Josie Chances her Luck Part 2

Josie opened her eyes whilst their lips met, it was a strange sensation, hesitant and sensual. His eyes were closed, his long dark lashes fluttering as he concentrated on his task. Me, I’m that task. Josie felt her chest expand in a rush. He likes me. She closed her eyes, content to experiment.

His kisses didn’t stay soft and gentle for long. Harry licked her crevices, feeling the moist insides of her mouth with his tongue, then he broke away and kissed her neck, one hand massaging a breast, the other attempting to undo buttons. He gave up, kissed her quickly on the lips and slid a hand up the inside the material to the lace of her bra. He flicked a finger over her nipple, kissed her hard on her nape and reclaimed her mouth.

He was breathing pretty hard. Josie liked that he was aroused and she wanted to be naked with him, he seemed so intent, so focused. She wondered if it had been some time since his last fuck. Discretion prevented her from asking. Instead, she undid a button on his jeans and plunged her hand into his warm crotch. The reward was mesmerising. He was big and hard. AND he wore boxers. Josie smiled as he kissed the exact point her cleavage commenced and worked his way up to her collarbone with slick kisses.

In a moment of weakness, Harry did something telling. He cupped her face in both his hands and looked into her eyes. He made her feel as though her irises were the centre of his universe. Josie blinked, unsure. She squeezed his ample pole, in the palm of the hand she had wedged down his pants and he tilted his head back and rolled his eyes. Bingo.

“I see you like that”, she purred.

“Oh Honey, you have no idea.”

“Oh I think I do.” She murmured the words against the warmth of his lips.

Helpfully, Harry undid the zipper of his jeans, giving her freedom to flex her fingers.

“Thank you.”

She started to cautiously stroke his warm, hard cock, working out what he liked. He shivered and shook, Josie found it fascinating to watch. She wondered if he might cum very quickly if she continued. Harry read her mind.

“I have a surprise.”

“You do?”

“Yeah”, he smiled his heart-melting, lopsided grin. “Can you take your pants off?”

Josie laughed aloud.

“Maybe later?”

“O.K, maybe you’re right. Where is your fridge?”

“Behind you”

He sauntered over to the fridge with his backpack and Josie watched, intrigued. He glanced back.

“You can’t look.”

She busied herself finding a suitable album for their mood, leafing through her vinyl until Harry came to stand beside her. In an intimate gesture, he played with the skin on her lower back whilst she selected something good. Josie placed the needle on the track and faced him, gyrating her hips. She raised her hands above her head and danced, writhing her delicate fingers. Harry, opportunist, tugged her thin shirt up, over her breasts so she could easily slip out of it.

Josie watched his face. Her breasts were probably her best feature and today, her ample rack was nestled in her best bra. Josie smiled privately, 'just in case’ had become 'thank-fucking-god’. Her black, lacy number cupped her ample, pale, fleshy mounds perfectly. He looked impressed. She let her hands fall down to her sides, a little bit shy now she was semi-clothed. He’s standing in front of you with his fly undone. Josie laughed. She couldn’t help it. Harry looked down.

“I forgot I was semi dressed.”

“We got distracted.”

“Yeah. Oh man, you have the most amazing body”.

Josie beamed. Harry ran his big, broad, warm hands up and down the length of her back. He was so close his heat radiated. She stretched towards him, feeling her way in the strange immediacy.

“And you, smell... Awesome.” Josie said softly.

She nearly died from the intensity of the moment, very nearly melting off into the atmosphere. Harry smelt like apples, something else, illicit to her senses and very male, tobacco. Harry unhooked her bra and placed it behind her on the stereo. Josie gasped, forcing herself to not to reach out and cover up. Her pert breasts bounced into view. He cupped them, then ran his hands under them, moulding his palms to her rib cage. Tenderly he turned her body away from him, continuing to explore her flesh and the creamy warmth. Josie looked out the window, seeing nothing.

It was too hard to concentrate on the real world, she couldn’t ignore all the sensations ripping through her body, mocked any attempt. His touch was firm and sensual. She found herself looking down at his hands as he cupped her fullness, she bucked her arse into the bulge behind her. He kissed her bare shoulder, burning a line of small kisses to her ear.

