I feel my blood running every time I see her. It is excitement at first sight, and then I know that our everyday is pure magic. Every time she is near me my thoughts became overshadow by her presence, so naturally there, running around naked, doing the things she does, always showing me her figure, letting me explore her curves if I decide to give her a look from time to time.
The day I found her kneeled towards the washing machine, she killed me. Standing on her tiptoes, in her unique way of been, more than elegant. From that day, I realized the soft shape of her feet, so delicate and fine, looking so clean, so perfect, like the feet of an angel, tensing the muscles of her eternally long legs, showing me all her skin, so flawless. Then, her perfectly round and turgid bum, so full and voluptuous, the perfect gate to her cave, only covered by a very petite thong, I wanted to reach her from behind, squeeze her little waist and feel her hips against mine, really tight, place my nose on the deathly slope of her neck, smelling her, licking her all the way to her shoulders, dying of desire, feel her pointy breasts filling my hands, drunk in passion.
But I waited.
I found myself experimenting a pleasure I never did before only by the fact of contemplate her. The pendent of her back invite me to imagine all the ways I could invent to spread myself all over her: a white, thick rain falling to make a river of sensations, marking its path on the back of my love.
Would she feel it warm?
I already pictured her moans, loudly, calling my name for more.
And I would happily give her more.
I would run my lips brushing her skin down to her woods. A wet forest of soft leaves, so warm and so ready for me.
Opening her legs with my hands, smoothly, to finally sink my head between them as I move my arms up to her hills to feel their roundness, while I taste all her juices.
Blonde hair I see, falling gracefully upon her face, brushing her cheeks. Would I pull it? Would she clasp her nails on my back? Oh, if she could only know all the sensations that her shapes produces on me.
Would she feel envy of not been able to watch herself from this angle?
I feel my weakness tearing me down. The urgent need to feel her texture again was gaining weight on my shoulders. I was waiting for her to turn her head around to see me and watch her smiling me, shouting me with her lustful stare every time she wants me. I couldn’t wait no more for the moment of her calling.
I began to moves towards her, like a lion hunting it’s pray… Little by little… until I was close enough to sense her wicked smile, she was waiting, she was winning.
