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Beautiful everywhere, Sandra is most beautiful here.

Her mound was, hidden by dark hair, a black pile in the dim
light. I kissed the thigh glowing to my right. The outer lips
were covered more sparsely; I could see individual hairs when I
looked. I kissed the thigh to my left. Like this, even with her
feet resting each side of my elbows, the inner lips were barely
visible. One shimmering line, they seemed to glow with their own
light.

My thumbs parted the larger lips. Their inner sides glowed a
light pink, distinct from the darker hue of the smaller ones.
This freed more of the aroma. It was overwhelmingly rich,
acrid, even earthy. She smelled fertile.

I told myself that I was making it up. I knew that she was off
the pill, newly receptive to my seed. Had that knowledge
distorted my perceptions? Perhaps. But still, she *did* smell
fertile.

I placed two fingers on her mound, just at the point where the
pad splits into lips. I rubbed her there, pressing firmly enough
that her flesh moved with my fingers, lightly enough that the
fingers didn't move across her hair. Touch, though, was no
longer enough; neither was sight, nor even smell.

Just the tip of my tongue flicked just the edge of her inner
lips. That brought a drop of her delicious nectar. I licked up
one side of those joined lips, and then up the other. The flavor
was delightful, but the amount was insufficient. I drew one
inner lip away from its neighbor with my finger. My tongue
invaded that gap. The feel was almost as arousing as the taste.

After lapping at her liquid, I drew my tongue upwards along the
side of one lip; then I returned to the moisture for another full
taste before I licked the other lip.

I drew back only far enough for my eyes to focus. I saw the pink
smoothness I had been licking; I saw the entrance which looks
tiny, but is magically able to accept me. And, there at the top
where all that beauty comes together in whirls and whorls, I saw
her delicate bud peeking out.

I couldn't resist one taste just there. Sandra tensed, raising
herself as if to meet my tongue. I could hear her inhalation as
she tensed, almost a whistle. I could hear her sigh as she
relaxed. I licked even more gently, and got the same response
again.

Then I settled my mouth upon that beauty. No longer needing my
fingers to keep her open, I slid my hands under her thighs and up
the sheets. With my arms in the new position, I could again
support my weight on my elbows, and my hands could now cup her
breasts.

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At my first mild kiss, her nipples tickled my palms; her hips
shifted between my arms. I tickled her nipples back. I squeezed
her breasts very slightly. I licked one side or the other of her
groove. Occasionally I kissed her again, gently sucking her bud.
But I did all this in no predictable order, making each sensation
a surprise.

I felt her body tense. She raises her head to make eye contact.
I could tell that she would be ready soon, ready for one firm
kiss to send her over.

"Not tonight," she said. She was right. This night, however
filled with pleasure, was not about pleasure.

I slid my hands back down the sheets until they were under my
shoulders. After one last suck and one last lick from the pool
of nectar in her entryway, I raised myself onto one elbow. She
passed me a pillow and raised her hips. I slid the pillow under
them, stealing a kiss from her mound.

Then I was crawling up the bed on hands and knees, arms arched
over her legs instead of under them. I gave each nipple one
sucking kiss in passing. We shared a deep kiss while I was
perched on two knees and my left elbow. With my right hand, I
opened her lips and rubbed my glans through all that beauty --
and all those juices.

Poised at her entrance, I shifted my hand until I could support
my weight balanced above her. She parted her legs yet further,
inviting me inside. Slowly, deliciously, I slid into the velvet
of her vulva. Gently, graciously, the tightness parted to
welcome me. Perhaps because the pillow had raised her, I felt
her around the base of my penis in a way she hadn't been before.

When we were fully joined, she wrapped her legs around me. I
adjusted my arms so that my hands could reach her breasts again.
Then I looked into her face. As she smiled, I felt her legs
clench. It was as if she were trying to pull me further into
her. That was impossible; and, when she relaxed, I withdrew.

Then I was stroking through all that warm glory. To heighten my
pleasure, I could watch her face tighten as she responded to me.
Sandra, the source of so much pleasure, was feeling pleasure
herself.

Now, she grasped my arms. Her heels pounded against my thighs.
Her face showed agony, though I knew it was pleasure. I felt her
squeeze around me, all velvet turned to steel. Then my
appreciation of her climax was lost in my own. I could not see,
but only feel; I could not feel her under me, but only around me.
All my being gathered in my groin.

And then it rushed out through my penis. Pulse, pulse, pulse,
pulse.

When it was over, there was very little left of me. What there
was knew that my pleasure had also been my seed. I did note that
she was still squeezing me in rhythm. Then the rhythm broke.
There was a flutter around me, then stillness.

I opened my eyes. She was flushed, gasping, covered in
perspiration. Her hair was plastered to various parts of her
face. Slowly she relaxed. There was one aftershock around my
penis.

I watched her as, lying beneath me, muscles relaxing, breath
slowing, flush lessening, Sandra became herself again. She
looked up and gave me a sleepy smile.

Always beautiful, Sandra is most beautiful like this.
The End.