Ordinarily I pay attention to her face, but tonight my mind is on the naughtier parts. Not that I don't love looking into her eyes as the first spasm hits, the pupils dilate slightly, the corners crinkle. Tonight, I'm not looking at anything. My eyes are closed.
Muscle memory moves my fingers to the right spots, and I feel the soft elasticity as I gently part her labia. I can see in my mind the pink inner space, but I banish that thought and smell it instead, trying to develop some kinky synaesthesia between fingers and nose. I'm not very good at it; the pinkness is too alluring and it keeps poking itself back behind my eyes. But I inhale and smell her. It's been sex all day with no cleaning up after except tongues and lips, so she smells of sweat, delicate but present, and sex, a hint of the bleach scent of semen, the dull musk of her anus wafting up, barely there. But underneath, the smell I love, "that hot pussy smell," as Sheri calls it, somewhat irreverently.
Her pinkness smells sweet. It's not the sweetness of fruit or the cloying scent of flowers. It's a sweetness all its own. I suppose it's an acquired scent, a scent with which some people don't want to acquaint themselves, but if I had to recommend a pussy to sample first, hers would be on the list. She smells strongly of readiness now; the irony of us is that we get more and more ready the more sex we have. She smells ready in a continued way, not in the way she'd smell if we hadn't seen each other in months, if she hadn't gotten any in months. That would be desperate. This is just ready, very ready.
I can feel the warmth under my fingertips, not exactly radiating out like some people describe, but warm, inviting, and without opening my eyes I dart my tongue out, knowing without seeing exactly where to flick it. It slips in and out of her passage so quickly it's like it was never there, and I feel her tense and relax almost imperceptibly.
The human sense of taste is mostly based on smell, so she doesn't really taste any different than she smells. The sensation on the tongue is slightly salty, I suppose, but salty in the way that properly-seasoned food has salt; it enhances the flavor, but doesn't become a flavor of its own. Her juices if she's been at it a while are slightly syrupy in texture, possibly because she loses moisture during the process. They spread on the tongue, slick the lips. But they're designed to be natural lube, so that's hardly surprising. It's not like she doesn't feel and taste better than any synthetic lube. If they could bottle her, it'd sell like hotcakes.
Now I delve my tongue quickly, but slightly more purposefully, into her passage and run it up over the lump of her clit, so smooth that my tongue feels like sandpaper by comparison. She's blessed with pubic hair that is fine and easy to manage, although there is quite a bit of it when she lets it grow, which she doesn't any more. I prefer her bare, but I sometimes miss feeling it brush against various parts of me, soft and downy. But the skin after she shaves is baby-smooth, and I'd miss that if it weren't there. I give it a kiss, on the pubic bone, then run my lips slowly down over her clit again, feeling the bump inflate and pop into my mouth for an instant, making her shiver.
My fingers can no longer just spread. The middle finger on my right hand, almost of its own free will, slides easily down like it was falling into a whirlpool, then slips into her, first the tip plugging the hole, then into her up to the first knuckle, curling slightly to adjust to the space as it adjusts to me, then in to the second knuckle, stroking her walls slowly, feeling the heat all around. If I had a cock, I would love to penetrate her, but as it is, this is almost as good. My lips are around her clit now, putting just a hint of suction on the emerging button.
I feel her hand in my hair, and a sigh escapes her as I finally press the finger home, all the way in, as deep as it gets. I've tried playing with her cervix, but that's not something I do at the beginning, not until I've had her going for a while. Now, I just press up with my finger against my lips and chin, and flick the tip of my tongue around the base of her clit. I can feel the juices, thick and slippery, cover my finger, a little drooling out over my palm. I can smell them too, farther away now. Her warmth is like a fever now.
Two fingers is tighter than one, but it spreads her laterally as well as in depth. My tongue now laps at her clit, softly but firmly. My fingertips press up inside, entering and withdrawing slightly, and I feel her thigh muscles tense next to my ears, hear the breathing increase, feel the hand in my hair clench slightly. She's close, and she knows it. She's trying to relax but failing.
When it comes, I'm ready. I've shifted my mouth lower, a finger from her moist cunt now rubbing her joy buzzer, my tongue deep inside her, tasting the rising pressure. And then she explodes. The warmth flows out of her, not a squirt so much as an upwelling, not a geyser but certainly an eruption. After the stronger taste of her pussy, it's almost like nothing, warm and wet and smelling vaguely of something I enjoy but can't quite place. Sometimes it's stronger, but this time it's just warm and wet and slightly sweet. There's not enough to swallow like a drink, just enough to cover my lips and tongue and mouth. If I were looking at her face, I would see her cry out, but I feel instead the pulses, contraction and release, in her thighs, belly and on my tongue inside her. And I know she's happy, even without hearing her say it or seeing her smile.
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