Ingrid is a young, caucasian woman, a brunette with short, curly hair, and, according to her own self-description has "a big butt, and even bigger boobs". I've seen her picture, and I think she is cute. *grin* She's 155cm, and about 115kg, which to me is just as fine as rain, and well-proportioned; she doesn't appear to weigh her 115kg. She's got a quick wit and pretty smile, and it doesn't hurt that she's bright, too. And, by both her and my assessment, she is almost perpetually horny. She's my kinda girl.

Ingrid is currently seeing someone, and so am I, as of this writing, and so the sexual tensions that we've had over the years has been pushed to the background-- each of us is happy with our mates, and until we aren't, the tension will be, for all intents and purposes, ignored.

But not so in my fantasy.

Not because I wish that we were both free to "bone each other", as she might put it, but because it's a fantasy. Plain and simple.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

In my fantasy, Ingrid has come down from Baltimore to visit me, here in this lovely southern state, and it is early morning, around eight or so. I'm sitting on the couch, dressed in my usual sleeping attire of a pair of sweatpants- the ones with the crotch all but gone, hanging together down there by only a thread (and don't even try to say that none of you has never had a pair of sweatpants like that!)- watching tv.

Ingrid comes out of the guest bedroom of my two-bedroom apartment, wearing a long button-down t-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. She walks to the couch, stretches-- give me a fantastic view of her thick thighs and wide hips, to say nothing of the glimpse of her gorgeous breasts- her gorgeous, naked breast-- rising up within the confines of her shirt.

She wishes me goodmorning, in that sweet and innocent, yet sexy and sultry voice of hers, and sits down on the couch next to me.

Now, I'm not sure what it is that we're watching on tv, especially that early in the morning, and maybe it is the time of the morning, or the tv show, or just her presence, but within a few minutes, I have a very obvious erection, tenting out the front of my pants. Ingrid, being who she is, would no doubt have been watching its rise, probably from the very start, and who would by this time, with an equal lack of doubt, be thinking of some rather evil thoughts, those of the teasing kind being foremost in her mind.

I myself am oblivious to her state of mind, however; I'm simply wondering whether or not she is going to notice-- I don't want her to-- and how I can shift so as not to attract her attention. The reason I don't want her to notice me is because, in talking on the phone, she's told me about this new guy she's been seeing, and me, I'm out of my current relationship with Audrey, and have been seeing someone new. It's only beginning, my relationship, and because of our burgeoning lovelives, we'd said that we wouldn't sleep together during her visit. I know her, and I know myself even better; if she saw my arousal, she would do everything she could to make me want her as much as she would want me, and vice versa. And, I also knew that neither of us would be able to take much teasing fromthe other, once we started, without taking it all the way.

I was trying to be noble. (Yeah, I'm like that-- even in my fantasies.)

Ingrid, however, has other ideas, ideas which, if the situation weren't what it was, I would have no problems with, ideas designed to start something.

She starts by stretching again, and trning so that her legs are up on the couch now. Her back is nestled into the corner of the couch, as is mine on the opposite side, so that her left leg is up on the couch, bent at the knee, and aimed in my direction, while her right leg is hanging off of the couch somewhat. I turn my head towards her, to say something, and am briefly speechless as the crotch of her panties points in my direction; this does absolutely nothing to help my erection go away. She *appears* to be watching the television, and not to notice that I've glimpsed at the juncture of her thighs. I grab one of the throw pillows, and drop it as nonchalantly as possible over my erection, and lean against it as if all were normal.

I speak, and she responds, looking at me; knowing her as well as I do, I notice her eyes twitch in the direction of the pillow for a second, and a brief hint of a smile appear at her lips. As I turn back to the tv, watching her in my perpheral vision, she does as well, but her smile becomes wide enough to see, as she holds back a giggle or two at my expense.

I try to reabsorb myself back into the tv show, although the image of her wide spread legs has burned itself into my mind by now, but her next words shatter my attempt at control.

"I'm so horny," she says, in a whisper so low that if I'd truly been focused on the tv, I wouldn't have heard it. It goes without saying that I did hear it, but I pretend not to have. She glances in my direction-- and I believe that she knows that I know what she's up to-- and seeing me "not paying her any attention", she "stealthfully" slides a hand- her left- down into her panties.

The tv show is forgotten; but, in trying to be noble, despite my crumbling willpower, I have to pretend that I've not seen a thing. She knows I know what she's doing, and I know she knows that I know.

The mind games we play with ourselves, sometimes.

At first, she is slow and subtle, as though her actions are for my benefit only, only her attempt to get my attention. Very quickly, however, she abandons herself to her arousal, seemingly deciding to hell with me, if I won't pay her any attention, and her low-but-quickly-becoming-loud moans cannot be ignored.

By now I've given up the pretense of ignoring her-- as if anyone-especially a normal, red-blooded male- could ignore the loud lusty sexual groans of a woman in heat, anyway-- and I'm watching her as her fingers strum wetly back and forth between her legs, and as her other hand snakes its way up her shirt, caressing the hard erect nubs of her nipples. My eyes trot back down into her crotch, and lock there, as I spot the small damp patch that her natural feminine juices has caused.

I'm fighting a losing battle here; she knows that one of my sexual weaknesses-- in fact, I believe that it is my greatest one-- is to watch a woman cum, and I mean cum. And I know that she can do this; she's told me plenty of times. And it's not fair, because she knows that this will drive me crazy, and that I won't be able to not do anything about it.

