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From: AimTwoPlease <aimtwoplease@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Connoisseur (MF) by AimTwoPlease
Date: Thu, 11 Jan 2001 08:10:03 -0500
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Connoisseur
  -- by AimTwoPlease

There are boob men.  There are ass men.  Men who look first at shapely
legs or eye color or hair length.  For me, life is not nearly as simple
as that.  What I prize above all else is not something visible in the
public woman.  What I prize is the secret between her legs.

A lover once opined, "Women may have different bodies, but pussies are
basically all the same, right?  Warm and slippery?"  There is but one
safe answer to this question.  The truth is more complex.

Every woman is different, of course, though only a true connoisseur
appreciates the delightful rich reality of each woman's uniqueness.
You have to explore her with your fingers, learning her shapes and
folds, how she lubricates, the size and shape of her clit and how it
wants to be caressed.  Your fingers discover the texture of her walls
and the sensitivity of her G-spot.  And you have to explore her with
your mouth to bring more of your senses into play.  Her musky aroma
that penetrates your nose and makes your head spin with lust.  Her
taste, mild or moderate or strong, tart or delicate.  The coloring of
her labia, how her vulva flushes and blooms with her arousal.  Whether
her inner labia remain thin and only barely separate with a hint of
what lies between, or whether they fatten and yawn fuck-me wide.

And then the ultimate is exploring her with your penis.  With it you
can reach farther into her mysterious sheath and learn the variations
of her internal heat and slickness, assess the nuances of her labia as
you stroke.  You marvel at the subtleties of her texture and her
degrees of snugness inside.  You edge your body higher to scratch your
shaft against her clit, and drive in deep to nudge against her cervix.
You rejoice at the clutching snuggles she can apply that tell you that
you are welcome within her body.

Sometimes you encounter a vagina that is seemingly disconnected from
its owner.  As good as it may feel to thrust into this passive clasp,
as satisfying as it may be to romp forward to your orgasm, there is
always the nagging question in your mind about whether the face you're
looking at has any intimate relationship with the vagina you're fucking.

And then there are those women who can best be described as Great
Fucks.  If you've never met one, then you have no idea what I mean.  If
you have met one -- one, two, a dozen -- you'll never forget.

A Great Fuck.  How can one best describe such a woman?  Her vagina is
alive.  It has muscles with which she can exert at least some small
measure of control and acknowledgement of your intruding hardness.  She
has hips that can move, a body that does more than just lie there
dispassionately, and she also knows how and when to surrender to you.
A Great Fuck knows how to entice you into her body and to keep you
there.  She knows how to get you to scrub your erection up one side of
her cunt and down the other, how to get you to penetrate her deep or
shallow, quick or slow, whether you are on top of her and pumping away,
or whether she is on top and in control.

A Great Fuck loves to fuck.  Loves to be fucked.  Loves to feel your
stiffness rooting around, stretching and rubbing.  Loves to be
penetrated, to feel your cockhead prodding past her entryway "O", again
and again.  She loves to be held, to be desired, to feel your passion
igniting hers and hers igniting yours.  She loves to climax, as many
times as she and you can manage.  And she loves you to climax.  She
loves your deep, rutting thrusts that press your pubic bone against her
inflamed vulva and her solitary soldier that stands at attention and
just wants to join in.  She craves your frantic final lunges and the
long, pulsing releases of your white-hot seed into her cunt as she
clenches around your stalk and squirms her hips against the paralyzed
rigidity of your body.

As vaginas go, the first truly memorable one I encountered belonged to
Kris, a married woman in her mid-twenties with a sexually apathetic
husband.  I found his disinterest to be unfathomable.  I was the third
man she'd slept with -- her husband, whom she'd been with since high
school; and a brief extramarital fling with a bartender, the year
before me.

Kris had an athletic body, compact breasts and strong upper legs and a
round, muscled butt.  Her cunt was equally athletic.  Brown fringes and
a tender, tasty pink center.  Its outer Kegels had a firm, constant
grip that encircled my shaft with the width of a man's thumb and
forefinger, and further inside she was modestly snug and lightly
textured in a wonderful contrast to the muscled entrance.  That
glorious opening just demanded repeated, full-length thrusts to
friction her distinctive grip up and down every inch of my cock, from
base to tip and back again.

I learned early in the relationship that Kris only orgasmed from oral,
from my tongue slathering up and down and side to side while my fingers
pressed rhythmic circles on her G-spot.  Afterwards, when we fucked,
Kris remained highly aroused, receptive and amiably giving.  Most of
the time we'd do it Missionary.  Her wide-open eyes would lock onto
mine, she'd beam a joyous smile, and her hips would pump upward in an
eager, get-that-cock-IN-there urgency.

