A Conversation about Perfection

You lie there, your dick softening inside Lucy, feeling her breathing slow down, feeling your love for her expand to wrap around her. You know the wave of emotions washing over you now are partly the joy of physical pleasure, but there’s a genuine core. God, you love this woman. She has a body to die for. But it’s her mind and her dedication that really turns you on. She was the obvious choice to be your secretary, as she’s the most organised, but she volunteered for it. She was willing to sacrifice regular pleasure for more intense weekly bouts really does inflame your passion. You couldn’t live without her. The household couldn’t work without her.

You love every one of your girlfriends, but your love for each is different. Physically they’re all impeccable. It’s their personalities that make each one indispensable. This strange relationship wouldn’t work if it was based purely on physical desire. It works because of emotional connections, between you and them, between them and each other.

That’s why you try to treat each one of your girlfriends fairly. But the harem wouldn’t work if they didn’t share their generosity.

How long you lie there, lost in these thoughts, lost in your love, you can’t tell. At some stage your dick slips out of Lucy. She shifts a bit with its absence and lets out a low moan, but other than that neither of you react.

Eventually the weight of Lucy starts to take its toll. She’s lying on your chest, her head on your shoulder, only her legs not on top of you. If it was Melody or Gloria, you could lie like that all night. They are slips of women. But Lucy is tall, and heavier. The pleasure of her pressed against you is slowly overtaken by the pressure of her weight. You shift and gently tip her to one side. It’s this motion that gets her focus back on you.

You’re lying side-by-side, facing each other, admiring each other.

“How did I get a perfect boyfriend?”

“I’m not perfect. These, these are perfect.” You’ve lifted her silk nightdress to reveal her breasts. These you cup and fondle, then lean over to kiss.

“There are nine other pairs of breasts you say the same thing about,” she tells you, with a gleam of mischief in her green eyes.

“I can’t help it if my ten girlfriends all have perfect breasts.”

“It’s what drew you to us, isn’t it?”

“I’ll admit, it was a big factor. Your perfect breasts. Your perfect lips. Your perfect pussies.” When you mention her breasts, you nip her nipples with your teeth. When you mention her lips, you dive in for a kiss. When you mention her pussy, your fingers slide down to feel its folds, still sticky with your cum, the first dampness of a fresh arousal noticeable.

Then your hands return to her breasts, kneading them, flicking their hardening nipples, feeling the way they resist your grip, how they mould to your caresses, how your actions draw moans of satisfaction from Lucy. Unfortunately her nightdress keeps dropping down, covering the sight of your actions, interfering with your movement. Remembering the morning you look at her and say, “You appear to be overdressed again.”

“I do, do I?” Lucy smirks. She sits up, grabs the nightdress by the hem and pulls it over her head. Then tosses it off the bed. “Maybe I should be naked all the time?”

“You know if you were, I wouldn’t be able to resist.” She’s lying back down, thrusting her perfect breasts forward to give you a better view. It doesn’t matter how many times you see any of your girlfriends naked, each time drives a spike of yearning through your heart, love and lust complementing each other, revealed in the solidity of your penis.

“Resist doing what?” she asks, her green eyes twinkling with expectation.

“This.” You know what she’s expecting. You’re not going to give her what she’s expecting. Lucy loves spontaneity, she loves surprises. You shift yourself so you’re above her, looming over her prostrate naked body, eyes locked together. Then you plunge. Not for her pussy. For her armpits. Delicate fingers rub against the skin, tickling her. She reacts as you know she will. She’s not as ticklish as some of your girls, but her reactions are instinctive. She draws herself in, trying to pull herself away from your play. Her laughter is genuine and uncontrollable and consumes her body.

For a minute your tickling fingers chase her round the bed. There’s a lot of bed to chase her round. She tries to hide under a duvet. Your tickling fingers continue until she kicks the duvet away. She tries to swat them away with a pillow. But in raising the pillow she exposes more of her armpits, and your tickling fingers find her sweet spot, where her sensitivity is greatest. All across the bed she squirms, laughing uncontrollably, tears welling in her eyes, until she’s heaving with lack of breath and exhaustion.

“You,” she finally manages to say. She tries to sound indignant, but it’s clear she enjoyed every second of it. “That’s what you’d do? Ten naked women, and you’d tickle us?”

You’re kneeling on the bed, looking down upon her, splayed on her back. “For starters. But I’d have to do it naked.” She raises an eyebrow in confusion. You direct her gaze down to your groin. The play has hardened your dick further. The sound of her laughter, the joy in her eyes, the scent of her further arousal, the feel of her flesh, the sight of her jiggling nakedness, have all enflamed you. “That would need to be confined.”

“Confined where?”