Jill Mulvaney loved to spread her legs open.
As a teen, many years earlier, Jill competed in gymnastics. Her body was lean and limber. She learned the thrill of pushing her body to its utmost. When she stretched and pushed her limbs as far as they could go, Jill felt most in sync with her deep animal core. That connection always gave her joy.
Later, in college, Jill discovered the sexual advantages of being limber. She could fold and extend and contort her arms and legs and torso in ways that held her lovers in rapt attention. The men she knew intimately always marveled at the many positions Jill’s lean body could hold.
Of all Jill’s positions, one inspired admiration above the others: legs spread wide, pussy on display.
No other position left her feeling quite the same exquisite combination of vulnerability and strength. When spread, Jill could never forget that she exposed and revealed her most private parts. But when spread, she had power, too. She could see that power reflected in her lovers’ eyes. Around pussies, men became little boys. They could never get enough, never see enough. When confronted with one, open and on view, they all seemed to be subdued by its power. A delicious thrill took Jill every time she parted her legs. The wider she spread them, the more power she had over her lovers. The men she knew in college, exposed to Jill’s spread legs, fell under her spell every time.
Her late husband John was different. John loved Jill’s pussy, but he was never cowed by it. John and Jill would lie in bed, naked, Jill on her back. John would push gently against her knees, until they opened, and Jill exposed herself, and then John would attend to her. He would caress her, lick her, tease and tickle her. He would push her lips back with his fingers and carry on a long, silly conversation with her pussy. John would tell Jill’s pussy what a pretty pussy she was, that she was just right in every way — that she had the right amount of swell and curve, the ideal, flirty slit, the perfect little hooded button of a clit, and just the right degree of lippiness. Jill never could get enough of his words and his fingers and the press of his hand against her knees, pushing them open. She could never get enough of his swollen cock, pressing against her folds and entering her with the perfect mix of urgency and tenderness. John never failed to bring her to orgasm, nor did he mind that she often squirted into his hands and his face when she came. He drank whatever he could with glee. The days and nights in bed with John led Jill to connect the spreading of her legs with some of the happiest and most fulfilling moments and sensations she had ever known.
John had died two years before, of a sudden illness. Jill was 45 now, widowed, horny, and ready to find a mate again.
It was late summer, mid-morning, and her son Jack was downstairs, probably still sleeping in his bedroom. Jack had just graduated from college, and he was staying at home with mom until the fall, when he would move to another city to start a job.
Jill sat on the floor of her upstairs bedroom, back propped up against the side of the bed. She sat naked, with her legs spread straight out from her body. She looked at her reflection in a full length mirror a few feet away.
When she was a gymnast Jill could have spread her legs perfectly straight out, so that they formed a horizontal line from toe to toe. Though still fit for her age, she was neither as lean nor as limber as she was as a teen, and now she had to settle for her legs forming a wide, shallow ‘V’ instead of a straight line.