Kris was a marvel to fuck.  I'd go shallow for a few tantalizing
teases, then when I couldn't restrain myself I'd plunge hard and deep,
eliciting squeaks from the protesting bed and a loud, happy moan from
Kris.  "Again!" that moan would call out its demand to me, "Again!
Again!"  Sometimes I'd prop myself up on my elbows and watch her eager
face and her erotically dancing breasts, and moments later I would
press my furry chest against those hard-tipped breasts and stab into
her marvelous cunt at different delicious angles, just to sample
everything it had to offer.

Nothing seemed to make her happier than when my climax hit.  "Tell me
when you're going to come," she'd demand when she sensed I was close.
When my cock signaled its impending launch and I affirmed it with a
gasping "Now!", I would bury myself and her ankles would pull tight at
my thighs, and Kris would exhale a squeal of pleasure at my first
powerful spasm.  Then, with my hips frozen in paralyzed pleasure and my
cock spurting release after release, Kris would undulate her hips
beneath me, and her grippy little cunt would tug around my shaft just a
little bit tighter to urge out every last drop.

I can only assume that Kris's naive husband had no idea what a gem he
had in his bed every night.

And then there was Lynn.  Single, almost thirty, with a history of
intermixed long- and short-term relationships.  Lynn had a cunt that
was quite different from Kris's, yet just as satisfying.  Whereas
Kris's body as a whole and her cunt in particular had a muscular,
dynamic feel to it, Lynn's body and cunt were softer and more
femininely graceful and delicate.  She had a gentle mouth, small hands
and thin fingers, tiny breasts, and wider womanly hips.  Her vaginal
walls were remarkably smooth and uniform, with no discernable texture
or variations in width as I penetrated, and this uniformity was
exaggerated by her voluminous lubrication.

Whereas Kris's cunt made me want to drive into her with strong,
deliberate thrusts, Lynn's creamy snatch instead called for smooth,
almost sedate lovemaking.  I wanted to caress her, inside and out.  She
cradled my body atop hers, pressing the soles of her feet against the
outside of my calves and softly stroking my back with her fingertips,
and I gently stroked her cunt with a steady rhythm.  She sighed happily
as I slid inward to arrive at a soft landing, and on each equally
languid withdrawal she gathered a breath for my next return.  As her
excitement grew, so did the pace of her breathing and the remarkably
creamy slickness of her cunt.  Our mouths, our tongues, regularly
connected in long, wet kisses.

Lynn had a predictable orgasm, an inexorable rise of arousal that
clearly signaled her approaching crest.  By then our fingers would be
intertwined above her head and her happy sighs would have turned to
gasping, quivering vocal tremors.  Only when she was irreversibly near
did I accelerate my thrusts and leap with her over the edge.  When she
climaxed, Lynn's cunt emitted no detectable pulsing clenches, but her
soft, delicately feminine body did arch and stiffen for a most
wonderful dozen seconds, and I would just keep stroking, stroking,
stroking my spurting erection into her slippery sheath, breathing a
moist "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" into her ear.

And then there was Kathleen, an Amazon of a woman, taller and heavier
than me, married to a man even larger than she and just as apathetic as
Kris's husband.  Kathleen had heavy-lidded, smoldering Italian eyes and
an intensely passionate soul.  Pendulous breasts with soft, sensitive
skin and perky nipples.  A rounded body.  Wide hips, sparse pubic hair
and a pussy that nestled between thick thighs.  And what a pussy!
Kathleen possessed chubby outer labia that I pried apart to expose tiny
inner labia and a moderately sized hooded clitoris.

My first surprise was the remarkable way Kathleen's clitoris swelled in
size a few seconds before orgasm.  Five minutes of delectable
cunnilingus was all she needed.  Her climax was like a missile launch --
 a gradual start that seemed to be going nowhere fast, then a rapid
acceleration that almost left me behind.  A few seconds before her
peak, Kathleen's clitoris swelled between my lips, growing in length
and width to almost the size of the last joint on my little finger, and
then she crested with straining, noisy groans and rippling tremors of
her tummy and thighs.

My second surprise, days later, was discovering the strength of her
vaginal clench.  I had two fingers inside her cunt, busy with her G-
spot, while my mouth was finishing its work.  Her clitoris did its
familiar, magnificent swell, but this time her initial orgasmic spasm
literally expelled my fingers.  It was no gentle clench, no friendly
nibble around my two fingers.  No, it was a fist-strength, all-out wet
clench that lasted several seconds.  I was startled.  Stunned.  When
that first intense spasm relaxed, I thought to try inserting my fingers
again, but before I could act, Kathleen's second spasm hit and I
discovered it was impossible to force a reentry in mid-clench.

