Listen to her orgasm. It’s breathy. Desperate. Urgent.
She comes alone.
She only comes alone.
This is catnip for me.
On the one hand, I’m not a goal-directed guy. My first girlfriend in college, I dated for over a year. She didn’t come with me even once. (She had not, yet, had her first orgasm.) Our sex life was, nonetheless, great. I loved chasing her orgasms, and wasn’t even slightly chaffed that she never had one.
So with Sam: I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than chase her first accompanied orgasm, unsuccessfully.
Well, except for one thing: finding it.
All that’s to say, if she comes with me, that’ll be a notch in one of my many belts. But mainly? I’m excited about three* things involving Sam:
- My cock in her pretty, pretty mouth.
- Having her delicious, lithe, smoking hot body at my disposal. For my use. However I may choose.
- The no-doubt-delightful experience of tasting her cunt. Feeling the heat – on my hand, on my mouth. Feeling its wetness. Sliding into it. With my finger. Fingers. With my tongue. Maybe with my cock. Tasting it. Smelling it. (I said tasting it already, but twice feels like the right number of times.)
I. DON’T. FUCKING. CARE. IF. SHE. COMES. WITH. ME.
I’m gonna have a blast with her.
A fucking blast.
* I originally wrote “two,” and numbered these three things “1,” “1a” and “2,” but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to make WordPress conform to my unconventional numbering system. So, three things it is.