Sage Sweetwater bringing you the Upper Tier in Lesbian Erotica...
I follow her, I am in a sexual maze, twisting breathlessly through the whitewashed streets with tiny tomatoes hanging on the whitewashed walls to dry...I am dripping below navel space with desire, her hot property featured, she is from Byzantine times,
orchards, vineyards, fields of grain, ancient gnarled olive trees, I go down underground to watch her make first-class olive oil, mezmerized by her working her old frantoio, she works at her ancient olive press, her press excavated from the tufa stone, she makes olive oil from the old days — 1,500 year old olive trees,
the scent of extra virgin — olive oil permeates my sex, "Come," she lays out for me on the mosaic floor, multicolored stone tapestry inlaid with the Tree of Life, stretching the entire length of the underground olive chamber adorned with signs of the zodiac, she falls (for me) under the sign of olivine on the medieval calendar,
I squeeze the tomatoes, one in each of my trembling hands, burst pulp and juice, her nipples ripen, lust of sapphic acid, my tongue licks her wild, more wild than you can even imagine, going down for antipasti, orechiette, a splash of wine to compliment what else is on my palate, I loosen her with olive oil, extra virgin, her walls drip with whitewash, my tongue parts in-depth knowledge of a passionate underground liasion, old frantoio — a historic press used to produce the olive oil of the highest quality throughout all of Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries,
passion pours copiously from the ancient amphora, passed on by the word of mouth, "Yes" she moves her head from side to side, her eyes closed, "Yes! Frantoio — press inside me"
I slip inside her entirely with the ease of olive oil...
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