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His tongue leaves her bellybutton and slowly zigzags down and teasingly halts just above her vagina. Her lower back arches upwards in response, her body tenses in expectation and commitment to the slow dance of their bodies. When his lips finally touches hers she softly moans while she roughly grabs hold off his hair and pushes him closer between her thighs, her legs crossed across his back, while his one hand finds stability on the table and his other clasps firmly around her breast. Her one-piece dress lays just beyond the entrance of her apartment. Panties are for the prude. The bottle of wine lays still in the hallway.
…
On the floor by now, she sighs as his muscular shoulders come up over her body, pushing her legs apart. Her head tilted sideways, she rolls her eyes as his thighs slowly slide down across hers. With one hand he already starts to maneuver his penis in place.
…
Flexible as she is, her right foot comes up, slips around his sweaty torso and lands on the middle of his chest. Uncertain of what’s happening he looks at her, no idea of what’s coming. She smiles faintly and that’s when she forcefully rams her feet back, sending him backwards, slamming his back against the cabinet, china cracking inside.
“Hold on a minute, missionary boy.” She says decisively.
Wide-eyed he looks at her, while she observes him with disappointment and pity.
“Why do you reach for that you’re not ready for? Why in the moment, do you decide for the average while you could go for the extravagant? Why assume great sex, while all you get is a textbook example of highschool mediocrity that doesn’t pleasure me and leaves you with a false story of greatness to tell your friends?”
Her heel presses firmly onto his heart, before her feet slowly slips up through the sweat on his chest. Submissive as he now is, her toe splits his lips and circles around his tongue. The uncertainty of an eager teenager in a man’s body is obvious once again again. Her foot moves to the right and presses firmly into his cheek, squishing his face against the cabinet.
“I believe in variety. Variety in partners. Variety in approach. Some days I like it hard. Some days I prefer things slowly. But above all, I prefer pleasure. But from majority of all my experiences, and believe me, they are plenty, but the main experience is mediocrity. I’ve had dozens of men who assume wonderous talent, who fail to surprise me pleasantly. More so, they fail to deliver any form of pleasure while they leave my apartment with a smile on their face that has no reason.΅
Her feet slides down again, landing in his neck where she pushes his chin upwards. He grasps for air, while she continues.
“You are just one of many. Proceeding to missionary without fantasy. Hunting personal satisfaction while serving the other should be your purpose. Showing impatience instead of appreciating the wonders of an intimate experience. You wake up with lies in your mind that you believe and which you share with your friends and you call that victory. In fact all you achieved is loss of potential, pity and a chuckle after you closed the door of my apartment.”
He pushes her leg away. She smiles and he looks angry.
“Showing some fire and passion finally? Don’t ever think I fall for your cheap moves. Your slick touh sliding upwards from my inner knee across my thigh. The slight kisses in my neck. I’ll enjoy every positive thing you give, but I’ll be wary forever, because like so many you will show to be a shallow, untalented lover that appears to love with all they have. But all they have is so little and you are just that… so little.”
Slowly, her feet slides and she lets it slip to his side. There they sit. She, wide-spread, open, ready to be experienced. He shocked, not sure how to proceed.
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