“I’m so hot for you. I think I’ll break if we don’t fuck.”

Josie turned, enchanted. She kissed him on the mouth, slurping his bottom lip playfully into her mouth, tracing the inside curve of his gums with her tongue. Swirling around in circles on his hot inside, she pushed him to the floor, sitting on him, her legs either side of his hips. Together they unsheathed his chest. She ran her hands appreciatively over him. Clearly, he worked out. Harry was virtually hairless and his arms and torso were nicely defined. Josie ran her tongue along his breast bone, dipped into his navel and wriggled him out of his jeans.

“Oh, My.”

Josie grabbed his cock and licked all of it, over and over until the whole thing was covered in a fine sheen of saliva. She ran her tongue down his length and eyed him through her lashes. Harry looked back at her in disbelief. She smiled with his cock in her mouth and it bounced beneath her touch. She decided he liked that. Josie tickled his balls, he liked that too. She bobbed and sucked, feeling him grow even harder. He grabbed blindly at her, seemingly trying to get her to stop. Josie relented. She massaged his impressive cock with her thumb and a few of her fingers.

“Should I stop?” Her lips felt rubbery. She made her eyes wide with faux innocence. Harry’s breath came out in a whoosh.

“Ah”, was all he got out. His voice was husky.

“You know...” Josie hopped up, feeling playful. She popped the button and zipper of her pants. “For a guy who’s older than me, you seem easy to please.” Her eyes twinkled.

Bravely, she turned away from him and dropped her jeans to the floor. Her pink and black knickers came into view. She loved them, they had a keyhole at the back that tied with a ribbon, giving the impression that her bottom was succulent cleavage, ready for unwrapping. Trying out her best nymph impression, Josie slipped out of her jeans.

“You like these?”

She turned back towards him and snapped the elastic at her hips. He looked up in amazement, the picture of masculine confusion, red faced and breathing heavily. His eyes were saucers of lust. She loved every second of it.

“You overwhelm me, Sweetheart.” Harry told her, in his thickest Irish drawl.

She crawled back to sitting atop him once more, his cock throbbing between them, through the cotton of his boxers and the satin of her knickers. She clenched her thighs and rose and fell over his impressive mound.

“Do you have a condom?”

His man-meat was like steel beneath the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Her pussy juice soaked into the material of her knickers and the room began to smell like her, like sex. Harry ran his hands up her thighs.

“I don’t Sweetheart. I never thought it would get this far”.

Her face twisted in dismay. Harry eased her off his lap.

“We can do other things.”

With his boxers sticking straight out like a tent in front of him, Harry padded over to the fridge. He took out a box and came back. She didn’t get a chance to see what it was, he obscured her view and kissed her on the mouth.

“You look lovely like that, all swollen and ready for me.”

Josie blushed and self consciously brought a finger to her lips. He kissed it and then her mouth once more. Harry fondled her amply breasts, his fingers making there way towards her soft centre. She moaned, leaning into his touch, willing him to ease the torturous tension. Harry ran a thumb over the sensitive little nub of her hyper-alert clitoris, through her knickers.

“Oah!” She squeaked, hoping he wouldn’t stop.

He didn’t. Harry patiently rubbed a friendly finger around her secret parts, then two fingers, as she twitched and thrust her pussy towards his ministrations. He brought a pussy-juice coated finger to his lips and sucked. Josie thought she had never seen anything so erotic. Her vision was clouded, her mind reeled, her insides ached for fulfilment. She kissed his mouth, sloppy with need.

Josie groped at her knickers and managed to struggle out of them. She felt for his crotch, searching for reassuring hardness. As his fingers worked their wicked way around her sopping peach she tried in vain to direct his throbbing member towards her folds. Though Harry kissed her passionately and deftly played sweet music on her clit, he wouldn’t let her find relief.

“I...” Josie was flushed with the need to cum. “I want you to fuck me.”

Her eyes were glazed, her lips blood-red with lust and her cheeks flushed. Though she had no idea, Harry thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She became dimly aware of a rustling as Harry fidgeted with a package. In the back of her mind she hoped it was actually a prophylactic wrapper, but her brain was a bit addled to articulate her concern.

