Still Learning to Love the Hair

She was sighing and content, while Christopher spent minutes trying to regain his breath and bring himself back to a more normal breathing cycle. Once achieved he was happy to spend seconds if not minutes with his face pressed against her if the attacks on his face would be paused.

She did in fact rest for a few short minutes before pulling up her knees and legs and rolling herself off the table. In her absence, his face suddenly became aware of how hot and trapped it had been as the relative coolness of the room washed over him. He could only imagine what a mess he must look like right now.

"That was a lot of fun. But now let's use some oil and get a proper massage."

Another wave of fear ran through Christopher. He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed, but she was just now grabbing the oil. And he knew from the first massage how horrible her oily, hairy pussy would be as it attacked his face.

She sat back on the table with her legs spread and her hairy mound right before him. It wasn't as full and fluffy as when they started, having gained a mixture of her juices and her sweat. But sitting in front of him she poured some oil into her hand and began to rub it in between her legs.

His fear grew as he watched her. She oiled her legs and her stomach. She oiled her arms and then those magnificent tits. It was as if she was putting on sunscreen and she dared not miss a spot. Once finished she lay down on her back.

From his perspective, Christopher could see the oily forest in front of him, but beyond that he could see her waist, the indentation of her navel, he followed up her tummy and to the valley between her breasts; those beautiful breasts.

And now he couldn't help but notice the nipples, brought to attention and standing proud. That's where he wanted to be. He could suckle her tits for two hours. Why hadn't she asked for that? He could hold them, squeeze them, caress them. He would have taken good care of them for her.

"Okay, now that you've had a little break, it's time to get back to work. And not that you have much choice, but I expect you to keep your face glued to where it belongs."

And with that warning, that instruction, that signal of doom, she slid the short distance to his face and he could feel her crossing her ankles as her smooth legs clamped the sides of his head.

And then it continued. The torture would not be stopped. She would squeeze his face and thrust her pelvis against him. She would make her clit find his nose and rub against it. She would make long passes where her hairs dragged and pressed into his face.

She made his breathing difficult. She made him breathe pussy. She made him breathe hair. She was sure once again she was getting hairs inside his nose and mouth. She knew he hated it. And she knew she loved it.

And it just went on and on. Christopher was finding himself more tired than he had ever been. He was beaten and abused. Her hair was everywhere. It was in his eyes, it was in his teeth. He would probably have a beard when this was all over. And when would it be over? She just kept going and going.