I was, of course, now curious how this would feel around my cock.
Kathleen and I had fucked on two earlier occasions, but she hadn't
climaxed during intercourse.  Call me selfish, but that became my
goal.  The next time we were together, I brought Kathleen close to
orgasm with my mouth, and then I mounted her.  I settled between her
thighs and notched my erection between those meaty outer labia,
stroking against her shy, crinkly inner labia and monitoring her
clitoral orgasm temperature gauge with the bottom side of my shaft.
Her heated cunt eventually beckoned beyond my ability to refuse, and
with a small downward pressure from my fingers I aimed true and pushed
inside.

Her cunt was, as always, a delight.  I gave her half-strokes, trying to
control my own impending orgasm, and massaging her clit with my thumb.
That seemed to do it.  Her orgasm jumped out and caught me by surprise,
and alas I was only half-inserted when it struck.  Halfway wasn't deep
enough.  Kathleen's massive clench expelled all but the tip of my cock,
and I had to struggle to maintain even that minimal penetration.

My concentration, however, was distracted by what I was seeing above
her neck.  During Kathleen's previous orgasms, my face had been busy
between her legs.  For the first time I was witnessing the effects of
the orgasm on her face.  For the whole of those intense several seconds
of involuntary clench, Kathleen's face turned a bright red, frozen in
grimaced pleasure, exhaling a loud, dramatic groan that I knew could be
heard in the adjacent hotel room.  Her neck muscles stood out like
stiff ropes.  I truly feared for her heart.

When the spasm relaxed, Kathleen's face lost most of the crimson and
she began to breathe with quick little pants, and her cunt gave me an
open window of opportunity.  I seized the moment.  I jammed back inside
her, again barely halfway, just in time for the second spasm to rip
through her body.  Once again my cock was almost completely expelled
and her face returned to that alarming color and frozen grimace.  Was
this normal for her?  Should I continue thrusting?  Was she having a
seizure?

There was no time for rational thought.  When the thunder of this
second spasm calmed, I dug my knees into the mattress and stabbed my
cock in as best I could to join her orgasm with mine.  I managed two
healthy spurts before her third clenching spasm struck with that same
fist-tight cunt, epileptic-like straining body, and red face, though
thankfully less frighteningly intense than the previous two.  I
shuddered a few more delicious spurts through the tightness, then
finally a more lengthy calm that allowed me to finish my ejaculations
with some final, satisfying thrusts.

There have been other memorable women, of course.  Plump, busty Karen,
a divorcee with two kids, who sported distinctively small nipples and
small labia and a tight cunt.  Voluptuous, promiscuous Mary, who would
straddle my hips and swirl her juicy cunt around my stationary upthrust
cock, roughly scrubbing her inflamed clit against my pubic bone while I
palmed her breasts and pinched her nipples and watched her enjoy the
ride.  Petite Nina, mother of three with droopy A-cup tits and narrow
hips, with big suckable nipples, large kissable lips and meaty labia,
long and thick and pouty.  Nina had a short cunt barely long enough for
my plundering cock, a desire to have me bump against her cervix, and
discernible episiotomy scar tissue that tickled against the bottom of
my shaft on every one of my many juicy, inward dives.  Elaine, whose
lower-than-normal body temperature combined with my higher-than-normal
temperature, combined with an extraordinary tactile sensitivity of her
vagina, produced a woman who orgasmed when she felt the sensations of
my ejaculations splashing against her cervix and filling her cunt.

And Terry, long-waisted and short-legged mother of two who had
convinced herself that her vagina was loose and dry and uninteresting.
The reality was that her sweet vulva, framed by lush pubic hair, and it
summoned me with a heady lick-me fuck-me fragrance and taste.  Inside
she was slick and silky, and her honeyed little piece of heaven called
out for as many repeat visits as I could manage every time we got
together for a few hours.

Don't misunderstand me.  I have never met a vagina that I didn't
thoroughly enjoy.  Each and every vagina -- each unique, delightful
cunt, owned by each unique, delightful woman -- has been special and
satisfying.  Each is different, many are memorable, and a few are
remarkable.

I propose a toast:  May your lover know what is down there between her
legs, and may she know how to use it.  And may she want to share it
with you.



Sent via Deja.com
http://www.deja.com/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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