He stopped touching her. Josie sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, making a noise like a disappointed kitten. Harry watched her, his cock throbbing. He wanted to surprise her and yet his desperation was nearly at fever pitch too. Josie dropped a hand to her own pussy, intent on relieving some of the ache, even if Harry had stopped. He batted her hand away, taking her chin in his hands.

Just before he kissed her, Harry noted that her eyes were black with lust, the green of her irises had disappeared. He ran the long, narrow ice block provocatively up her inner thigh. Josie shivered with shock. She mumbled at the feel of ice on her skin but her words were lost in their embrace. Harry pulled away to check.

“Is this ok?” He asked thickly.

Josie wasn’t sure what she was agreeing too and she started to nod. She felt an icy pole insert itself between her thighs and she came, in crashing waves over his hand and the glace as he rubbed it on her clit and then disappeared it into her sopping pussy. Seconds later he abandoned his ploy. It was Josie who interrupted him, demanding more. She pushed him down so he was beneath her on the floor. She held his stiff, aching pole in her hands and directed it at her wet centre, unable to wait a single moment longer.

She sank thoughtfully onto his meat and sighed like an angel as he filled her. Barely allowing him time to register the strange mixture of cold and hot, Josie rose up on her knees and sank back down, again. Once fully impaled, this time she ground her hips into him, feeling his substantial penis moving within her, grinding her clit onto his abdomen. It was too much, Harry’s world was spinning, his seed was bursting to get out. He steadied her hips and looked at her pleadingly.

“Go slow.” His desperate expression spoke volumes. “Go slow. You’re a goddess.”

Josie did her best. She ceased to grind like a woman possessed. Rising up once more, she stroked. Her eyes rolled her pussy starting to quake. It’s never felt this good before. Harry rubbed her breasts, distracting her from her task. He seized the moment, rolling the two of them, his cock still buried deep but on top of her this time. He didn’t stroke. He withdrew. Josie clawed at him, trying to get him to fill her once more. Harry avoided her hands.

He slid down on the carpet and cupped her lovely, fleshy bottom in his hands. Josie bent her head and stared at him in amazement, a question in her eyes. Needing no encouragement, Harry buried his head. It was an amazing sensation. Harry thought she tasted like sunshine, her juice dribbling down his chin as he lapped. He was aware too, of his painfully rigid cock pressing into the carpet beneath him.

Josie leaned back on her elbows and spread her thighs in appreciation, offering more of her sweetness to the deft, well practised strokes of his tongue. He licked and teased, he buried his tongue deep in her slit and playfully shook his head. The feelings were delightful beyond measure. Before long Josie felt a gargantuan orgasm brewing in her pussy. He rubbed his pinkie on her sphincter and Josie erupted, cooing and grabbing at his arms.

She wanted him to stop licking her, to stop playing her like an instrument with his expert touch and tongue. Her pussy throbbed for bigger things and she succeeded in pulling him up on top of her, revelling in his weight as he covered her body with his. His pussy-coated face came very close to hers.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what?” Josie’s mind was a haze of longing.

“I taste like you.”

“Kiss me, fool” Josie shot at him, echoing her own throw-away line from earlier. An earlier, that felt like a lifetime ago.

He lowered his head and kissed her, an embrace that was at once tender and searingly hot. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, asking her to surrender. Josie didn’t need to be coaxed. Her thighs fell open and she felt the weight of his cock sliding inside her wet centre. Her breasts rubbed against the wall of his chest, his unrelenting kiss stealing her breath.

“Oooh.”

“You feel so good.”

Harry stayed very close, his face millimetres from hers. He thrust into her with a lusty intensity that seemed to shake them both. He established a rhythm and whereas Josie might have closed her eyes at the amazing sensations he unleashed inside her, his expression demanded she keep her eyes open, fixed on his. He pumped into her sopping pussy, more and more firmly.

“ooOHh.” Her muscles clenched around him.

Josie’s fingers clawed at his back. His blue eyes captivated her and ultimately, as his pace intensified to fever pitch, it was his gaze that drove her to orgasm. He watched in awe as she started to cum, quivering inside and out. His face shone with pride at his achievement. She felt like his woman. Her amazing, mind-numbing. seemingly-endless orgasm was their triumph. Josie didn’t question the sensations ripping through her, not then, she just felt. She was a ball of feeling and light.

