The Scent of Power
by Jonathan Quince
Thursday, September 23, 2004 18:00:22
Pussy juice has always aroused me. The scent and the taste are nectar indeed, Nature’s most potent aphrodisiac. But I never quite realized the power of the stuff until one fine evening’s suck-and-touch session in the back of my Jeep.
“I want to taste you,” she moaned in a low and sultry voice as she gazed up from between my legs with smouldering bedroom eyes. Yet much as I wished to oblige, orgasm seemed to be on the other side of an impenetrable wall. My body was aroused and frustrated, my cock hard, my heart fiery with lust; and she had been doing an enthusiastic job, giving it her all as a good fellatrix ought. Somehow, in spite of all, my system was stalled; I simply couldn’t cum.
Now, earlier on, I been “interacting” with her as she masturbated her girl-parts; so her hand was saturated with her cunt’s savory juices. And as Lady Fortune would intervene to save the night, her fragrant hand just happened to pass the airspace in close proximity to my nose. The effect was unexpected and immediate: I gasped as her fingers passed by my face. My blood boiled as I suddenly lurched towards the shining light of orgasm.
“Hand… hand,” I veritably pleaded as I clasped her hand to my face and searched for words. I struggled for coherency, searching to find the words for what I so needed. “Give me your mouth,” I growled hoarsely. She eagerly complied, sliding her lips over my cock and tonguing me, sucking as she held the base of my shaft with her free hand.
With her hand over my nose and mouth, I felt immersed bodily the wonderful and overpowering scent of her female-ness. It drugged me, going straight to my brain and my cock and plunging me into a haze of total need; it spoke directly to my primal programming as a male animal, short-circuiting my psychic blocks and hotwiring my orgasmic function. My cock swelled inside her mouth and within seconds I exploded, shooting forth at long last streams of my hot seed for her to swallow.
Fed on my cum yet hungrier than ever, she brought her mouth to mine. I kissed her passionately, and she turned animal in my grasp as I made out with her, tasting myself on her mouth. As we embraced tongue to tongue, I could still feel the after-image of her scent lingering about my face; and sated as I was on a thundering orgasm, I somehow still yearned for more.
That night, I learned an important lesson. The fluid of an aroused cunt is not merely a lubricant, a sexual signal, or even a potent aphrodisiac. It is the essence of the female reduced to chemical symbolism, the scent of power and the taste of an invitation to life. As a perfume, it proves the seducer of men and females alike; as a narcotic, it is a dangerous intoxicant. And like any addictive substance, it leaves its users craving more even as they take a high from it.
I speak from the wisdom of personal experience when I say that I simply can’t get enough of it.