Spoonful of Perfection


A whispered wish, “Spoon me, Please?”

I love being wrapped up in you, your arms secured around me tightly, your leg thrown over mine, your breath, hot and hopeful against my neck.

I giggle and sigh, revelling in this perfect moment, until your whispers raise the bar of perfection.

Your kisses on my ear begin the dance, and as they turn to nibbles and licks, my heart races and my body ignites with the fire that consumes me everytime we touch.

I sometimes wish we could touch all day, every day. That your hands would find their home on my soft curves and that your tongue would find sanctuary in my mouth. You chuckle at this, because they do… “Isn’t it better that they get to come back to you? That you get to miss them a little before they return?”

Locking me in place, you let your hands explore their lovely world, while your tongue and teeth make their meal of my flesh. My fingers skim through your beard, up into your hair, and you rumble your approval at my touch.

I cannot stop it, or control it, you drive the need within me to the limits of my imagination. Your fingers trace the slick, moist folds and circle the center of my desire, drawing out the music you love to make by playing me, just like an instrument.

But your gentle teasing quickly morphs into demanding coercion, kneading me straight to the edge of reason until I erupt and trickle down the peak with more molten desire.

You are merciless, because I have surrendered to you. You take my pleasure, over and over until you decide to reward it with pain. My mind almost cannot keep up as your hands pinch and twist, smack in that most delicious way, and force me to remain open when my legs try to avert the sensation.

As you shift me, to pin me, and push me over the edge once again, I think I might lose myself and begin to beg, “No more.” But you laugh, and breathe, “One more.”

I’m so lost, I can only follow your command, and let go so that you might be sated by my next release. But your fingers don’t stop as the waves of another climax crash into me.

You never stop. I think you might keep me like this all night. I beg again for completion, but you swat me, hard. You get to decide. Oh sweet heaven on earth, what did I do to deserve this overwhelming reward.

The frenzy of pain and pleasure clouds my mind until the edges of each orgasm begin to blur. I feel like just a ball of sensation, your toy, your plaything. I try to reach for you, but you tell me to let go.

The bliss of being owned by you explodes inside me and all around me. My mind is empty. I am pure pleasure. You have succeeded.

As your hand slows and you release your grip on me, my thoughts slowly return. You turn me to face you and whisper, “Make me cum, kitten. In you… on you… just make me lose myself too.”

All I can think is that I can never give you what you give me. But exhaustion fades fast in the presence of my desire to please you. I giggle again, I don’t know why, but it elicits that smile I adore.

I tease you, barely brushing my fingers over the smooth skin of your thick manhood until I can feel the veins pulsing and throbbing below the surface.

I lower my soft, heavy breasts over you and stroke you with them, gently, while you watch. “Such a pretty sight.”

It is my turn to make a meal of you, but I revel in the feel, and smell, and sight of you. Rubbing my face against your velvet covered steel, just like a kitten, I barely lick the tip, tasting the salty drop of lust that has gathered, just for me.

You pull my long hair away from my face, holding it gently, but demonstrating your control in the handle you now have on me.

Unhurried, but aroused at your control and the expression on your face as you gaze down at me while my sweet mouth is filled with you. Your moans and the tiny motion in your hips make me hum my own song of desire.

My tongue massages the soft, tender head and traces along it’s boundaries. My lips skim down the shaft to where my fingers stroke and play. My warm, wet mouth surrounds you and I glance up at you again, to see your euphoria.

I draw out the pleasure as long as you allow, before your grip in my hair tightens and your hips buck anxiously as I suck you deep into my throat and swallow, closing around your helmet to a loud groan and pressure from your fingers to keep me there.

I can feel you trembling and throbbing against my tongue, and attempt to pull away so that I might extend my amusement and suspend your satisfaction. But you don’t allow me, forcing yourself deep against my tonsils so that I have to swallow again.

Lifting my face by my hair, you thrust yourself up into me, over and over until your grunts turn to languid growls and I taste my luscious reward being released in thick, creamy ropes.

I swallow every drop, suckling you like you were some exotic dessert. You smile down at me and whisper, “Come here.”

You wrap me up in you, once again, my back to your front, your leg thrown over mine, your breath, hot and sated on my neck.

I giggle again, and sigh. And we end, where we began.

A spoonful of perfection.

16 thoughts on “Spoonful of Perfection

      1. Hi beautiful lady…yes, I am well thank you. and YES!! to the leg hump spooning

        hugs M’lle Momma…hope you and that lovely bun are happy.


  1. Hey Mel, you seem to like using your breasts a lot (kudos), here is one you might try. Instead of doing it the regular way, Have him enter his manhood under one breast from the side letting the breast flop over it, then hold in down creating a “hot dog” of sorts. Then push the other breast towards his manhood tip and have him thrust that way. I like it like that.


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