spyder
12-05-2006, 05:16 PM
I'm new here. Just wanted to share something I wrote a few years back. If you like the style, or are interested in (periodic) updates, contact me: a.spyder@web.de
Enjoy.
I once knew this woman named Sarah whose bush was so big she couldn't even fit it into her panties. She even asked me to help her once. We were laughing the whole time like it was some kind of weird joke. I even tried brushing her pubes up into a nice, compact muff with a hair brush. (I could hardly believe that any woman could have a bush so bushy!) But that still did not work: when she pulled up her panties, dark pubes stuck out all around the elastic like someone trying to hide a bad hair-do under a too-small hat.
Sarah was one of those women of wet climaxes---"gushing" climaxes is probably a better word. She demonstrated this for me too. She started rubbing her crotch through her panties. I watched with hypnotic anticipation while a center of moisture started to grow in the cotton crotch, spreading wider and wetter while she massaged herself. Her breathing grew heavier, her fingers grew moist. As she drew closer to climax, the whole room seemed to draw closer in on itself. Time seemed to be slowing down as though everything were hovering on the edge of metaphysical explosion. When she finally climaxed it was like a symphony finale---I though I even heard rain on the window panes---and all at once the room was fragrant with a deep, musky, feminine smell. She lowered herself back onto the bed with a smile of satisfaction, her knees apart so that I could get a good view: her panties looked like they had been doused in a bucket of water, soaked all the way to the elastic, with damp ringlets of pubic hair still curling out from the sides!
"I know what you're thinking..." she said. "But no one can take a blast like that, at least not in the face. Either you'll drown, or you'll get whiplash, like sticking your head in front of a fire hydrant."
"I'll have the whiplash, please..." I said, still not really aware of what had just happened.
She rolled her soaking panties down to her thighs, rolled them off, then tossed them on the floor. I lay down on my back, my heart beating like a machine gun. She straddled my face, her expanse of brown pubic hair precious inches within reach.
That was the last I remember, distinctly. For the next several moments---or for the next several hours?---reality faded in and out of my awareness. There was the sensation of a rocking motion. Sometimes it was the sensation of her crotch rocking against my face, but sometimes it took on another dimension, like a rocking that consumed my entire body or even the entire room. Her pubic bush was soft and fragrant and invitingly thick. It probably covered my entire face, but I just kept my mind focused and my tongue moving. I licked and kissed and teased with my tongue, from the meaty folds of her lips to the soft hood of her clitoris. Her pubic delta seemed to get darker and thicker the longer we went. In flights of hallucination I was flooded with images of her big bush, images of soaked panties and wet ringlets of pubes, images of her dark crotch descending over my face like an eclipse of the sun, images in panoramic vividness, like some kaleidescope of fun-house mirrors...
When I returned to consciousness, I was lying flat on my back, lying in the bottom of a row boat of pussy flavored bliss. My face tingled, was even a little numb. She had been right: it was like I had stuck my head in front of a strong hydrant. My hair was sticky and soaked with her juices. The smell of her musk was strong in my nostrils.
She stood above me on the bed, a sly grin upon her face as though half out of satisfaction and half assuredness of another conquest. "For a minute I thought you'd blacked out," she said. Down at the lower, thickest part of her muff where the juices all ran, the curls of her pubes were twisted into two long separate "horns," so that her whole bush, as big and as beautiful as it was, looked like some strange satanic beard. Her lips were thick and meaty and swollen with pleasure. I knew this wouldn't be the last time that I'd be staring up at her like that. With limp fingers I motioned her toward me. Her knees bent, she started to squat, the thick, dark, heavenly delta of her bush slowly descending over once more.
Enjoy.
I once knew this woman named Sarah whose bush was so big she couldn't even fit it into her panties. She even asked me to help her once. We were laughing the whole time like it was some kind of weird joke. I even tried brushing her pubes up into a nice, compact muff with a hair brush. (I could hardly believe that any woman could have a bush so bushy!) But that still did not work: when she pulled up her panties, dark pubes stuck out all around the elastic like someone trying to hide a bad hair-do under a too-small hat.
Sarah was one of those women of wet climaxes---"gushing" climaxes is probably a better word. She demonstrated this for me too. She started rubbing her crotch through her panties. I watched with hypnotic anticipation while a center of moisture started to grow in the cotton crotch, spreading wider and wetter while she massaged herself. Her breathing grew heavier, her fingers grew moist. As she drew closer to climax, the whole room seemed to draw closer in on itself. Time seemed to be slowing down as though everything were hovering on the edge of metaphysical explosion. When she finally climaxed it was like a symphony finale---I though I even heard rain on the window panes---and all at once the room was fragrant with a deep, musky, feminine smell. She lowered herself back onto the bed with a smile of satisfaction, her knees apart so that I could get a good view: her panties looked like they had been doused in a bucket of water, soaked all the way to the elastic, with damp ringlets of pubic hair still curling out from the sides!
"I know what you're thinking..." she said. "But no one can take a blast like that, at least not in the face. Either you'll drown, or you'll get whiplash, like sticking your head in front of a fire hydrant."
"I'll have the whiplash, please..." I said, still not really aware of what had just happened.
She rolled her soaking panties down to her thighs, rolled them off, then tossed them on the floor. I lay down on my back, my heart beating like a machine gun. She straddled my face, her expanse of brown pubic hair precious inches within reach.
That was the last I remember, distinctly. For the next several moments---or for the next several hours?---reality faded in and out of my awareness. There was the sensation of a rocking motion. Sometimes it was the sensation of her crotch rocking against my face, but sometimes it took on another dimension, like a rocking that consumed my entire body or even the entire room. Her pubic bush was soft and fragrant and invitingly thick. It probably covered my entire face, but I just kept my mind focused and my tongue moving. I licked and kissed and teased with my tongue, from the meaty folds of her lips to the soft hood of her clitoris. Her pubic delta seemed to get darker and thicker the longer we went. In flights of hallucination I was flooded with images of her big bush, images of soaked panties and wet ringlets of pubes, images of her dark crotch descending over my face like an eclipse of the sun, images in panoramic vividness, like some kaleidescope of fun-house mirrors...
When I returned to consciousness, I was lying flat on my back, lying in the bottom of a row boat of pussy flavored bliss. My face tingled, was even a little numb. She had been right: it was like I had stuck my head in front of a strong hydrant. My hair was sticky and soaked with her juices. The smell of her musk was strong in my nostrils.
She stood above me on the bed, a sly grin upon her face as though half out of satisfaction and half assuredness of another conquest. "For a minute I thought you'd blacked out," she said. Down at the lower, thickest part of her muff where the juices all ran, the curls of her pubes were twisted into two long separate "horns," so that her whole bush, as big and as beautiful as it was, looked like some strange satanic beard. Her lips were thick and meaty and swollen with pleasure. I knew this wouldn't be the last time that I'd be staring up at her like that. With limp fingers I motioned her toward me. Her knees bent, she started to squat, the thick, dark, heavenly delta of her bush slowly descending over once more.