The Female Machine
My lover and I spent a good amount of the last four days in bed, during an unexpected sex marathon that fell into place around our busy schedules and her kids. It all began with furious kissing, as if we hadn’t been together in weeks. I pulled her shirt up and over her face, leaving it covering her eyes, as I pushed her athletic body prone onto the bed. I ran my hand across her strong shoulders, along the curve of her perfect breasts, then down her bare navel to her pussy. Her arms lay behind her head, tangled in her shirtsleeves–her eyes still covered. She was wet enough for me to plunge my hand inside her pussy right away.
I held her down, one hand on her throat as I fucked her hard with my other hand. She was too tight for me to fully fist her, but moans of pleasure escaped her parted lips. With her eyes covered as they were, I felt I had carte blanche to study her body as openly as I liked.
And in that moment I was struck dumb–the female body is an instrument of wonder. When I looked at my lover, naked before me, responding to my movements inside her, I was riveted to the incredible strength inherent in her form. Even though I’m a woman too, she trumps me in potency\’because she’s also a mother.
Her flat belly (heaving with pleasure) once housed twins. Her pussy (tight and pulsing around my hand) was their passageway into this world. Her teardrop breasts (the nipples erect and quivering) once fed babies. Her beautifully sculpted, muscular legs now spread as wide as they could to allow me the deepest entrance into her body. As I stood at the foot of the bed with my hands on her, I felt like a musician playing the most perfect instrument ever created. And just then, she came–in silver tones of joy ringing out from the center of her being.
I leaned down and kissed her lips, marveling at the workings of all that is feminine…and kicking off what would be a days long celebration of our female sexuality.