How To Eat My Pussy

Your past experiences don’t matter now. You’ve never experienced me, and it’s the only thing that matters now.

Forget the porn and the past lovers, forget the Esquire article and what you heard on The Sopranos, and every other thing you think you know. You’re going to get to know me, Mr. Bond.
If you listen.

Listening is the key that unlocks me. I know how I like to get off, and if you’re attentive, you’ll know how I like to get off, too. So listen up:
Eating my pussy requires the simplest and most difficult thing of all — unwavering adherence to the instructions I give you.

Prove a dedicated student, and the world between my legs will open up to you.

It’s sensitive. The clit alone has eight thousand nerve endings. Have you ever eaten eight thousand of something in one bite?

50,000 monarch butterflies migrate to Mexico from Canada every year to overwinter.
That’s a little more than six mouthfuls of me.
You wouldn’t try eating 50,000 butterflies in just six mouthfuls. You’d take your time. Cup one in your hand and feel the slick smear of powder the orange wings leave on your fingertips. That’s me, getting wet with your temperance.

It’s all about the foreplay, honey. It takes the mind and body time to deeply, fully connect. Making the mistake of rushing ahead will only result in a loss of interest on my part. Rushing just doesn’t feel as good as taking our time:
My cunt isn’t a key that turns on my body. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Start here: Hold me. Touch my hips, caress my breasts. There are erogenous zones all over my body — find them all if you want to get lost in my warm cunt.

Being a good lover isn’t an inherent, instinctual act. Being a good lover is listening and responding to your partner’s body, mind, and words. Being a good lover is a choice. It is  always the right choice to listen to your lover.

So listen now.

It’s so fucking hot when you do what I say.

Fail to listen, and risk being demoted to back massages for life.

Don’t try to get fancy; we both already know the alphabet. You do not know better than I do what turns me on. I’ll tell you if I expect parades and fireworks, and I’ll tell you right now that I don’t have the proper licensing for either.

Help me get undressed with patient hands. We’re going slow — be gentle, that stupid lingerie is expensive.

A lot of men waste time in their rush to enjoy it.

Put your hands on my body. Get to know the landscape before you dive in, or you might just drown.

If you want to do what I  want you to do (and I want everything), put your whole hand over my pussy now. I could get off just from this. Let it build while I slowly hump your hand. We’ll be here for minutes. Slow, persistent pressure, like you’re using me to read a ouija  board — careful — do you want to startle the spirits?

I love lube. There are a million and one reasons a person enjoys extra lubrication. I love the feeling of your slick fingers sliding between my fat clit and my labia majora and labia minora, hereafter referred to as “pussy lips”.
I want much more lubrication than a body typically provides; no matter how wet my pussy gets, I want more. Bodies are just funny like that.  Lube is your friend. Show me how well you listen — if I want lube, pour it on me.

You’re not trying to make me come. You’re making me feel good.
It’s different.
It’s true: I don’t need you to get off.
I have a large collection of vibrators and dildos. But a vibrator can’t urge me sweetly to spread my legs while it kisses my downy thighs and strokes slippery fingers between my pussy lips. You need to do one better than the simplicity of an orgasm. Rushing to make me come does not rock my world.

I’m not asking you to decode the Enigma Machine — l’ll tell you every single thing you need to know. Listen.

When I say “Go slow,” go slower.

Do you want to know how to eat my pussy?

You don’t need to know anything.

Just listen.