Reflections on Being Facefucked

She pulled her panties to the side and stuck her pussy into my face.

“Do you want to get dirty?” she asked.

“I want my face to get dirty. I want it to be covered in your cum.”

She arranged her body so that her ass was completely over my face, pressing down with force, and my tongue was up deep in her pussy. I could feel her full bodyweight on my nose. I could feel a hell of a lot of weight on my eyes. A kaleidoscope of red, orange, and blue colors, like lasers, like the signal lights of some kind of alien spaceship, danced across my eyes. She pressed harder and harder. She bounced up and down. At first, a little. Then, more and more. I tried to fit my tongue into her pussy and press it deeper. I tried to move my head to get it up in there, to work together with her grinding. Oh, she was grinding on me. On my fucking face. My fucking face because it was made for fucking.

She moved her legs so that the fit around my head, wrapped around my head. That gave her more ability to rock back and forth, pounding my face stronger and stronger. She pulled me in and out of her pussy with her leg muscles. I could still breathe. A little bit. I could breathe enough.

She pounded, pounded, grounded and pounded her ass into my face. I loved the feeling of being utterly used, utterly face fucked, of having her pussy, her ass, her weight, coming right down on top of me, right in my eyes and face and nose, of it being all I feel and perceive. Not see. I couldn’t see because the weight of her ass was keeping my eyes closed. I could just see the red, green, and blue lights over the darkness.

Then she started leaning forward. Her angle was different. It was getting my tongue into her pussy from behind her ass. So I got a nice view of her ass from behind and her red polka-dotted panties.