I miss you so much. You did not come to me last night. I can bear it no longer and am pounding at your door. I push it open and stride into your room. You are asleep on your bed, lying there in your merry widow lingerie, your round rump thrust into the air. I gasp at your beauty that casts a spell over me even as you sleep. Your eyes open as I enter the room and you look up inquiringly. "What are you doing here?", you ask. In answer, I jump up onto the bed beside you and clutch you to me, squashing your full breasts against my chest, and bruising your pouty lips with a crushing kiss. Your sweet breath fills my nostrils and the tip of your tongue tickles mine. This is what I have been missing, the warm clutch of your hug as your arms encircle me with your love. We lie luxuriating in the tenderness of the moment, knowing full well that it is but the prelude to the storm of passion. For I can feel my hardness slowly rising, inch by inch, against the strictures of my underwear until the tightness begs for release. Surely you must be aware of it too as it presses against your belly. Yes, you are, for you look at me knowingly and smile. "You have a little problem there, my darling," you whisper and as you speak, your hand, soft as a little bird, slips down to my fly and slowly pulls down the zipper. In it slips and gently and carefully encircles my member, swollen yet forced into an uncomfortable bend by the tightness of my jeans. You fish it out, release into the air, and it springs out to its true length, which, without going into crude detail, is quite worthy of attention. And that is just what you give it, my darling, your full and undivided attention, for the next while, first looking at it almost in wonder at its boldness, as it stands there giving its strange little spasms. You see the first beads of that thin moisture that precedes the real one to come, and you bend down to lick it off with that pink snake of a tongue that has given me so much pleasure. Then your full, sensuous lips open and you work your jaw as if in a warm-up for the task at hand. Your white teeth glisten in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, but I am not afraid of them, for I know that you will be careful and use them only perhaps to give a playful nip or two, but not to cause me pain. One hand cuddles my scrotum and the other encircles my shaft loosely, those soft hands, so smooth and caressing. You look up at me, like a little girl almost fearing reproach for your daring, yet fully knowing that I love what you were about to do to me. Some women, particularly feminists, have said that men see fellatio as an act of subservience on the part of women, and for this reason crave it. No doubt this is the case with some men, as evidenced by their need to humiliate the women with facefuls of jism, but not with you and me, my love. For I am as willing to kneel and worship at your coral-lined mound of Venus as you are to take my turgid shaft into your voracious mouth, and between us there is no question of humiliation or subjection. But enough philosophy. What sort of man am I who can digress in such a manner when the most beautiful girl in the world is leaning down over my lower abdomen, tickling me with her long hair draped like a tent over my tent-pole? Oh, God, such ecstasy as your mouth slips slowly down. Your lips exert a suction all around the rim of my cock, which by now is beyond itself in its impatience, taking on a life of its own as it seeks fulfillment and thrusts into your oral cavity. In, in, it thrusts and you do not draw away, but rather bend down to meet it, taking it down, down, down until your very lips meet the thatch of my pubic hair. As I peek down, I see you wrinkle that cute little nose of yours and I realize that my hair has tickled it. For I must admit to a weakness, that of loving to watch you at work (or is it play?) on my shaft. Does that mean that in spite of my fine words, I like to see you in a submissive position to me after all? To be perfectly honest, I don't know, and one thing is certain, I am not going to worry about it now.... No, I am going to concentrate on enjoying your ministrations, and that is not a difficult task. In fact, it would be impossible to ignore the bliss that I am feeling, as your warm, moist mouth slides up and down the length of my penis. Occasionally, you look up at me, let me escape from your lips, and smile, as if you know the joy you are bringing me. But I know, too, that the feel of my strength in your mouth is not leaving you completely unaffected, for your eyes have glazed and there is a slackness to your face, as if you are surrendering to an emotion beyond your control. As if to ascertain what you are feeling, I let my hand drop down around that round rump of yours and feel your nether lips from the rear. Oh, bliss, there is a moisture there that lets my fingers slip in without impediment, a warm shower of your inner juices and a symbol of your love. I know that I can take no more of your mouth on me without exploding, and when you scream out, "Put it in me, put it in me!", I lay you on your back and slip between those already moistened thighs. You clasp me to you, your legs coming up around my back, and I drive hard into you with all my pent-up feeling. You come in mighty upward lurches of your pelvis, and your cunt muscles encircle and suck me in to your warm, blissful depths. I give thanks that I have brought you to your satisfaction, for I could not have borne another moment of this ecstasy. I collapse upon you, shooting great spurts of jism high into you, surely, I think to myself, up to that very throat which only moments ago engulfed my then hard, thrusting member. But now it is no longer hard and thrusting, and you, the woman, have conquered again, reducing my proud masculinity to a poor, limp, gelatinous worm. It must have been a man who wrote the famous line about every animal being sad after coitus. Yet, as I fall asleep beside you I am not too sad, for I am confident that my poor little worm will live to rise again to give us both pleasure.