her like invisible silk. She could smell him--leather, bergamot, and something distinctly male. Her breath hitched.

His gaze dropped to her chest. The blouse clung tighter where sweat kissed the valley between her breasts.

He leaned in, didn't even try to hide the inhale. "I sense a shift in your orbit," he whispered. "We'll need to verify through contact."

She moved a fraction--and pop. Her breast slipped free from the side slit of her blouse, the nipple already beaded with moisture, pink and swollen like it had been waiting all day to be noticed.

His pupils darkened behind the tinted lenses. "Yes," he breathed. "Your future looks... bright."

He dropped to his knees like a man in worship.

His tongue met her nipple with reverence--wet, hot, slow. He suckled with deep pulls, letting his beard drag across the sensitive curve, a burn that made her knees shake. She gripped his head, blouse slipping off her shoulders, her other breast now bared, glistening in the light.

He licked between them like he was tasting a prophecy buried in her skin--flicking, flattening, then sucking so hard her moans echoed off the walls.

"You want to know more?" he rasped.

She nodded, gasping. "Go deeper."

"Oh, we will," he said darkly. "But first... calibration."

He stood, unhurried, fingers working his belt loose. He slid his pants just low enough. His cock sprang free--thick, veined, the tip glistening. She moaned on sight.

"This tool," he said, stroking it, "reads sexual astrology. Very advanced."

She licked her lips, hungry. "Show me how it works."

"Open."

Her lips wrapped around him, warm and slow, tongue gliding beneath the shaft as she sucked gently, then deeper, drool spilling down her chin. She pulled back with a pop, letting the spit coat her chest. He groaned, pressing his cock between her breasts, sliding it between the soft, slick curves with wet, obscene squelches.

"Your cleavage is aligned," he gasped. "Perfectly. If I slide in deep enough... I might just unlock your ancestral memory."

"Do it," she begged. "Please."

"Brace yourself."

He thrust between her breasts, hips rocking, the head of his cock peeking through each time with a filthy wet noise. Her nipples stood proud, tight and needy, her chest glowing with a sheen of arousal and spit.

When he pulled back, her skin was streaked--glistening like he'd written sigils in pleasure.

"You want the past?" he asked, voice low, cock twitching in his hand.

She couldn't speak. She just nodded, lips parted, thighs trembling.

"Then I'll need full access to your archive."

He lifted her onto the velvet chaise, parting her thighs. Her pussy was dripping--literally soaking, lips glossy and swollen.

He knelt again, thumbs spreading her open like the pages of a forbidden book. "Sacred text," he murmured, then dove in.

His tongue licked her slow--like he was learning her. Memorizing her. He swirled around her clit before plunging his tongue inside her, moaning at her taste. She arched off the couch, fingers clutching at the velvet.

He licked like a man decoding a prophecy. And she responded with cries, gasps, grinding into his face until her thighs shook.

But it wasn't enough.

"I need to go deeper," he growled, rising, cock heavy in his hand.

She opened her legs wider. "Take it... take it all..."

He slid in. Inch by inch. Slow, relentless, claiming her like his name was written inside her walls.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You've got centuries in here."

Her breath broke as he bottomed out, stretching her wide, pressing deep. She clenched around him like she never wanted to let him go.

And then he moved.

Hard. Deep. Each thrust rocked her. She wasn't moaning anymore--she was chanting. Every pump of his hips pulled secrets from her spine, kink from her core.

"You feel that?" he growled. "That's excavation."

"I--I--what are you--" she sobbed.

"Pulling your past from your pussy," he snarled. "Rewriting every forgotten page."

She came with a cry that tore through her chest--legs shaking, eyes rolled back, body drenched.

But he didn't stop.

Not until he came too--deep, hard, gasping her name into her neck like a prayer to something holy.

She collapsed beneath him, limbs trembling, chest slick with sweat and spit, breath catching in little gasps that still begged for more.

When her breath steadied, she smiled, dazed. Glowing.

"So... what's my sign?" she whispered, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen.

He looked down at her -- smirking, dripping, still pulsing inside her.

"Definitely..." he murmured, leaning close to her ear, "... a wet Pisces."