This picture I stumbled upon this, a perfectly and fetishistically clearcut photo.
Here is the site of all my trouble. This crevice between her legs, a mount that curves downward to a crease between her butt, where a hole round and tight pinpoints the intersection.
But then the gash in front, running up the mound. That wet and floppy set of lips that tuck in and surround my shaft when I slide it in. That warm feeling of wet firm gravity that encircles my cock and rubs and throbs against it, making it harder, making it jerk faster, making it spit out the life-giving hot orgasm sperm flow of cum paradise.
That gash surrounded by a whisper of hair, and lubricated itself. Sometimes dripping thick mucus, and sometimes emiting an earthy perfume of blood and roses.
The damn rub is that this delightful and mysterious moment of pleasure objects are between the legs of every woman I see. They have the secret to access within their command, and my behavior is merely to charm or convince them that I may be allowed to partake, if only for moments, in private or here in the hall, to enjoy the fruitful orgasmic administrations of their pussy mound.
They show it to me, or hint that they have it, even though I already know, and I am reminded and driven off my logic with desire, want, shame and confusion. Lust and intellect. Respect and animal hunger.
Inspired and maddened by that little perfect detail of a moment and of a promised opening of that sweet sweet spot.
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