I could always picture the softness of her skin. How each curve felt beneath my hands, every bone pulling skin taught over its frame. I could breathe her in, the sweet scent of lavendar perfume mingling with sweat and her hot breathe against my neck, and remember that scent of her for the rest of my days.
I would press my hands against her hips, soaking in her beauty and pulling her closer to me so I could feel it inside me. I would melt into her as she would melt into me, two tongues acting of their own accord in each others warm mouths, two pairs of hands fumbling with clothing, trying to reach it off of each others heads without ever breaking our lips apart. That's when I could feel her, truly feel her, beneath my hands, melting into puddy as I worked each and every part of her body beneath me, and sometimes beside me, and half of the time on top of me.
She would pull her bra off, the cute one with only lace, no padding, since she was blessed with breasts that just perfectly fit into the grasp of my hand. The bra, bearing her scent like a proud piece of memorabilia, would fall to the floor with her panties, and there I would stay, melted into her forever for a moment.
I loved cupping her breasts into my hands, feeling how smooth the skin was next to mine, feeling how hard her nipples got the more I foundled them. Erect little mounds, perfect for sucking, perfect for playing with between two fingers until she moaned in delight.
There were times when I was the giver and her the taker; she would let me open her mouth with mine, reaching my tongue towards hers in an effort to bring her forth to me. And once each breast was released from her sexy, lacy, prison of a bra, I would place each lovely one in my hands, playing with them until her nipples stood on end. Then, with one hand still satisifying her upper-body needs, the other would trace its fingers down the length of her tummy, finding a spot between two of her other silky lips, where her vagina presented itself moist and wanting. I, never one to disappoint, would let two fingers dance inside of her and in return, she would moan, and I would be hers just as she was now mine.
When her cum would start dripping down my hands and her inner thigh, I would push her towards the bed. She would lie down, open and waiting, and I would kiss a trail towards her tight pussy, enjoying each pleading statement that left her lips, statements begging me to let her cum all over.
Again, I would listen, and dive down in between the folds of her skin, between two lovely lips covered with sweet liquid, needing to be sopped up with my hot mouth. My tongue would trace a trail over her clit, forcing her to grab my head and pull my hair. With each movement made, her fingers would lace further into my dark locks, and she would pull so hard that sometimes tears would fall from my eyes out of pain. But I loved it. While she preferred to be loved gently, I needed pain to bring my pleasure. She understood that about me. After thrusting my fingers deep into her wet pussy, her clit still being sucked until she could no longer cum, and a few orgasms leaving her too tired to arch her back any more, she would come down; she would catch her breath, wipe the sweat from her face, and with my hair still tight between her fingers, she would pull me back up and kiss me back.
Then it was my turn.
Again, our dance would continue. Except this time, it was my bra and panties falling off, her her lips finding my nipples. I was built more graciously then her -- while my frame stayed thin, my skin didn't pull quite as taught over my bard bones. My breasts held more weight, too. She was taller than I, five inches giving her a better view of the world and a frame that held everything tighter to itself. So while hers were just big enough to fit into my hands -- a B cup at best -- my breasts rounded themselves out into large DD's, a lot for a small girl of my size, but the perfect amount for her to handle.
She would twist my nipples until the pain was enough for me to beg her to stop. She would still continue on, bruises beginning to mark paths around the edges of my aerola, but she would let on of her hands find itself deep inside of me, giving at least one of my breasts a little relief. She would hover over me, knees cradling my thighs between them, and she would glance up from my chest occasionally, just long enough to give me a look that could make me cum no matter what we were doing. She would bite her soft bottom lip, narrow her eyes just slightly, and toss her long hair over her shoulder. Then she would continue down just as I had done to her. Her tongue eagerly sopped up all of my juices, while her fingers still deep inside of me, made me cum more than I would have ever felt possible.
Usually, there would be a dildo next to us. Something she preferred not to use, my fingers usually did the trick inside of her tight vagina, but like I said. I love pain. She would pick up the pink plastic dildo, twist the base so it would begin to vibrate violently, and with her mouth still attached to my clit, she would push the toy deep inside of me. I would gasp, unable to catch my breath as she jammed the fake penis deeper and deeper inside of me.
It glided over my cum, my juices letting it slide in and out with ease. So faster she would go, with no friction to slow her down, and faster I would cum, until I orgasmed so deep that my back arched as high as it could go, and I yelped out a moan in esctascy and in pain, and I would squirt so much that when she brought her head up from my still soaking pussy, my juices would still be wet on her lips and chin. She would smile, knowing that she could make me cum so much that it would stay on her even after she was done with me, and she wiped my juice off her her mouth and sucked it off of her sticky fingers.
"Dear fucking god," I would moan, and she would lie next to me then, panting along with me. And we would both fall asleep in each others arms, breathing in the now sweeter scents that filled our post-sex play.
I loved her this way, her body opening up beneath me, greeting me with its juices as she excitedly orgasmed all over me. She loved me, too, with a nipple clamped between her teeth, a dildo rushing between my legs, ramming me so hard that I would cry in pain and ecstacy.
Sometimes, though, our love wasn't always so sweet. That's why I decided to keep a diary of our sexual adventures, to mark how wild they could be. The time when she set me up to be raped in our apartment, only to jump out after and fuck the apparent "attacker", the time we shared in an adventure with our economics professor, him teaching us "marginal benefits" of fucking us both at the "marginal cost" of him then sharing us with his friends. The time when we made love in front of a crowd full of voyeurs at an underground swingers club. The time I filmed her being gangbanged at a drug filled party in Los Angeles, when we both thought we could be stars for a summer and thusly let a director do as he pleased.
Hopefully these diaries will let us relieve our wild adventures for many more cum-filled years to come.