Pleasure begins

Some would say that pleasure begins and ends with orgasm. I would argue that it begins with that first touch after a long absence.

Pleasure is the tingle I feel as my pussy contracts when I hear his voice on the phone. He pleases me when I walk to his door and he smiles wide and generous, happy to see me -- eager to please me.

It's pleasure I feel when he grabs my waist and smiles at me before he leans in to kiss my mouth. Pleasure is his hands running up under my shirt to find my breasts.

There's a pleasing resonance in the clinking of my buckle when he unbuckles my belt and pushes my pants to the floor.

And then there are his fingers. Oh, but I am a girl in love with my g-spot, the pleasure button of the sweet, pink center.

I am always pleased to push him down on a chair or the couch, push myself between his legs and take his dick in my mouth and hands.

It's a pleasure to make him cum, to feel his legs shake as he gets closer and closer to orgasm, to hear that ragged catch in his breathing at the intensity builds.

And if it pleases him, he can cum on my face, in my mouth, in my pussy or on my ass -- and I'll lick it off, with pleasure.