Ode to a Fond Memory
I felt your lips on mine, so rare that it was. The part I remember most was your arms pulling me to you so hard; you were trying to melt into me, absorb my fire. You breathed into my neck, and said, “Oh God!” or moaned my name. I always shivered. The memory of how you took my pussy juice and applied it to your moustache to smell me, how you lifted the hem of my skirt to watch me masturbate, while I stared at you, I showed all the love I had for you in my eyes and you touched me. Your eyes darted between my face and breasts and my fingers playing with my clit. The silence in the room was sluiced by the sounds of my wetness as you inspired more and more arousal.
When you got naked again and knelt between my legs he slid into me hard and fast, my back arched over the edge of the bed, my breasts jutting upward caught your attention and you freed them from the stiff lace. Your fingers toyed with my sensations and your eyes toyed with my spirit.
You penetrated me not just with your cock, but with your hunger. I saw it, felt it, smelled it on your skin. I watched your hand take your cock and slide it across my pussy lips, over my clit and then into me before I was ready. The startling pleasure intoxicated me to your depths and I saw the pure emotion on your face and you began to swing your hips into my spread thighs. You watched my face and bit my nipple while I grunted and held your head in my hands. My name was ambrosia to your mouth, the way your lips caressed each syllable.
You made love to my spirit and entered my body as surely as you entered my spirit. The halls of my mind echoed with the footsteps of 1000 lovers. With you, the hall is empty. The sound of your footsteps is the orchestra accompanied by the concert of our time together, perfumed by each look you shared with me.
I felt your body swing into mine harder and every sweet rounded muscle inside my pussy was branded with your name. Over and over you moved inside of me. I kept closing my eyes. You felt my heat, covered in sweat of holding myself at bay and absorbing your pleasure and energy. Sharing with you all except that sacred part of Self.
You wanted that. You wanted all of me! Every precious drop of me was yours. You were entitled to it. All of me, every thought, every centimeter of sensation, every drop of intention was all yours. Yet, not comprehending you wanted more than what the apex of my thighs could offer, I withheld part of Self.
Your hands took my sweat drenched face and hair and held my head firmly and still. You moved inside me. And I closed my eyes and you said, “LOOK AT ME!!” You moved again and again, my pussy, the only voice I had, my wetness, proof that I existed to feel this moment in its naked entirety.
I grabbed at your wrists, needing to move my face away, because I couldn’t close my eyes, but you kept moving wetly more hard as I struggled against your iron fists. You would not release my face and you kept on fucking me. Over and over you pushed against my inner boundaries, the battering ram, hard, pink and impaling me, making me grateful I’m a woman.
I felt you. I cried inside. I shattered. I felt you and knew that that was the best I would ever feel. That one single instant when my face was imprisoned by your hands, did I find what I was looking for.
And somewhere hiding behind conscious thought, the wizard behind the curtain held in his hand the knowledge that I’d never feel this again. But I knew. And the Wizard knows…