* * * * *
The shape of her mouth perfectly matches the sounds coming out of it: the O-ness of it, the wonder of it, the joy and glory of it.
Her eyes, too, are wide capital O’s as the orgasm quakes through her beautiful body. I don’t think those eyes are really seeing anything outside of herself. Maybe everything around her is just paused for this infinite moment. Why ponder the outside when there’s so much inside to feel and indulge in? She’s fallen down the center of the huge O, like Alice falling into Wonderland and tumbling for seeming forever, but not caring about hitting the ground, for the ground is a mere idea, a concept not worth worry about, not with the winds of pleasure blowing into her and making sure she will land softly.
I love licking her to orgasm, as I know the feeling’s a wet, hot paradise. But better for me as the audience is rubbing her clitoris while I’m deep inside her, so I can more fully see her face before me, the beauty of it lost in ecstasy, and I can also hear her sing the song of wonder, with each and every burst of “Oh! Oh! Oh God!” all sung as odes to this tremendous joy thundering inside her.
And this way, too, her pleasure is extended, with those O’s flattened, elongated, streamlined into a sleek oval that flies faster and faster, head-long into this flight of fucking. She’s become wide open to me, giving into my passion building in intensity and strength and speed, into the fury she loves to see come out of me, as she matches it with panting and grunting and pushing back at me as I heave into her.
Seeing her face this way is also a treasure, the change in the mountainous O during her orgasm, that’s now a tightly clenched fire burning with ferocity as we pound away, the sound of our skin slapping against each other fills the air, while the echoes of her song still reverberate around the room, for the beauty of it will not be diminished so easily by this frenetic drumbeat of our bodies, and so this drumbeat intertwines with the echoing operatic singing and our desperate gasps for breath.
Until, that is, I also sing the song, and she watches me as intently as I had watched her. The pride in her eyes of this, the victory, the delight in it, too, as she enjoys my singing and encourages me to sing louder and louder, to not be so quiet about it. I give her a weak smile and tell her that she’s got the better voice.