Harry exploded inside her and she gasped, shocked. As if reality came roaring back into their little universe, Harry withdrew like a hot poker, leaking out the rest of his load onto the softness of her belly. Harry was heaving and sweating into her. Josie couldn’t help it, she laughed. His eyes had a wary look, he seemed scared, apprehensive.

“Don’t worry” she wrapped arms around her exhausted lover. “You won’t be a daddy, I’ll take the morning after pill.”

Harry collapsed, relieved and a little ashamed at his lack of restraint. Their lack of restraint. His big arms encircled her waist and he rested his head on her stomach, oblivious to his own sticky discharge still drying on her skin. Josie grinned, playfully stroking his hair. Her universe felt different.

“You big, dirty boy.” She giggled.

Harry kissed her side.

Josie Chances her Luck

In a game of cat and mouse, this pussy has more energy than most.

Josie leaned back, distancing herself from her computer screen. Surely, that was enough editing for one day. Her eyes felt squint, the back of her head throbbed in the way only an impending headache could. Josie sighed and closed the browser window. She took her coffee out onto the small, metal balcony and watched Melbourne go by, beneath her. Out in the wind she felt the beginnings of her headache receding and the wind washed her mind clear.

Straining her eyes felt good. The rush hour crowd passed by beneath her, 30 floors down, on the footpath. Her eyes adjusting once more to the middle-distance. A little boy with an amazing mohawk and his mother went by, a good looking man in a business suit brushed past people rudely in his haste before disappearing from her view, enveloped by the buildings.

Inside, Josie resisted the urge to turn on the TV. She logged onto a social chat site and talked to a few anonymous avatars. It wasn't really her thing but Josie was new to this town, had few friends as yet and therefore little social contact. An idea gripped her and she logged onto a dating website, wrote a brief profile and submitted a photo. Losing her nerve she logged off forgot about it and made dinner for herself.

It was a few days later that Josie remembered she'd signed up to an on-line meeting-place, having finished a particularly meaty editing session. She decided to check it out. The results made her jump up, she looked again at the computer screen, from the safety of standing behind her chair, 87 responses? She grinned, trawling through the messages. A lot of crap, some men in their mid fifties only looking for younger women, who had to be in there thirties or younger. She deleted all of these without reading them. It narrowed the field to 50.

Josie decided that she had to pick at least one and she would have to meet him. It seemed only reasonable and hell, the odds were pretty good. She set about her task with her tongue firmly tucked to one side of her mouth, held there by her teeth. It was one of her more awful habits, she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

Two hours later she had narrowed it down to a selection of ten men, 8 of which sounded too good to be true. Five of them had left telephone numbers. Instead of messaging, she took the bull by the horns and decided to call. Josie looked at the clock, 7pm on a Thursday. Was that an ok time to call? The first one was Ralph. At Ralph's house a very young voice answered the phone, a child of around 7 or 8? Before the man could come to the phone she'd hung up. Josie carefully deleted his profile from her selection.

Harry answered the phone and sounded annoyed, she very nearly hung up. She introduced herself and there was a pause. Silence down the line that made her a little nervous.

“I'm impressed by your nerve.”

She sighed into the receiver and they chatted for a few minutes. Harry had just gotten home and jumped in the shower, the phone had forced him out and he was dripping, hence his annoyance. As they chatted for a little longer he seemed to relax. He told her most women on the site started their correspondence via email, and that sometimes, he spoke to ladies three or four times this way before they stopped. No one rang him, it was almost uncouth. He laughed into the receiver and Josie felt her heart jump. It was a great sound, deep and easy.

Why was a nice-sounding man such as this one, looking for dates on an Internet site, why couldn't he snag girls in the real world? Josie didn't ask. She learnt that Harry lived across town and that they both had Skype. She agreed to talk with him some more in a day or two, neither of them suggested meeting in person and after that they hung up. Her fingers tingled as she set down the phone. What was wrong with him? The man seemed a little too good to be real. Perhaps he had bad acne scars? Perhaps he was fat?

