Her 36

Leaning against the cool smooth glass of the office window, his thoughts were full of her. Looking out the window, not really seeing anything, images of her passing through his mind. He was trying to figure out what it was about her that was so appealing, so enticing.

She was beautiful, but in a way unlike any other woman he had known. She was one of the most giving, loving, sensual, open, and arousing woman he had ever been with. A small smile crept across his face as he remembered the last time they were together. She was sprawled across the bed, delightfully naked, her eyes closed, cheeks flushed, her hair mussed from his hands running through it. The way she had given herself to him, anticipating his wants, effortlessly offering herself on the alter of their lovemaking.

He thought about her body. She was tall; her head came to just under his chin, and fit perfectly in his neck when she hugged him, something she did with a wonderful frequency. To have a woman along his body, from shoulder to knee, was different than with woman in the past. Her size was part of his fascination. They both knew she weighed more than she should, but he realized that not matter what happened to the outside of her, the inside would never change.

Remembering a night in his shower, he thought about those long legs, and how when he stood behind her, the warm water splashing and running down over them. All she had to do was bend over slightly, and he had entered her from behind, his big hands firmly and possessively wrapped around her hips. Or other nights, his weight pressing her down into the bed, those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her deeper. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't get close enough to her.

Her skin was another favorite of his. Silky soft, smooth, pale, a collection of little moles scattered over her body. He could picture the goosebumps as they raced along her skin when he kissed and licked his way down her body. She was so wonderfully responsive. Sometimes, when she would lay on her stomach, him laying beside her, he would run his fingertips along her back. He loved the husky, bedroom kind of laugh she made as her muscles flexed and bunched under his touch. He knew most of her ticklish spots, and visited them often.

As he traveled across her body in his mind, he thought of her hair. Reddish blonde, a little more than shoulder length, and so satiny soft. He loved the way it slid through his fingers, the way she groaned when he tugged it in his passion. He thought of the way it felt as it trailed along his body as she explored him, learning every nook and cranny of his hard, muscular body. Sometimes it would brush across the crease between his thigh and hip and it made him jump, the feeling so intense.

A moan slipped from his lips as he remembered the way her mouth felt on him just after her hair had preceeded it. It wasn't so much her technique, which was unbelievable, it was the generosity with witch it was given. It almost felt as if she were worshipping his cock, her attention to it so complete and loving. He had to close his eyes sometimes, the sight of his hard length sliding in and out of her mouth too overwhelming. The sensation of her warm wet tongue as it stroked across the underside of him while her full lips caressed up and down the length was exquisite. Or she would stroke him with her hand, gazing adoringly at him. She told him once how she loved to watch his face when he came, and how hard it was to let her that first time. Now he relished it when she did that.

Moving down her body in his mind, he thought of her breasts. They were full, the skin almost translucent, with blue veins clearly visible along her chest. The nipples were large, the light brown circle around them dappled with little bumps. He loved to watch her nipples harden as he played with them. He would run his tongue over them, circling around the nipple, making her almost desperate for him to suck strongly at her. Then when he did, she made that throaty little growl he loved so much. The power he felt at bringing that sound from deep in her throat was intoxicating.

So many times he had nibbled his way down her softly rounded belly, then lower. He would nuzzle in the trimmed pubic hair, then spread her legs with his hands. He never tired of looking at her this way; open, vulnerable, trusting. The skin of her puffy lips was a deep mauve that he knew would turn a deeper shade of red when she was aroused. She kept it shaven from the lips back, and he was amazed at how soft that hidden skin was. He remembered the way she tasted the first time he licked her there. He will never forget that smell or the sweet juicy taste of the center of her. He loved driving her to orgasm after orgasm with his talented mouth. He knew just where to lick and suck and bite to send her crashing over the edge. He thought of the way she bucked and groaned as he brought her to the brink, sometimes making her beg to be allowed her climax. God, he loved that.

He shivered when he thought of her hands. They were so graceful; long fingers, perfectly manicured nails, and strong. Sometimes she would grip him so tight she almost bruised him in her release. The way those long nails would stroke his body, making his muscles ripple as she moved over him, drove him crazy. They could be out somewhere, and he would look at her hands, and want her, right then, no preliminaries, just a raw sexual taking. And she would let him. He chuckled as he thought of that, wondering who was taking who at times.

He suddenly remembered a day they spent at the state fair. They had gone to look at the horses, and it happened to be the day all the draft horses were there. He would never forget the look on her face; it was like a kid at Christmas. We spent over two hours there, going to each and every stall, as she greeted and petted those huge beasts. She never showed an ounce of fear, and they knew it. They nuzzled her, nickered and whinnied, and let her pet to her hearts content. Her every emotion showed in her face, and he loved to see her so happy.

He shook himself, the sensual images of her almost a tangible thing in front him that he could reach out and touch. He took his hands out of his pockets, a deep need to hear her voice bubbling up inside him. He reached for the phone.

Her by Cathy O'Niel copyright 2009