A Pornographer Writes Porn

He's seeing her as he walks, his memory playing movies of the past, still shots of her beautiful eyes, her radiant smile. He luxuriates in visions of her long and curvy body and that extraordinary candlelit line that runs from her shoulder past ass to ankle, the arc of her shoulders and back as it dips into her lean, trim waist and follows the perfect swell of her luscious hips.

He's turned on when he unlocks the door of his apartment. He closes the door behind him, hangs the keys on the key rack, turns on the A/C and sheds his clothing onto a kitchen chair. He puts a towel across the huge couch that she has gifted him, the couch upon which they'd first put penis to pussy (and vice versa) and gushed their juices onto each other and the upholstery. That vision is always available to him, held dear in his Silver Box of Memories, a favorite mind movie full of color, sound and glorious fragrance...

Mindfully, he sits down upon the spread towel as he picks up his smartphone. His finger hovers over the screen...he strokes his hardening shaft...

...he opens Notes and begins to type...

"She was sleeping...

...now she's hearing him mumble, then softly snore. She shakes his shoulder a little and he turns away from her, moans an appreciation, and snuggles his butt back up against her warm midsection. Her left hand nows rests upon his left hip, and she squeezes his thigh, slightly. He settles into a gentle sleep.

She, herself, is nearly asleep when she feels his thigh twitch. She listens and hears him whispering, softly, softly in his sleep. She figures he must be dreaming.

He has told her of an article he once read that said when men dream, it's common for them to get erections, regardless of the content of the dream; sexy or mundane, it didn't much matter. This makes her think of his penis, so recently in her vagina, his cock in her cunt.

Neither had cum: he, perhaps, due to a drink too many and she because she was determined to wait for him. She could cum easily, she could cum with her mind alone. He always encouraged her to cum often and repeatedly, because he loved her pleasure with all of his senses...also, he'd told her, because if he could cum as often as she, he certainly would...but tonight she wanted it to be with him, to cum along with his swelling, his thrusts, his spurts, his vocalizing.

Their passion had been great until it slowed and he slid out of her. He was still turned on, though, and rubbed her legs, her butt, her back, licked her tits and cunt and ass. He was crazy about her, couldn't get enough of her skin on his, enough tastes of her body, enough of her mouth and tongue. God knows he's tried.

He'd blown out the candles and they'd fallen asleep entwined.

Now, she is awake, thinking of his penis.

It's a nice one, she thinks, and she likes penises, likes looking at them, likes seeing them bulge a trouser leg, likes holding them, touching them, rubbing them. He knows she likes penises, she's told him, and he finds it endearing. He's very happy she likes his, she having known others and choosing his for now.

Oh, my. She thinks she might be wet between her legs. She thinks it could be left over from earlier, but probably not. Her right fingers brush her pubic hair, and, yes, no doubt she is newly moist...hmmmm...she touches her wetness, and presses lightly at the top of her vulva.

Her left hand, still upon his hip, slips down in front of him to see... yes, there it is, not fully erect, but half hard. She gently pinches some skin and lifts his penis slowly out from his body. Her fingers curl under its bulk and she weighs its semi-fullness. Laying it down gently on the sheet, she shifts her fingers around the tip, lightly squeezing and rubbing the circumcised, mushroom head. It grows harder and he moans.

If his dreaming was not sexual, it is now.

She rubs the cock's underside just behind the glans, his most sensitive spot (as he's taught her), massaging it with her thumb. She doesn't stop when his body shifts onto his back, making himself more available to her. She encircles his hardening shaft with her whole hand, squeezes it rhythmically until it's engorged, tugs and frigs it.

Whether he's still asleep or faking it, she's not sure, it doesn't matter. In whatever state, he's enjoying it, she's enjoying doing it, what the fuck...She pushes up onto her knees, finds her balance, switches hands on his standing member and, jaw open and ready, impales him halfway into her mouth. Her left hand cups his balls as she holds her wet mouth around his dick. She takes him in to just past the widest part and stops, not wanting to gag. His cock head is against the back of her mouth, at the top of her throat.

He's awake. He moans. His buttocks clench and he bucks quickly, involuntarily, upwards, making her pull back to avoid being choked. She grabs his dick and frigs it, then clenches its base with both hands as her mouth again engulfs it.

They both know where this is leading.

She will ride him. He's come to adore her passion for femina superior and lusts for it himself. She fondles his penis as she throws a leg over him and positions her open, perfect pussy above his dripping dick, her yielding yoni above his leaking lingum. She descends. Heaven is opened.

She shakes her hips from side to side, forward, back. She settles down and in. She is exquisitely seated. She rides, slowly at first, savoring his engorged appendage inside her, poking her insides, but as she desires it, at her pace. He watches her face, trying not to move too much or too soon, matching her pace, easy, deep. He is her stallion and only hers; he gives himself freely to her desires, for she has his trust and admiration.

She fucks him. She fucking rides him hard!

She pounds into him and he follows her lead, bucking back into her, sometimes lifting her off her knees. She feels his pounding throughout her belly, all the hard heat of it. She squirts on him involuntarily, but the deluge only inflames him and he redoubles his efforts and grabs her tits and she can only grab tightly to the headboard as he twists and bucks beneath her. She cums and cums again and still he doesn't stop.

He's crashing into her and so close to cumming, he can't yell "don't stop now!" It seems he can articulate nothing but a sex-driven stream of profanity as he pounds up into her open pussy, poor pussy, poor pounded pussy. She groks him, though, and short of letting him hurt her, answers him back, thrust for thrust.

His eyes are closed and he's sweating as he grabs her asscheeks, forcefully slapping her cunt against his dick. His orgasm begins deep in his throat, he moans, and she feels a huge wave coming, a giant wave that will sweep them both away, and now he know his orgasm is inevitable short of nuclear holocaust and he manages to choke out, "Cuh.....cuh!...cum with me!" and he cums and he spurts and she cums and she squirts and they are inundated, drenched in wet and she laughs thinking of the wave "that just washed over" them and he won't shut up about "Oh, my god! that was, that was... Oh, my god!"

They cling to each other even after he slips out of her, which isn't long because it's late and she's used him up. He says. They hold each other and kiss a final goodnight.

It's a good thing. They're a good thing. And there's always the next time.