On Monday her phone rang, it was 11 in the morning so Josie presumed it was her agent. She answered brusquely, caught off guard by Harry.

“We seem to have a habit of talking at inopportune times.”

He worked from home, he said (although he didn't tell her what he did for a living and Josie didn't ask). He wanted to have a Skype chat with her that evening. Was she free? Josie hesitated, she didn't want this man thinking she had nothing better planned. Testing her luck she declined. He didn't say anything right away, only breathed down the phone line.

The thought struck her that for strangers, they were standing very close together, his breath made it sound like he was actually breathing on her. Josie sighed, exhibiting another of her bad habits. She caught herself and tried not to exhale too heavily into the phone-line.

“Oh alright, I may not be free this evening but you work from home, right? What about right now?”

She bit her bottom lip and waited for his response. Harry cleared this throat.

“O.K.”

They exchanged Skype details and got off the phone. She logged on and waited. It dailled, Josie picked up and there they were, facing one another on the little web-cam screen.

“Hi” She said shyly.

He grinned at her, a lopsided grin that looked like one side of his lips were activated by a string. He had a dimple. She broke into a broad grin, her stomach flip-flopping. Off to a good start.

She learnt all types of things about Harry. He was 33, a writer, Irish and knew few people in Melbourne. He'd come here several years ago chasing a woman. She had left him some time ago, since then he had been saving for money to go home. He didn't go out and meet women the regular way because it meant sitting in bars or going to shows or watching bands and all these things cost money. Money that he was saving to pay off his debts and pay for a ticket to the UK. Damaged goods. Josie thought to herself as he talked. But he was fun and easy-going and they laughed a lot.

Josie was more cautious about telling him things about herself. At 26, she felt as though she should be in a better place in her life and had made some interesting choices but she was a good copy editor and this well paid work in Australia was her big chance. She told Harry about her job and talked about where she would like to travel. She kept the conversation vague and the details of her own life hazy. Josie wasn't sure why. She didn't distrust him, it just felt too easy and she refrained from attempting to spill her life story over the Internet to a man she had never met in the flesh. At 2pm, Josie excused herself. She had to get back to work.

They hadn't arranged to catch up again and Josie thought she might like to meet him in person. He lived around an hour away from the city but public transport in Melbourne was good, perhaps she would call him later in the week and arrange something. She put him out of her mind and got stuck back into her work load. Later she went to the gym.

Two weeks passed and Josie found herself wondering if she had made a bad impression. She regularly used her vibrator to stimulate herself and more than once she had caught herself fantasising about Harry's cute, dimpled grin as she used the buzzing tool on her pussy. Had he lost interest? Never one to stand by as the rest of the world turned without her, Josie picked up the phone.

When she rang his number, it went through to voice mail. Before she could over-think her reaction, she breathed playfully into the receiver, doing (what she thought sounded like) a Marilyn impression.

“Hey Big Booooy, it's been so long since I've heard from you. Don't you wanna play with me any more?”

She gently replaced the receiver with a click. Josie went for a run. When she got back her answer service was blinking. She grinned and retrieved the message, hugging a cushion from the couch to her chest in anticipation.

“Hey”, and then came one of Harry's characteristic loaded silences;“Don't take this the wrong way. Was it you that just rang me? Some cute, saucy vixen left a message on my phone. I thought it might be you.”

That was all. He hadn't said that he'd like to speak with her, in fact, she was a little disappointed. Except for the fact that he had described her greeting as saucy, he hadn't really given her a reason to contact him. So she didn't. Metaphorically sitting on her hands for a few days, Josie left things as they were.

Saturday rocked around, Josie watched commuters on the streets below change from suits rushing to drone-jobs, to big groups of teenagers; families with pushers and couples hand-in-hand. Sometimes the scenes below made her so determined to be part of life, instead of observing that she caught the lift the 30 floors down and went out to walk in the streets, brushing past real people with relief as she headed towards to City Baths.

Josie loved to swim, she liked the feel of the water on her skin and the bubble of protective not-noise that closed around her in the sub-terrainium seclusion. Exhaustion too, was a welcome retreat from the addled wondering of her lonely brain. This particular Saturday she finished up at the pool and stepped outside onto Swanston St feeling sufficiently elated. She made her way back to her apartment with a spring in her step.

