The first rays of daylight tickling my eyelids. Her head resting on my right upper arm, my face buried in her dark and curly hair, my nose slowly absorbing the scent of fresh mandarin and papaya as my abs are pushing against her lower back. My morning stiffness firmly pressing lengthwise into her warm and silken crack, her voluptous butt cheeks ever so tenderly sqeezing it, as my slowly awakening consciousness of her luscious naked body this close to mine keeps pumping more and more blood into my tumescence.... famished it is indeed, for it had not been granted admission into its most favorite hiding place for almost 72 hours on account of Aunt Flow's monthly visit, this torturous and tantalizing sabbatical from pleasure periodically forced upon my ravenous masculinity by mother nature.
My lovely princess is still asleep, as I can faintly perceive a soft little hissing sound on each of her exhales, and sweet little currents of air are caressing the inside of my arm at very regular intervals ... oh god, a penny for her dreams! ... I must be careful now ... not wake her up too abruptly, but gingerly extricate her from a world of wizards and fairies, of monsters and mermaids, into the real world, a crude world of physical passions and animal instincs, a world in which what feels like a gallon of sperm is pushing impatiently against my nether regions from the inside, like a raging torrent raring to be released into this hot and pulsing cavern a few inches south of the female navel, this little heaven between a woman's thighs, this final destination of all of a man's toils and labors and studies and struggles in every realm of his life, no matter how seemingly unrelated to the simple act of inserting his penis into a vagina ...
But it is not time to cross the threshold to paradise just yet. Let the delicious agony continue for as long as the laws of biology permit me to linger in this sheer indescribable state of tempestous restraint. My entire body is quivering with purposly contained sexual energy as I am using my trembling left hand to cautiously part the hair at the back of her neck in order to cut a swath for the tip of my tongue to briefly touch her bare skin underneath. Oh my god, all my life this very tongue of mine has savored cherries and strawberries, chocolate and raisins, vanilla ice cream and drops of caramel. How pitiful a competition for the celestial taste of her skin.
My saliva glands have been jolted into full throttle by this split-second lingual encounter with her neck, and the juices come dripping out of my mouth and into her hair. Before I can make a conscious decision on how to proceed, the whole surface of my tongue is already eagerly travelling across her neck in broad strokes, taking turns with wide circular motions involving a rotation of my entire head rather than having my tongue musculature do all the work. STOP IT! Pull back, take a deep breath ... ok, and now take it slow, savor her, don't guzzle her up like you're a hungry wolf ... wait ... what's that? ... she stirs a little, and I hear a faint sigh emanating from between her lips. Did I wake her? No, she's still asleep, although she must have felt the moisture on her neck, and I'm sure the story line of her dream was adjusted accordingly. Maybe a fairytale wolf did enter the picture, attacking her, and she's scared now. No, I don't want her to be afraid, never, not even in a dream. Time to wake her up ... oh sweet task ahead!
My mind quickly devises a three level approach. Lips and tongue remain positioned on her neck, alternating between licks and kisses. Simultaneously thumb and index finger of my left hand begin to gently massage her left nipple, while I'm putting the index finger of my right hand gently on her clit, that enigmatic little knob down there, that only part of a human body with no purpose other that to produce pleasure ... and yes, my strategy pays off instantaneously! The moment these three points of contact are established, a wave of turbulence is rocketing through her entire body, almost like a mild to medium electric shock, her pelvis thrusts backwards, her curvaceous behind pushing against that part of me which is precariously hovering on the verge of exploding, and a long lustful moan indicates to me that whatever I'm doing, she certainly doesn't mind, 'Morning ... aaaahhhhhhh'. She's half awake now.
Her nipple has turned into a hard little diamond between my fingertips, and for a moment I wish I had two mouths, for as much as I would love to keep kissing her neck, there's simply no resisting the lure of an aroused female breast. I cup my left hand under her boob and gently lift it up, at the same time bidding farewell to her scrumptious neck and moving my lips towards that pink and erect nipple screaming 'Suck me! Suck me!'. Mustering outerworldly restraint I manage to make my tongue dance around it for a bit, thouroughly working its deliciously wide aureola, then use my front teeth to very carefully nibble on the dilated tip for a few seconds, before all the restraint in the world couldn't keep me from licking and sucking on her tit as if I were about to swallow the whole thing for breakfast.
As a result of having had to prop myself up a little to reach the current object of my mouth's desires, my right hand needed to withdraw from her crotch, as my arm simply isn't long enough, her head still resting upon it, and now I am using this hand to knead and massage breast number two, and another nipple is turning hard like a rock, my lips still glued to the first like a suction pad, with my tongue going crazy underneath.
