I love cunnilingus.
I adore it.
More than any other sort of sex with my wife, I love going down on her. It is magical and simply satisfying in an unparalleled way. While it looks selfless: the act of doing something solely for another’s pleasure, it is anything but. It makes my body purr and my soul dance with delight as she squeals and mutters, mews and cries. It fills me with warmth and satisfaction to know that I am bringing orgasmic pleasure to the one that I love.
Sometimes she allows me to go down on her while she is on the couch; other times we are in the bedroom, but her eyes sparkle with desire and lust as my lips dance across her inner thigh, watching as my gentle kisses touch her skin and my fingers glide over her body. She knows what I am going to do, and she knows what is going to happen.
She enjoys my soft contact, lightly flowing through her wispy pubic hair, or sensitively rubbing her nipples, as my lips spiral around her labia. I can sense her mild impatience, longing me to find her moistness faster, but this is my treat more than hers, and alacrity would spoil it. It has to be perfect, and I make her wait.
Maybe a minute, maybe ten, maybe longer. Maybe until I can no longer stand to be away from her desperate slit for a second more, and kiss her labia gently, poking my tongue to slide along her moist crack. The taste, a sapid muskiness, a heavenly anthem to all my tastebuds is delightful in its sweetness and flavour. The aroma of horniness, of lust, of pure erotic indulgence and ecstasy.
I feel every bump and wetness of my wife, and hear a gentle sigh as she exhales; she knows I could not resist her hairless slit and I feel my erection pressing against whatever surface I am leaning against. It feels like it grows another inch as my tongue glides effortlessly over her crotch. I glance over her mons – sometimes bare, sometimes adorned by pubic gossamer – and watch as she bites her lips and takes deep breaths.
She gasps as my tongue wriggles around her engorged clitoris, flicking it gently. If I stopped to look, it would be reddened, but I don’t. The pleasure of indulging my desperate fetish for giving cunnilingus is too great. I cannot resist and begin sending a multitude of sensations to my expectant wife.
Sometimes I spell names or poems with my tongue on her clitoris, sometimes I flick it with increasing intensity, or sometimes I gently suck her pearl while caressing it with my lingua. Often I will career up and down my wife’s crotch with my tongue, ski slaloming around her anatomy as if they were flags and then gently poking her hole with my rolled up glossa.
Often I will insert a finger and press against her G-Spot while my tongue dances over her clitoris, feeling her intense muscle contractions as she hits her climax with unmistakable squeals and a battery of proclamations to a higher deity.
Her legs will quiver and shake against my head, as our juices roll down my chin and onto the bed; I cannot resist any more and devour her sodden crotch with more intensity, bringing her to further vocal orgasms. Each climax adds to my satisfaction, it makes me happier and I feel better in myself.
I can only explain it, by saying that bringing the person you love to so many wonderful and powerful climaxes is a bond that you share with them. Something that no-one else does or has done. That gratifies me, my thirst slaked and my senses electrified: no matter what we have said and done that day, any arguments or bickering, any lingering discontent, has gone; banished and forgotten as her body rides a lust-soaked rollercoaster of orgasms and horniness. We have forgiven each other, as she peaks and peaks from my actions. I feel my cock fizzing and my nerves tingling as her body soaks my face and her muscles twitch and squeeze involuntarily. I feel complete.
Sometimes I bring her to repeated orgasms for over an hour; other times it might be just a couple. Sometimes we have sex afterwards, and then I may get to go down on her after intercourse (who doesn’t love devouring freshly-fucked pussy?!) but other times we don’t and she runs her hands through my hair as if I was a well-behaved dog, with a satisfied smile on her face.
Which I gave her; and there are few better gifts in this world than that of loving orgasms.