Once inside, Josie hung her bathers over the balcony to dry. Out in the wind she heard the phone ring. She raced to answer the call.

“Hi” Josie answered breathlessly.

“Hey Babe” Harry purred into the phone.

“Oh, it's you.” She pretended to be non-nonplussed.

“Yeah it's me, Crazy Girl. Who else would call you at 9.30am on a Saturday?”

Josie laughed quietly. My mum. But she didn't say anything.

“I'm really lonely, and horny today. Come over?”

What was left of Harry's Irish accent twanged sexily at her.

“No.” Josie didn't know why she was overly cautious with new people but she trusted her instincts implicitly.

“Fine.”

She sensed he was about to hang up.

“You can Skype me if you want? Just give me a minute or two to put some clothes on.” She added wickedly and giggled. As she hung up, Josie thought she heard Harry groan.

Like a woman possessed, she hatched a plan. Her hands shook but she felt emboldened by his blatant offer and her sex tingled. She rushed to the freezer and took out an ice-cream, frozen-in-a-cone. She put her wet bikini back on and moved her laptop into the lounge room. Josie set it down on the glass-topped coffee table and settled herself on the floor in front of the couch.

He dialled through and she picked up the call. As the web cam kicked in, before she lost her nerve she picked up the frozen treat. He waved. Josie put her fingers to her lips and indicated he shouldn't speak. She put the ice cream in her mouth and cracked the outer layer of chocolate, eating the thin layer of chocolate and all the nuts. She looked into the web cam and carefully positioned her body so he got a good view of her lush breasts and perky pebbled nipples. Her suit was still wet and it worked to her advantage.

Josie began to enthusiastically make delicate love to the ice cream in her hands, squeezing the vanilla treat between her lips and melting the cream until it ran suggestively down her lips and chin. Harry stared at her performance, wide eyed. He leaned in. Josie knew she couldn't eat the whole ice cream without saying something.

“Do you like that?”

Harry nodded, mute. His laptop screen shook as he moved it, directing the web cam at his crotch. Through his light-coloured jeans Josie could make out a straining erection. Ice-cream caked all around her mouth, she grinned. Devilishly made her terminate the Skype call. No sooner had she wiped her mouth and popped on a ti-shirt, than the phone rang. He didn't greet her, but Harry paused just long enough for Josie to be sure who was calling.

“You're wicked.”

“Thank you.” Josie purred.

“Wanna come over now?”

“No.”

And Josie hung up.

She laughed at the receiver, did a little run around her apartment with all the nervous energy accumulating in her system and then she took herself off to a warm shower. She changed into tight jeans and a halter top, ate some muesli and made the decision. She dialled Harry's number.

“Hullo, Harry's phone”

Josie didn't bother to say who it was.

“But you could come here?”

He paused. She licked her lips in the delicious, characteristic, shocked Harry-silence.

“Well Harry, I'll give you my address and you can decide for yourself.”

After hanging up the phone, Josie felt a pang of apprehension. She was dizzy with desire and in her haste, had given her details to a total stranger. Josie ran a hand through her long, honey-brown locks and glanced at the door. Maybe he wouldn't come. She began clearing her junk from the lounge room, just in case. All the while wondering how long it might take, if he did decide to show up.

Josie painted her toenails. She made vegetable stock using her nervous energy to chop and dice things she found in her fridge. She sought out containers and froze some of it. A few hours passed. Perhaps he really isn't going to show up. Restless, Josie bundled her hair into a loose knot on top of her head, located a book of short stories a friend from home had sent recently and threw it and a rug into a big, old carry-all.

Josie was determined to find peace of mind at the park. Then at least, if he did show up, hours later and cocky with it, she would have the last laugh. She wrenched the door open, almost careering into a visitor. Harry. How in the hell had he gotten up the lift without being buzzed into the building? She scowled at him, her black mood dissipating. He wore beige-ish moleskins, a dark blue ti-shirt, comfy-looking skate shoes and a wicked grin. One dimple taunted her. His blue eyes twinkled at her, mocking her anger.

