It was funny, he reflected, how different women were. His wife Clare had a wealth of thickly tangled dark cuntal hair; he'd made her shave it, for there was something obscene about an unnaturally smooth pussy mound that excited him. In fact, he got a very erotic thrill from watching her shave herself down there; seeing the dangerously sharp razor grazing so near to her ultra-sensitive pink vagina appealed to the sadist in him. At first she'd objected to performing the very personal operation in front of him, but he'd compelled her to, and she never resisted him for very long. Neither would Sandi after he was through with her! But he wouldn't like to see her shave off her sparsely curling strands of gold pubic hair. No, he liked the way she resembled a preadolescent nymphet… and she acted incredibly like one, too, even after a whole year of marriage.

Then, as the intoxicated, honey-blonde wife began to tremble like a willow sapling in a Midwestern thunderstorm, Johnson lost track of his obscene thought and he buried his face in the warm moist crevice between her widespread legs, striving to bring on her impending orgasm. First he flicked his skillful tongue around the moistly glistening jewel of her distended clitoris, reveling in the way the smooth little bud vibrated in automatic response. Her whole body tensed beneath him, the tendons standing out on her lower leg where Johnson's lust-hardened cock pressed against it, and her breath coming in harsh, low gasps as she strained to reach her climax. Although he'd rather expected her to cum immediately, she hovered on the edge of release for so long that the man kneeling between her naked legs changed his tactics and glided his tongue down along her moist cuntal slit to the tiny orifice of her pink-fleshed vagina. Stretching as far as possible, he jabbed deep into the heatedly pulsing channel, then commenced a rhythmic pattern of long, smooth in and out strokes.