Bottom of the Funnel, 21: The Sniff Test

I layed panting in Karmen’s soft palm, wet with her saliva as she sucked herself off me (leaving some sweet sticky bits in my various crevices). Her hand rested on the mattress at the edge of her pillow, half-curled fingers lightly draped over my body. This was a tender and welcome shield from the cool bedroom air. I nestled my head against the thick meat between her thumb and forefinger, my own resilient pillow, and let my calves hang over her palm. When I closed my eyes I saw her vulva closing around my vision, glowing red where the light penetrates her labia, the first wash of milky fluids spilling over my vision, and so I stared at the ceiling. I love her, I know she loves me, but sometimes I get a little claustrophobic. Fear of drowning. Takes a while for me to decompress, no matter how tasty the orgasm was. I reached up for her thumb, pointing back at herself as though giving her headboard the thumbs-up, and stroked the smooth skin over her knuckle.

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