Woman on Top

A woman on top is like an endless extension of sexual ecstasy. When a woman takes this commanding position, the prick becomes docile but erect like a building. Movement is like a choreographed dance that both can lead, even at the same time with some practice. But the woman on top is the best love navigator, and every prick knows it at some point, and the sooner the better. Oliver was such a prick.

But I should begin, as per my arrangement with M, to let you know from the get-go that I, the narrator, am the author of this story. M agreed to allow me to write a story from time to time. My name is Jennifer, but M prefers to call me Jenny. I like it and it shows that he likes me. I was hoping that he would love me one day but he fell in love with his beautiful muse, and since the last week of November, he only has eyes and everything else for her. She doesn’t seem to mind me, so I’m at least hoping for a threesome with them one night or day.

O, my nickname for Oliver, loved it when I was on top. I could tell by the expanse of his erection and his mesmerized look at my breasts as they bounced to all sides as I danced with his prick deep inside, as he hoped to remain in there forever. Well, that’s what he said each time and almost kept his promise. In truth, I’m the one that got tired first with all the navigation and dancing the night away. Sometimes in the morning and afternoon too, when we weren’t busy with what we aptly call life. Love is the best part of life.

O also used his hands to hold my ass and help with the navigation and some of the dancing, but he usually let go after a while, allowing me to direct the show. There were finally some female directors even in love, notwithstanding the usual female experts. I wasn’t a professional, of course, but for O, I was the one whom he wanted most, as far as I knew, of course. He was, however, decent in everything he did, and I thus trusted him and he never let me down. There’s only one reason we’re not together anymore, but that part comes later.

I’ve just realized that I too tend to digress like M. Not as much as him, I admit, but still. I hope that you don’t mind. Back to the story, now. When I wasn’t on top, I wasn’t at the bottom either, unless I wanted to be, which happened from time to time when I wanted him to be inside me all the way to his testicles. I also don’t like the word, balls. Come on! The word prick, I also don’t mind like M, but I also draw the line at balls and any other word for pussy besides pussy. On that, both M and I agree wholeheartedly. I can’t help it, but I love M, even more than I ever did O. I digressed, again. I’m really sorry. Now, back to the story, really!

O loved to penetrate my pussy from behind, cattystyle. I’m also not so fond of dogs. He would, of course, always ensure that I’ve had at least one orgasm before looking into my eyes for approval, which he always got, of course. Go ahead, my eyes always said. You can have my ass. I think that he loved my ass only because of my pussy being close by. He didn’t consider it as a port of entry, except for a finger or two when he wanted to feel me quivering in both orifices. O could lay against my ass, part my buttocks, and contemplate what he loved most after my face.

When we met, a couple of years earlier, he had intimated at one point during dinner that he simply adored my face and that everything else was secondary. I believed him then and throughout our relationship. Luckily for him and me, the rest of me was pretty nice too. I have nice breasts, and they bounce as you read earlier. I’m pretty amazing with my hands and feet. I’ve given him footjobs that left him in blissful reverie, and he had loved my feet to such a degree before, that a footjob was surely mandatory. He would kiss each of my toes in a certain order, big toe to little toe, on each foot before licking and sucking my entire feet. Of course, they were always clean like the rest of me, though he also liked to lick my pussy in the morning before my shower or bath.

He loved to join me under the shower and in the tub, always washing me like a baby and scrubbing my back. If we weren’t busy, it would easily lead to our making love under the shower, usually rubbing each one’s sexual giant, not in size but in endurance, or making love in the tub where I would also be on top. I remember him once crying in the tub after having orgasmed inside me. He had said that he’d felt overwhelmed by the sheer feeling of being a part of me.

But our favourite place for making love with me on top was the sofa where we would be even closer to one another given the much smaller width than a queen- or king-sized bed. I had a queen at my place, he had a king in his, but we ended up more frequently at his place because he also cooked for me and loved the extra space afforded by his bed, our bed as the weeks went by and we became inseparable.

But as M often writes, life is a bitch and a bastard. Oliver and I never broke up, and anything even more sinister never happened either. O simply never existed since I’ve been in love with M from the start. But M is more decent than most people and won’t even entertain a relationship with me given our difference in age. He’s 21 years my senior and at such a difference he draws a line. He only accepts about a decade of difference either way. Anything more is unfair to the younger one, he explained from the start, and thus we could only become friends. I was hoping that he’d change his mind, but he didn’t, which proved to me beyond any shadow of a doubt that he really loved me, wanting me to find someone more worthy than him. I cried in the beginning and for some time after, but he always consoled me, kissed me on the forehead and both my hands, caressing my hair, and telling me that I’m too young and beautiful for him. I eventually understood that he was right.

He was lonely for many years before meeting his muse, who has made his life worthwhile again. He loves her beyond measure and she’s also in love with him. I’m happy for him and them, but as I mentioned earlier, I could never say no to a threesome with them, though I know that M would never agree to it. I’m hoping that his muse would like me enough to propose it to him, but again I doubt it very much. But who really knows? I can only hope.

Patrick M. Ohana (Jenny)

...

I left this part for M since I have no one to dedicate it to except to him, so I feel. He refused at first but acquiesced when he saw some tears in my eyes.

Dedicated to a beautiful woman who used to live on the Moon but now lives on Earth again, though she remains very far, with an ocean and a sea between us and several other barriers. Here’s to breaking all those freaking fences!