She likes the tattoos on his skin. They adorn him with colour and texture. She likes the way they crease and stretch, the sensuality of their movement. She adorns herself as well, the way he likes it, applying her makeup thick so as to rub off on him, leave her colours upon his where they would touch. He is a very visual lover. With him, sex is always an affair with light, with movement; always a theatre for the eyes. Their encounters always start with a long, played out sensual overture. A danse d’Eros. It seems to mean more to him than the actual sex. The actual act seems to be anticlimactic to him, only the release to the tension he builds with her.
He asks her again to dance for him, to move around him sensually and she obliges, showing him the completeness of her body, hiding nothing from him, posing, gyrating, twisting. She makes a spectacle of herself and he sits, shirtless, watching. She can see his cock rising inside his jeans and it is for this; this phallic idol, that she dances. She knows she is not the only woman that will do this for him, but she knows she holds his attention at this moment, for this string of shallow moments, which pass by one after another. She moves sensuously from pose to pose, watching at his reaction. If he likes it, she remains in that position to give him a longer view; if not, she moves to another. When he finally invites her to touch him, she does so carefully, looking into his eyes as she does. She reaches down and runs her fingers over his penis through the denim of his jeans. He moans from the look of desire on her face; her eager countenance. She unbuttons him and frees his cock. His eyes watch hers. She never breaks the contact, knowing he needs to see the look on her face. As she takes him into her mouth, he moves her hair to the side, holds it in a bun behind her head, all the while watching her lips move over his cock, wanting to see the act of fellatio being performed on him. She moans for effect, but it is the sight of her that makes him hard, looking into his eyes, moving her mouth as she does for visual effect, painting her lipstick onto him, all she can taste is lipstick. Watch me, her eyes say to him as she runs her tongue along his shaft. She gives a smile when he moans and he smiles back. He never initiates coitus, but when he starts fucking her mouth, she knows he’s ready. It’s only when she stands and descends on him that he receives her this way. It always starts with her on top so he can watch her descend on his cock. She rides him for a while until he takes over with the rhythm; the act becoming his. He lifts her, throws her onto the couch and takes over, thrusting into her angrily. All the while, he searches her eyes as if he is trying to recognize her. She cannot close her own eyes, she keeps them locked on his, never denying him the view. As always, his exertion is never long, always intense and brief. He quickly pulls out of her as he begins to climax and cums. Watching his seed spurt out upon her skin brings him over the edge completely. Only then, he closes his eyes, rears his head back and roars through his orgasm.
She lies spread on the bed like a blanket, covered. She closes her eyes. He is not looking, lost in his glory.
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