Irrumatio. A single word, a throwaway, something learned and promptly forgotten. To me, though, it is an entire world of pleasure encapsulated in nine letters. It is the tingling of my freshly fucked sopping swollen sex, it is the heavy breathing and dilated pupils of your orgasm and the delicious smell of semen and want thickening the room air, making (it seems to me) even the ceiling fan shudder with the effort of cutting through the remains of our love.

Irrumatio. It is you collapsing on top of me, spent, then looking into my eyes as your cock softens and escapes the grasp of my clutching cunt. It is you stroking my hair, kissing nibbling licking biting my nipples, teasing me, knowing what it is that I really want. It is you lifting your sweat slick body off of mine, crawling up on top of me, and finally--finally!--straddling my face, your cock softened like butter left out in the spring sun, brushing my lips. It is my hands on your hips, my mouth opening, taking just the head of your cock in at first, my curious tongue probing and lapping at your slit, searching for that last bit of cum, hungry still for everything you have to offer.

Irrumatio. It is that wondrous moment when I take all of you deep into my mouth and throat, burying my nose in your belly, and you begin to gently rock your hips, thrusting in and out, my hands guiding your motions, your forehead resting on the cool of the dark mahogany headboard. It is the feeling of rapture as your cock begins to stiffen again, taunted by the depths of my throat, it is your soft moaning as you feel the heavy weight of my breasts on the backs of your thighs and see your cock disappearing into the pink of my mouth, it is my right hand travelling down my own body to split my sex again, fucking myself with my fingers as you fuck my mouth with your cock, readying myself for our next round.

Irrumatio. It is my favourite word.