Line of beauty

He's sleeping. Looking peaceful.

My Lover is a beautiful man, you see. Classically so. Hence the word beautiful, rather than just handsome. With wide, bold forehead, his soft chocolate brown hair casually framing it, piercingly blue eyes framed by long dark eyelashes, straight gorgeous nose, and a square jaw he looks sort of Cary Grant-ish. Or like a man photographed by Bruce Webber.  A pure gorgeous Americana.

I study him for a while.

Then, when I can't resist it no longer, I sneak up and softly drape myself over him. I say 'softly drape', as this is exactly what I am doing. Not being overwhelmingly needy or pushing onto him. Just brushing him lightly with tips of my breasts, my nipples fleetingly meeting his skin, my lips hovering over his, my breath slowly waking him up with butterfly-like gentleness.

He smiles without opening his eyes and moves his hand on my neck to pull me closer. We kiss. From soft, shy, teasing, puppy-like licks we move to more urgent, needy, tongues buried deeply in each other mouths hungrily kissing.

He slides me down and I can feel his cock, gorgeously hard, slipping into me easily. It always amazes me how easily he enters me. No need for hands, lube or anything else. His cock just naturally belongs inside me, and I bubble up with wetness at his mere touch.


I start riding him, without letting go of his lips. We are moving together, in perfect synergy, by now drooling and dripping into each others' mouths.

After this flood of tenderness, he flips me over. I know the drill. I stretch and extend as as much as I can. I know he likes the display of my willingness to be apparent. He loves my back and he loves my arse. Preferably as arched, tense and willing as it gets.  I feel his hands take hold of my hips. HE fucks me this time, and good Lord, I do know my place and I know I am the one being fucked. 

And everything about it falls into the line of beauty.