Just look at this.
It’s a thing of beauty.
Let’s just move, slowly, from left to right in the picture. First, her arms, hooked back behind her, holding on to the chair, holding her up, preventing her from sliding forward, arching her back, forcing her breasts forward, up. Then? Her eyes. Shut. She’s utterly transported. She’s barely even conscious of him – you can see that, right now, all she is aware of is the sensations in her cunt. And her mouth – it’s open, letting out a breathy moan, but also, as evidence of her utter pleasure, it’s almost curved downward, in that expression that’s closer to a grimace than a smile, that reflects complete, total sensory absorption – it’s the mouth equivalent of the scream of orgasm, that sound that sounds as much like a scream of pain as a scream of pleasure (so great is that pleasure).
And then we get to her breasts. It’s a mystery of the erotic to me that what we don’t see is often the most arousing. This is why I love to see women clothed. I am left to imagine what lies beneath, and it is the very act of imagining that is most arousing to me. A fully nude woman may well be a thing of beauty, but I appreciate her beauty more if parts of her flesh are obscured.
Are her breasts big? Small? Fake? Real? Pert? Rock-hard? Who knows?
To me, they’re larger than I might like, maybe a little faker than I might like. (Odd, isn’t it? In a picture in which parts are obscured, I fill in one of the voids in a way that isn’t optimally arousing to me.)
Next? Her legs. Together, not apart, held aloft gently by his hands. Look at his fingers: they’re not gripping. He’s not pushing her legs up, out, apart. He’s simply supporting them, gently, and maybe gently pushing them together, not apart.
Moving down, we see his hair, his head. His head is pointing straight ahead, not down. So her pussy is lifted up, high, his tongue is darting out, straight ahead, lightly touching her pussy. He’s not pressing in, hard; this isn’t the part of the encounter in which his whole face is buried in her. No, right now, if his fingers are any indication, he’s touching her lips, her clit, with a feather-light tongue.
Is her pussy shaved? Does she have a full bush? In my mind? She’s got a landing strip, a neatly trimmed, closely cut strip of blonde curly pubic hair. The hair is sopping wet – with her juices, with his saliva. It’s bristly against his cheek. (Does he have a beard? Is he clean-shaven? I imagine the beard, just because it lets me imagine he’s me. Though I’m bald, and would never wear a toupee. So I guess I can’t fully imagine I’m the lucky one tasting her.)
And finally, the hottest thing in the picture: her toes. Look at her fucking toes. Now, I’m not a foot fetishist, and I don’t even think feet are, in general, particularly sexy. But look at her toes. Her left big toe is curled all the way back, far from the second toe, which is straining forward. And on her other foot, the toes appear to be clenched, tightly, pushing down together.
Her toes communicate everything you need to know about her in this picture.
Isn’t it fucking hot?
(Note to the photographer, and the models: thank you. I have no way to credit you, though I would love to. I think this is a great shot. If you want me to take this picture down, I’ll be sad, but I will. But if you can allow me to credit you, I’d love to do that.)