Her lips were moist, covered in a fine sheen of her juices, emitting a slight, heady aroma which made me want to drink deeply from her.
I frowned. “Well, it’s not quite what I expected.” Her face fell until I smiled. “It’s a thousand times more beautiful. Seeing it there, framed so perfectly makes everything look just … just … well … perfect.”
She giggled, and her thighs, which had been tense to that point relaxed and fell wider apart. I wanted to tease further.
“But that’s just my initial visual inspection. I need to look deeper, then check everything’s in working order.”
She squirmed, still clearly a little uncomfortable with this rather scientific approach, but now more relaxed and willing to go with the flow.
I reached forward, and with my thumb and forefinger, parted her lips. I could see her inner lips, framing the dark tunnel which I planned to penetrate, and just above, her swollen clitoris.
I reached in and stroked the little button, my finger sliding across her self-lubrication. She gasped and stiffened, clearly highly stimulated as I set up a gentle rhythm, watching her chest start to heave as her breath whistled, occasionally vocalising small moans of pleasure. I started a gentle tapping, hearing her breathing rate increase, and suspecting she might be close to orgasm.
Without warning, I moved from the external stimulus and slipped a finger inside her. It entered easily, although she was tight — a product, no doubt of her overall physical fitness and professed lack of sexual experience. I considered whether her general musculature would extend to her vagina, before realising how absurd this was. I was aware that, after childbirth, some women used weights to regain some of their previous tightness, but what I was feeling was what I would expect of most women her age — well — if my memory served me, at any rate.
My change of focus had delayed her orgasm, but as I fingered the soft, spongy structure inside her, her pleasure mounted once more.
Inserting another finger inside, I leaned forward and lapped her nectar with my tongue, flicking her clitoris. I recognised that my situation might be vulnerable — but too late. My tongue and fingers brought her to an explosive orgasm, causing her to tense her thighs around my head. In a moment of panic, I realised that if she squeezed harder, she might actually cause some damage. I could feel her lubrication re-double and the muscles of her vagina pulse as she came, but was unable to hear her cries as my ears were crushed.
Suddenly her legs fell wide again, and she lifted me, almost physically to her face.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. Are you ok? Shit. I’m so sorry. Oh …”
I kissed her, long and deep, and she responded, her tongue battling mine frantically, her young passion and ardour countered by my gentle probing. Suddenly, she pulled back.
“I can taste me!” She giggled again. “I taste good, don’t I? I never tasted myself before. I thought … well … when I thought I might be gay, I didn’t dare try. I don’t know why not. I should. It’s nice.”
Suddenly she shut her mouth, aware, perhaps, that she was overdoing it.
“You taste magnificent,” I told her, “I love your taste. I could happily drink you like a fine wine. If we could bottle you, we’d be millionaires — perfect scent, divine taste and the most magnificent body the world could ever know.”
She smiled and turned to me, breasts firm, yet soft against my chest. She looked directly into my eyes.
“I want you to fuck me. Now.”
She was sitting on the sofa, legs wide, buttocks resting on the edge of the seat. I knelt and placed my penis against her small, tight hole and pushed, gently.
At first there was resistance, as she accommodated my breadth, and I entered her slowly, a centimetre at a time. Then her legs wrapped around me and she flexed softly, drawing me in, less gently than I would have gone myself, but allowing her to control the penetration. Steadily, with the control which was her trademark, she drew in my full length, until, looking down, I could see my pubic hair brushing her clitoris and labia. I tried to draw back to begin my thrusts, but she held me there, deep inside.
Suddenly, sensing my intent, she relaxed her legs, allowing me to withdraw some six inches, before tightening again, pulling me in.
She set the rhythm to meet her own needs, relaxing to allow me to withdraw, then tensing to pull me in. This suited me to perfection. I always loved bringing pleasure to any woman I had sex with, and to find a woman who could regulate me in order to achieve pleasure was wonderful.
Minutes later, we slid to the floor. The missionary position had never been a great favourite of mine, but with her legs around me, controlling my pace and rhythm, I felt I was hardly having to do any work at all — unlike with my late wife, where it became an energetic and exhausting process.
I grabbed her solid buttocks, sliding my hands as far between them as possible, my thumb touching her anus as she gasped with pleasure. Suddenly, probably due to her heightened sensitivity after her first orgasm, she climaxed again, this time crushing my pelvis as her legs tightened, drawing me so deep inside that I thought my balls might enter her too. Again, she was shocked as she realised what she was doing, and as she relaxed, I used the opportunity to bring her legs on to my shoulders and pushing up on to my knees , temporarily wresting control from her as I felt the rhythmic pulses and increased wetness in her cunt.
With plenty of energy, I pounded deep inside her, building a rapid tempo as I gazed down on her, eyes closed, biting a finger to stop herself crying out. I was approaching my climax, when suddenly she spread her legs wide, thrusting her buttocks up to ensure I did not slip out. Her legs were at a perfect 180 degrees, wider than I would have thought possible. I had lost purchase, so was unable to thrust, but watched in awe as her hand reached down, stroking herself, masturbating as I watched, totally abandoned to wave after wave of pleasure.
I relaxed, watching her frantic fingers and recovering my energy. As she cried out loud, I raised my voice.
“Turn over. Let me fuck you doggy style.”
Willingly, she disengaged, presenting her gorgeous buttocks to me and resting her head on the sofa. I entered her, thrusting hard, watching her flex her glutes as I withdrew, and relax as I entered, her anus winking at me as I saw her labia pull in, then out with my action. Her hand came up, and again she stroked her clitoris, not bringing on multiple orgasms, but maintaining one long state of nirvana for her as I plunged in, constantly wondering if she would let me enter her anus and fuck between those solid cheeks. With my late wife, I often spanked her while doing this, and I debated whether I might hurt my hand on the solid mounds. I desisted. Both anal and spanking could wait for now — another time, perhaps.
Suddenly, as I was on the verge of ejaculating, she pulled away, and with her customary grace, flipped over.