She loved him to fill her up. Although she would think about him during the day, she would not relieve her needs. She would build this yearning, this desire. She would feel the sensation and she would embrace it. It would fuel the creation of art: figures of gorgeous, wild women. It would beget stories of fast and furious fucking. She would be guided by the throbbing of her clit and swollen pussy lips.
She would think of him. The way his dick engorged and became rigid, whether in his pants or in her mouth. The way he would surprise her when he picked her up - in the car wearing absolutely no pants, cock out in the open, for anyone to see and for her to ogle.
She feasts her eyes on it whenever she can, and the rest of the time in her mind. She replays the way it grows, full in her mouth til her lips are stretched around it and she looks at him as if to say, "please mount me, please breed me, please allow this pussy to come for you and to make you come."
He can't resist at all. He smells her horniness, and his gorgeous, freckled skin exudes a smell so primal that the pheromones cause women to buckle their knees. His body, so warm and sensual, it is hard to think non-sexual-thoughts when she looks at him.
When he pushes his large member into her soft snatch, it is a matter of resistance and persistence. He pushes, she corkscrews around it, and he coaxes it into the opening. But it meets resistance - her pussy opens just barely enough for the head of his stiff cock to press in 1/2" in. She stalwarts him and holds her pussy strong, and he pushes and pushes. She begins to get off on the pummeling of her opening, the strength of her pussy barely keeping a powerful cock knocking on the door for so long.