He wanted to close his eyes and let the pleasure wash over him, but meeting her large youthful eyes stirred a stronger fixation. Her winter blue eyes could have inspired the metaphor of staring into the void. More so than any vast emptiness of space did those eyes hold such great secrets. He could feel her gaze penetrate him as her tongue danced around his head.
Past her face, a breast dangled freely above the floor. Below it, her hand balanced her body, knelt before him. A bra, white as eggs, lay near by like a discarded peanut shell, but all that was in his peripheral vision. Even while her lips sucked at his skin, it was those eyes of hers that kept his focus.
Windows to her soul, but guardians of her thoughts. Was she monitoring his expressions, continually modifying her careful assaults based on slight muscle movements in his face? Did she enjoy the act in of itself, for his pleasure alone, or did she enjoy knowing the pleasure he received came from her. Could it be hero worship, as he stood towering like an erotic statue of David?
There were no answers given. Eyes work only in one direction, light enters them, nothing escapes. Yet the eyes told so much. Would a third party view the scene, the might have called it degrading. Had they not looked into her eyes.
True, a man could give a blow job to another man. Lips, tongue, and mouth working like any other, but would his eyes look the same? Would their intensity match the fire of a diamond the way hers did? Some how he knew they wouldn't, something would be missing. Was this part of the mystery of women?
Cursed is he who thought to label such intimacy, fellatio. For had he seen those eyes, he would have dreamt up far more imaginative name.
