We've been together quite a while now, me and my perfect woman. She is a few years older than me but looks fifteen years younger than she is, and any man knows that these qualities are the start of perfection, experience and confidence in bed with sexy great looks. But just the start.
Imagine a tall slender woman with a petite fair-skinned face having delicate yet strong and symmetric features framed by a mane of coal black hair. She is always fashionably dressed and in heels, which accentuates her lithe legs and a still-curvy figure that time has been gentle with. Her clear low voice drips with honey, and her conversation is not the aimless prattle of women but the frank and pithy speech of men.
She loves men in general and prefers male company, which adds to the allure she holds for every real man, but most of all she loves her Man. Naturally open and honest in bed, because she is tied body and soul to the ideal of her man, her passion during sex is always sensual, often exhilarating, and sometimes intimidating. You have to be up to the mark any time and any place, and if you need pills you are already lost. We are, after all, speaking of perfection.
One place we frequently have sex is in my office. Did I neglect to mention we have worked together for years? Or that our relationship remains a well-known secret that she does not much care to protect any more?
When the others leave I'll walk toward the door. "Be careful Babe not to get too close to my desk, you know what might happen." She smiles as I lock the door, and I know she has immediately begun to think about what she will want. This arouses her quickly, but she does not want to burden me with a great deal of foreplay and anyway she is used to multitasking, so she tells me, "why don't you see if you can walk with that rod in your pants back to your desk and read some emails for a couple minutes. Let me finish something first."
So I do, and in a minute or two she is finished with what she is doing and is ready for us. She comes into my part of the office with the ever-present bottle of lubricant in her hand. We need that and always use it. This is not a story about a fictional two foot dong but I'm pretty well endowed and her pussy has always been tight.
She casually starts to slip off her skirt while making a few remarks about the days' work, and I remove my lower clothing as well. She decides to leave her blouse on so for no other reason I keep my shirt on, and now we are both naked from the waist down. After all these years I still can't help staring at her neatly trimmed snatch and she can't help eyeing my cock with appreciation and anticipation, and whatever she was saying is completely forgotten by both of us.
We move toward each other. Yes, the foreplay started several minutes ago with her just thinking about sex -- perfection, as I've said - but I'm still a gentleman toward her. I place my hands on her ass and start to massage her while I nibble down her neck, and she loves that. She lets out a low moan of pleasure and grabs my cock in her hands, running her white long fingers up and down it and tickling it with her perfectly manicured nails.
I start to work up the other side of her neck, and move one hand against her pussy. Now our hands are almost together at each other's sweet spots, and she uses my cock to push my hand away and starts rubbing her magic wand against her clit. "Oh God", she moans softly, and then she turns her head and covers my mouth with hers, driving her tongue into me almost fiercely, the perfect counterpoint to the soft low moaning that my cock against her clit is drawing from her.
