When my softening cock slithered out of her, she unclasped her legs from around my waist and I rolled aside. As I lay there panting, she began to draw small polygons on my tummy with a fingertip.

“Are you gonna…?”

“Yes, absolutely. As soon as I catch my breath.”

She traced a line up the underside of my semi-flaccid cock where it lay wetly on my belly. “That felt amazing.”

“To me, too.”

“I think you came about a gallon.”

I laughed tiredly. “Probably not, but it felt like it.”

“Catch your breath yet?”

“Just about.”

“Hurry.”

I smiled. “You’re so eager.”

“Your fault – you taught me about this.”

“Best move I ever made.” I rolled to her and began to kiss the underside of her breasts. She tasted of sweat and sex, salty, musky, and arousing, and I moved down her tummy, licking and kissing. She moaned.

“You’re teasing!”

“Mmm-hmmm… Both of us.” I kissed her mound, where she keeps just a tiny stripe of soft down, and then lightly tongued the very front of her wet crevice, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her after sex, a combination of her arousal, my semen, and something, maybe sex pheromones, that always lights a fire deep inside of me.

She wiggled. “Mmm, stop teasing!”

“Nope.” I pushed her legs apart and maneuvered myself to where I could see her glorious, wet, cum-filled sex. Her clit was erect, standing out to meet me. It seems to anticipate what comes next and is always impatient, like its owner, eager for me to move along, to pay it proper tribute.

I touched it lightly with the tip of my tongue, earning a moan and a shudder from her. “God! Just do it!”

“You should work for Nike.”

“Pleeeaase!”

So I did it. I licked from her tight rosebud up to her jutting clit, feeling our cum flow from her and around my tongue and through her hot folds. I stayed at her clit, giving it butterfly kisses until she came, and then I really went to town on her.

I licked, I sucked, I entered her with my tongue and lapped up our cream – mostly mine - and swallowed it. There was a lot, as she’d said, but not nearly a gallon. She came again, and then again, her body shuddering, her back arching, crying out in ecstasy, in need… and to think, the first time I’d begun to do this, she’d stopped me.

She’d been embarrassed that I’d wanted to see, to admire, to kiss her freshly-used sex. She said it would be too messy, “kinda gross,” but I’d assured her that I very much wanted to and that she’d enjoy it. She resisted, but I persisted; I finally made a deal with her that we’d try it, just that once, and if she didn’t enjoy it we’d never do it again.

To the extent that any couple’s sex life becomes routine, with actions done by rote, this was the only part of ours that had. We vary positions all the time, and locations, time of day, and the sequence and nature of our foreplay… we even take risks sometimes, having sex in public places, but she always demanded I lick her pussy after I’d come inside her.  

Any hesitation she’d had, any squeamishness or self-consciousness had completely disappeared by the time I’d finished that first time and she lay on the bed panting and exhausted, her body bathed in a sheen of sex sweat and racked by small aftershocks. After that, it was a sine qua non, and on the rare occasion that something prevented us from indulging in our après sex enjoyment, we both felt incomplete.

In other words, after that first time, she was utterly hooked.

Fortunately, I was too. The sight of her swollen, used sex, gaping slightly open and leaking its glistening white nectar is arousing to me. Even more, the feel of her on my lips and tongue, her sex puffy with use and arousal, hot, slippery, those special softly bruised and yielding nether lips and her hard nub that so loved to be sucked astonishes me anew each time. If that isn’t enough (which it is, of course), there’s more; the heady scent of our lust and the taste and feel of our slick, viscous juices, the product of our lovemaking, leave me shaking with arousal.

All of the amazing sights, tastes, scents, and textures of her after she’d taken my seed are powerful indeed, but add in the sounds, the gasps, moans, occasional uninhibited cries of rapture and I’m unfailingly rock hard and ready again. When she grabs my head though, or tangles her fingers in my hair and pulls me into her, grinding her sex in my face like a horny, wanton slut, that’s what does me in. I’m enslaved, entranced, exhilarated, eagerly burying my lips and tongue in her sex until she shatters yet again.

Then I rise above her and take her, once more driving my throbbing, rigid length into her, making her cry out and call my name as my balls slap wetly against her with each thrust. She comes – she seems to have an unlimited ability and need to climax – and once I do, we start again, my lips at her sex. Often we’re exhausted the next day, but never unsatisfied.

Back then, when we first started, we might go four rounds… occasionally five. Now it’s often three, occasionally four, and someday, as we get older, it will drop yet again. One thing it won’t do is stop. As long as she loves to come and I love her and love how she looks, sounds, tastes and feels as she comes, we’ll continue. And I know she loves me, and that she loves my cock. I’m pretty sure she loves my tongue most of all, however. And it will never fail me.