Her eyes open, just a bit, taking in the sight of me, staring at her with her hands tweaking and rubbing against her various erogenous zones, the pillow covering my now painfully-hard erection forgotten, lying on the floor. "Just touch me," she says, practically begging, "please, damnit, touch me, please!"

Almost as if in slow motion, I slowly lean over to her, and unbutton her shirt, slowly exposing her breasts to the sunlight filtering into the room, button by button. Finally, her shirt is open,and I can see, for the first time, the shape and swell of her breasts. I know from her that she is a 42DD, but her breasts have no sag to them, despite their fullness. Shaped like smallish honeydew melons, and capped with pale, bubble-gum pink areoles and nipples, which by now are at least a half-inch long.

I'm still moving in slow motion, and my momentum carries me straight into her plentiful tits. The hand pulling on one of her nipples reaches out for a moment, pulling my head the last few inches to her breast, like a docking line to a ship, where my lips latch onto one of her pink nubs. For a moment, I simply enjoy the feeling of her full breast against my face, her nipple in my mouth; then, as her hand moves back to her currently-being-neglected nipple, I begin to lave my tongue around her areole, and flicking back and forth across her hard nip.

Suddenly, her moans become cries, as her left hand becomes a blur beneath the cotton of her panties, and her right threatens to pull the nipple it clutches right off. Her hips buck up from the couch, and then she's bumping and grinding in the air, as she reaches her peak. Her hips slam back down into the couch, and her legs, from her feet all the way up to her hips, are quivering like plucked strings. Her orgasm is powerful enough that I can even see, as I pull back from her for a moment, the cheeks of her ass clenching and releasing. The crotch of her panties suddenly begins to glisten in the sunlight floating into the room, as her female cum begins to pour out of her, and the damp spot very quickly spreads downward and outward, disappearing beneath her ass as her fluids flow from her.

That is the final straw; there is no force on earth now that could stop my arousal from taking control of me. Even Cynthia, my new girlfriend, walking into the room right now, couldn't keep me from doing what I am about to do.

I push myself up from the couch, and begin to pull off my pants. Ingrid is currently oblivious, still in the throes of a body-melting climax. I kneel down, and as she pulls her hand, finally, from within her panties, I quickly grab them, and begin to pull them off of her hips. She looks at me, a flash of confusion in her eyes, then with a smile as she sees me naked before her, and raises her hips in order to let me take her panties. I pull the sodden panties-- and I do mean sodden; the crotch of her panties is wet enough that when I transfer them from one hand to another, my first hand is still wet, not damp, wet-- down off her legs, and bring them to my face, inhaling her scent. As if the smell of sweat, sex, and aroused female weren't already a heady mixture in the room itself, my senses are nearly overwhelmed by the aroma of fresh feminine sex, and I can't help myself but to, for a brief moment, gently lap at the crotch of her panties.

Her taste, what little bit of it I can get out of her panties, is just as sweet as I knew she would be like, from the smell of her hot and wet sex, and I know I must have more. I look at her, looking at me, a sexy smile on her face as she watches me slobber over her wet panties, and as she shrugs her t-shirt the rest of the way off her shoulders.

"Well," she says, "if you liked those so much, why don't you come and get it fresh?" By this point, it's not like I need an invitation, or even direction; I'm already moving towards her even as she speaks the words, and so is she, as her legs part once more, spreading open wide to recieve me.

It is another first for me, as I see her sex for the first time, and smile at its beauty; from the beginning of her pubic mound, she is very hairy, but even as it begins to cross her lips, it thins down to nearly nothing, allowing me to see her lips glistening with her sweet heavy female syrup. And that is all I bother to notice, for now; my desire to bury my tongue deep inside of her overwhelms my control, and I fall-- or rather, dive-- facefirst in betwen her legs, my tongue leading the way.

The first taste of her fresh juices makes me nearly woon,and makes me shudder just a bit with the strength of her sweet/salty/tangy/musky flavor. As if she knows this, her hands suddenly attach themselves to my head, holding me in place, so that I do not move away. As if she could pry me away with a crowbar, now; the entire New York Giants football team couldn't pull my tongue from between her legs.

The taste of her is almost too much for me to bear, it is so much...........I cna't find a word to express just how heavenly her taste is to me right then, and I stop trying to think about it. My tongue explores her wet folds; her outer lips soft and thick, her inner ones just prominent enough for me to slip between my lips and suck on; her fluids pour from her slowly, like a faucet just barely turned on, thick like Mrs. Butterworth's syrup, and I lap them up greedily.

After that first orgasm, it isn't difficult to get Ingrid rapidly back up to an explosive climax. Her increased sensitivity, plus the heightened arousal that had control over her, coupled with the "forbidenness" of what we were doing, all contribute to bring things to a head. Her moans cycle up, higher and louder, and then she lets out a loud moan/scream, as her hips thrust upwards into my face, trying to drive my tongue-- and my face, too-- deeper into her wet cunny, her legs trembling, her stomach muscles rolling, the cheeks of her ass squeezing. The flow of her juices increases, to a mouth-filling pour-- for just a second, I wish I had a cup handy, for her to cum in, so I could drink it down like a fine wine afterwards-- that I happily and greedily suck down into my mouth. Her total abandonment in her pleasure, combined with her taste, shred any remaining reserve I have, and I just have to have her, to take her, to make her mine......