As I undo your bra clasps and the lace garment falls far below, beyond the air conditioner, your naked breasts present themselves to me. ‘Present’ is an apt verb, because I feel like I’m being handed twin presents, i.e. nouns, gifts from your beauty to my appetite. All the physical softness that is woman is distilled into these beautiful, round attributes, so precious that you wrapped them up in fancy lace until I was ready to enjoy them. Your feet have enticed me, your legs have engaged me, your behind, as always, has lured me and your pussy has already, for the first but not last time tonight, enfolded me. But there’s one thing that your breasts offer which these other attributes do not – proximity to your face. It’s a special kind of bliss to make love to your breasts with my kisses and squeezes and see your face looking down on me, transfixed by the sensations I’m bestowing.
Face
I think the thing that impresses me the most about your face, when I’m sculpting your body with erotic touches, is its air of concentration. It’s as if you’re not only experiencing but also studying every sensation, memorising each tiny bubble of pleasure and every detail of the orgasms big and small, as if you were going to be tested on them later. I know that you live your life so as to get the most out of things – savouring each morsel of food, sensuously swirling every drop of wine around your mouth, giving the striking things you find in the natural and artistic world that extra moment of attention, so as to thoroughly milk their beauty into your soul. And this is also how you approach sex. You are completely aware of the height, breadth, depth, shape, texture, colour, density, specific gravity, molecular weight and favourite ice cream flavour of each sexual sensation, and your extraordinary gift for concentration allows you, paradoxically, to swallow each moment of ecstasy in one piece and yet taste every ingredient before it has vanished.
It blows my mind that it’s my touches, my erotic contact, and my desire that you devote all this attention to. Nobody else has ever paid the level of attention to anything of mine that you give to every taste of my lips or stroke of my fingers. As you clutch my cock, I feel like you’re reading a novel’s worth of detail in every centimetre of my flesh. I can see it in your eyes, those focused, impossibly-deep eyes, which reflect all my lust, all my love, and a richness of sensation that dwarfs my own self-awareness.
The expression in your face now comprises the frank provocativeness of your shoes, the sleek seductiveness of your stockings, the pussy-bare willingness of your girdle, and the demure ripeness of your bra. All of that, and so much more. An immediately-nearby mirror of my passion, and an infinitely-deep window into your own.
We’ve finally cleared your ankles of the stockings and your feet of the stilettos, and I’m inside you now, with your legs wrapped around me. Your face is as close to mine as it could be without becoming invisible to me. Sensuality creeps outward from your mouth, across all your other features, as your lips form the beginnings of phrases such as ‘Oh my God’ and ‘Fuck me.’ You don’t have to actually say them for me to know what you’re feeling. I’m feeling it, too, after all. As you scream an orgasm into my face I lose myself in a stand-up explosion of froth from my tip into your core, a roomful of lingerie seems to spin around me. From atop a retired air conditioner, the whole world smells like your pleasure, and I appreciate more than ever why you chose every detail so carefully, to orchestrate this moment so flawlessly. In dressing yourself, you have in fact dressed an occasion, an event – and, in the timeless world of ecstasy, an eternity. Well done.
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Educating Emma Page 5
