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From: Jonathan P <jonathanbareb@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Savor" (FM)
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Date: Fri, 27 Aug 2010 05:10:09 -0400
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Savor

I savor her.  With some lovers it is a rapidly escalating, headlong rush to
the finish, complete with sensory overload and all too rapidly dissipating
memories.  With others it is methodical, sometimes with feigned enthusiasm
and a final let's-just-get-this-over-with rally at the end.  With her, it
is a sensory meandering through a playground of the senses, trying to burn
memories of each of them into my brain so that I might span the gaps of
time between our afternoons.

"Take me to the bedroom and make love to me," was her greeting the last
time I stepped into her apartment and embraced her for a first kiss.  There
were no grand preliminaries.  No twenty minutes of coquettish disrobing.
She wore only a purple bathrobe.  The bed was waiting, its exposed crisp
sheets already expectant.

The savoring began with her kisses.  Our kisses.  Skin against naked skin,
flesh against warm flesh.  Limbs entwined.  Tongues playfully exploring.
My soft kisses on her neck, and hers across my chest, pausing at each
hardened nipple.  Whispers of sweet nothings.  "Roll on your back," I told
her.  "Open your legs."  I didn't need to say it.  She knew what she
wanted.  She was already eager.

My fingertips grazed the hint of her crease in early blossom.  Her breath
was moist on my neck as her hands flittered across my shoulders.  My ache
to taste her drew me downward, and her legs spread even wider for me,
unhesitatingly showing me her soul patch of brown pubic hair above her
freshly shaved mound with its center of proud pink.  My ears heard her
gasps as my kisses followed the concave hot spots of her thighs.  "I can
smell you," I whispered upward, just before my flat tongue slashed a
greeting that left her with irregular breaths.

She had a scent of pungent, musky honey.  Her modest inner lips called to
me, her clitoris a hardened twig whose tiny white head peeked out from its
hiding place.  Her hands held my head as my hands roamed across her flesh,
holding her voluptuous hips then reaching high to caress her ample breasts
and then lower to graze my palms across her rounded belly.  My tongue
slathered her everywhere.  High to low, low to high, diagonals and circles,
wetly lapping her swollen mound and diving into the succulent core,
separating one pink fold from another, plunging inside her vagina to
remind myself of that glory yet to come.

She doesn't speak when my mouth savors her like this.  She surrenders her
pussy to me, surrenders her body, welcomes my joy in pleasuring her.  I
know not to rush her.  Since the early days of our lovemaking I have
learned her rhythms.  She rejoices in my mouth and what it is doing.  She
memorizes how I memorize her, how I make love to her with my mouth.  Her
arousal hovers at a plateau, savoring the experience for countless minutes,
unwilling to hurry or to be hurried.

And then, it is as though she consciously decides to let go.  Those very
same caresses of my tongue and lips and fingers that had kept her merely
hovering, were now seemingly urging her onward at a rapid pace.  "Oh there
oh there," she moaned and her hips wiggled and rocked and there she was,
over the top, her clitoris out-thrusted suck-me hard and her juices flowing
and her noises bouncing off the bedroom walls.

"Oh! Oh! Oh Oh Oh!!," she cried out, and her climax descended only
momentarily when my mouth slowed, then I sped up again and pushed her to a
second release.  Her legs stiffened, her body shuddered and her hips arched
to offer her intimacy once again to my busy mouth, "Oh there.  Another
one," she managed to gasp.  "Oh," she breathed heavily, "Oh," and my mouth
mercifully retreated.  Her juices covered my face, soaking into my primal
soul.  My heart thumped loudly in my ears.  My erection pressed against the
sheets, leaking droplets of anticipation.

Moments later I was on top of her, enfolded by her arms and cradled by her
legs, my stiff flesh notched lengthwise in her slick openness and pulsing
with my heartbeat.  Her face was still flushed.  Her blue eyes glistened
with intense awareness.  She urged me closer and graced my face with soft
kisses and gentle licks, giggling at the discovery of her scent and her
lubrication.  I maneuvered my hips, ensuring that I was ready.

It was just my cockhead at first.  Inside her an inch, then withdrawing
with that back-filling slight suction that her eyes told me we both clearly
felt.  Her mouth pursed into an O and her eyes opened even wider with a
smile.  In, out, in, out.  The slickery sounds of her juices filled the
room, and she gave me more, always more.  More depth, more embracing
slickness, more intimate welcome.

When I couldn't hold back for another second, I slid inside her as slowly
as I could manage.  One little ridge, one nerve cell, at a time.  Deeper,
always deeper, and all the while needing every bit of discipline I could
muster to not simply plunge forward in one sharp, magnificent thrust.
Slowly, slowly I entered her, our eyes locked together and speaking those
words we failed to utter.

And finally I could push no deeper.  My shaft was enveloped by her body.
Her sweet, perfect vagina clung gently around my flesh, from tip to root,
clung around my cock with pure erotic pleasure.  My pubic bone pressed
against her swollen labia, my pubic hair mashed flat against her skin.  I
could get no closer to her.

I was torn, as I always was at such a moment.  Part of me wanted to remain
buried inside her like this, inhaling the sensations of our bonding, while
another part of me wanted to slide back out and reenter her, again and
again.  And so I catered to all of my wishes.  There were moments when I
soaked in her creamy softness, and other moments of shallow thrusts, deep
thrusts, fast and slow.  Some straight ahead, others with rocking,
stretching movements of my hips.

I wanted her, I needed her, to feel my cock, to feel how hard she was
making me, to feel how aroused I had become.  How primal.  How male.  She
gave herself to me and I took her, gladly, freely.  She became juicier by
the second, with liquid sounds and spreading slickness on her thighs and
mine, with mutual echoing gasps and murmurs.  I was throbbing.  I was
close.  I knew it.  She knew it.

"You get me so..." I began, and she nodded, knowing.

"I feel you," she whispered.

"So close..."

"Fuck me."

That was all it took.  Another half-dozen quick, full-length juicy thrusts
and the end was upon me, that full-body aura of no turning back.  My eyes
were locked onto her expectant face with my cock doing its final stiffening
signal, and then I was there, my hips jammed forward with an instinctive
urge.  "Now," I groaned, and the earth stood still and my heart stopped
beating and my universe was a paralyzed spasm of pure pleasure.

I cried out.  Out exploded that first long river of a pulse, then the
rhythmic throbs of the next smaller pulses.  Stroke, I told myself, stroke
inside her.  I willed my hips to move.  "Ohh warm," she murmured, "I can
feel you.  Warm."  My cock kept pulsing.  She kept me pulsing.  A woman who
can feel you come is a joyful blessing to the male ego.  "Fill me."  I was
trying.

When the pulses faded and my shriveled penis finally resigned itself to
losing its temporary perch in heaven, I sighed and pulled away.  I reached
down and caressed between her legs.  She was juicy times two.  Her hand
joined mine.  "Oh, wet," she said.  "What have you done to me!"  It wasn't
the first time.  It wasn't going to be the last.

 		 	   		  

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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