Cloud number nine. There's just nothing like feeling a woman's body respond favorably to a sexual touch. It means she wants you, and powerful as the male race may be in this world, isn't that what it's all about in the end? Pleasing a woman? Getting her to want to feel your touch again and again? I would contend that no bridge has been built, no sculpture created, and no war has ever been fought without that as the ultimate goal, the final frontier of desire. As usual, a few scattered philosophical thoughts are flashing through my mind, but basically I just want to fuck. There's an elegant simplicity to nature in its most primal form. Meanwhile, her hand (the right or the left, I'm way to busy trying NOT to cum to pay attention to the details now) has instinctively grabbed on to my cock to ascertain its level of arousal, to test its readiness to enter the promised land. A test easily passed after this three-day fast on kisses and blowjobs.
Foreplay isn't really her biggest concern in the morning hours. Then she just wants to wake up, and nothing works better for that than a 'hot rod from behind'. Her words, not mine. I may not be the best boyfriend in the world when it comes to folding our laundry the way she likes it, but in this regard, I am more than willing to oblige her. So she takes my thing, and with expert precision slides it into her snatch. How she has managed to get as wet as she is in this short period of time is a bit of a mystery to me, but of course it flatters my male ego to believe it is simply my presence in her bed that gets her sap flowing like that. On the other hand, she's just an 'always horny' type of gal, who confided in me early on that most of the time she doesn't even bother to wear panties under her skirt because 'all they do is get soaked anyway'. She assured me, however, that in the warm Southern climate 'everything dries before it reaches the knees', so it is simply more comfortable for her to skip the underwear. Sometimes I'm wondering what exactly is going on in that girl's mind all day. But then again, I don't really want to know, because it would probably make me blush...
So now we're just fucking. No sophistication, no intellect, no more philosophy. Tens of thousands of years of evolution drowned out by a primordial symphony of my lower body slapping against her ass mixed with the splashing sound of a cock grinding about in a soaking wet pussy, and of course the crescendoing moaning and screaming of the two main characters in this lewd early morning paroxism of passion. Forget about restraint, and forget about controlling my ejaculations. My balls are bursting, and within less than 30 seconds of our unbridled pelvic collisions, my whole load of cum is exploding into her womb. How can I describe this feeling? Only in a roar. Man-made words are way too limited and civilized to communicate a sensation like that. Why bother. Leave the cerebral poetry to simple things like tornados, supernovae, and black holes. Leave the orgasms below the neck, where they belong.
Now what? We're about halfway through our little dance. My lance has softened, and my testicles may need some time to replenish lost fluids, but my mouth and tongue are still hungry as ever and ready to go. The necessary physical adjustments are quickly made, and soon my face is buried in her throbbing clean-shaven crotch, my tongue digging inside as deep as it can reach, greedily feasting on a cocktail of her love juices blended with my own salty deposits from shortly before, while she's ferociously rubbing her clit with her fingers. I decide to take over, and for a brief spell her fingers and my tongue are fighting for control over that little pleasure button of hers. Finally, she abdicates her position, and I get to suck her whole clitoris with my lips into the front of my mouth cavity, and now my voracious tongue gets to play with its favorite thing in the whole wide world. At the same time, I use my left thumb as a substitute penis rhythmically moving it in and out of her pulsating love chamber, while my index finger gently massages and then gradually enters her back aperture, which has also been amply lubricated with aforementioned blend of genital secretions. Soon both fingers are harmoniously gliding in and out of both available openings, my mouth keeps working her clit, and my right hand is taking turns sqeezing and rubbing those 36C's.
Her vocal utterances begin to resemble more and more that of a woman on the brink of giving birth, only hers are screams of pleasure rather than pain, as evidenced by her intermittent use of terms like 'HARDER!', 'FUCK ME!!', and 'OH GOD! I'M COMING!!!'. These kinds of phrases are rarely to be heard in a delivery room, even though in the absence of those the sounds of female pain and pleasure may be virtually indistinguishable. In my present post-climactic state my philosophical streak has returned a bit, and maybe I'd consider the issue a little more, were it not for the arrival of that moment...
... that moment when the world stands still, when thoughts don't matter anymore, when a hurricaine blowing the roof off the building could not manage to distract a man from what's happening right in front of him. That moment when it becomes clear that God must be a woman. The vulcano has erupted. Her whole body is winding and contorting like hooked up to a 10,000 Volt battery, her screams take on a volume that effectively supplants alarm clocks for the entire neighborhood, and my two fingers still inside of her are caught in a series contractions so sweet and violent that they serve as a conductor to transmit the energy of her orgasm into my own body. It's like I'm climaxing a second time, only this time on a more spiritual level rather than physically.
She's just an amazing girl. I must have done something right in my life, otherwise the universe wouldn't have rewarded me with her aquaintance. And as we are lying there, holding each other, lips to lips, chest to chest, sheets drenched, feeling the energies of our heartbeats merging into each other, I'm getting lost in all those little freckles on her cheeks, this map of the stars in the sky ...