“Hey Lady. Goin' somewhere?”

“I...”

Josie felt a bit silly.

“I was going to the park to get air. Interested?” She swung her daggy shoulder bag between them and he eyed her with interest.

“No.”

The Irish twang to his monosyllabic response caught her off guard. Her senses zinged with lust.

“Oh”. Josie let all of the air out of her lungs in a rush.

“Can I come inside?” He gestured towards the inside of her flat.

Josie nodded dumbly. Harry took one long, searching look at her face and grabbed her hand, hauling her bodily back over the threshold.

“You're a moody one.” He looked at her in a disarming way that made her feel like he was looking right through her. She felt a twinge of regret at her childish behaviour.

“I didn't think you were coming.”

“Obviously”.

“Coffee?”

“Oh. O.K.” Harry rubbed his hands together in an unconsciously nervous gesture.

He paced about the lounge room. Josie blushed, recognising that he would be remembering what she did on the web-cam, only hours before.

“You're much better looking in person”, she ventured brightly.

“Yeah, you too.” He racked a hand through his messy hair. “C'mere?”

With a degree of uncertainty, Josie went. She stood two foot from him and looked up into his eyes. He was a good looking man, taller than her by a good few inches and by god, he was nervous. He tugged a belt loop at the front of her jeans shyly but firmly, encouraging her to close the distance between them. Harry crooked his finger and lifted her chin. Their eyes met.

His expression was sizzling hot. Josie bravely put her hands on his chest, palms first. Under the thin layer of his worn ti-shirt, he was hot. His heart was hammering too. Josie slid her hands from his pecks, to the his neck, lowering his face towards hers. She filled her nostrils with his unfamiliar scent. It was the last sensation to hit her, before their lips met.

“You drove me crazy this morning” he murmured onto her lips.

“Kiss me, fool” Josie shot back, licking his lower lip and opening her mouth to take his tongue.

Sex after the Storm

This is steamy make up sex with no apologies for hotness and haste.

We're still shouting, it makes my heart hurt. And then, BANG the door slams shut. In the corridor, I'm suddenly alone. The walls reverberate with nothingness. And my tears choose to fall. Great racking sobs. For the love that we'd had, that I shattered; for my big mouth, for your sharp retorts and the shreds of our relationship that are left in this sullen silence, made all the more  conspicuous by your absence.

I picture you, striding towards nowhere. Your boots hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, noticing no one. You plunge through people. The same invisible crowd examine your ardour out of the corner of their eyes, wondering what made you so angry. Anger translates into your mood, your beautiful eyes flash, your lips have thinned and the cigarette in your hand trembles.

'Cool off. Cool off Babe and come back to me'. By now I've descended down the wall into sitting position, until my sorry arse is resting on the polished boards of the hallway. Normally this would be my favourite time of day. Outside, filtering into my miserable hallway, it's dusk. The sky is falling slowly.

Inside, the charged silence nearly succeeds in driving me crazy. I can hear the clock tick in the kitchen, three rooms away. By now, my face is dry and salty. My tears have cleared. My skin feels hard from the sheen of sadness that still coats my face. I want you.

Where are you? Will things ever be the same?

Later, I hear the scrape of your lead footsteps as you approach the stairs leading up to our doorway. It's a foreboding sound. I almost crack a smile as the doorbell rings. In your haste you stormed out and didn't take your keys. We're forced to confront one another. I don't want to shy away. A coward would unhitch the latch and disappear into the bowels of our house.

It's one thing I'm not.

I swing the door open and search the look you're wearing for signs of life and love. I harden my heart and look again for signs of possible rebuttal. Aside from ready anger, directed at me in the flint from your green eyes, you give me nothing. Your face is hard. It scares me.

You flick the last of a cigarette out into the front yard and push past me into the room.

“We need to talk.”. My voice is flat but it cracks anyway. I ache to touch you, to make us forget. There's a yawning distance between us and all of a sudden I don't feel so brave.

“Yeah.” You look at your shoes.

I want you to watch me. I will your selfish, downcast eyes to search my face, as I was searching yours. Does our love amount to so little?

“Kane..? It got out of hand before, you know what I'm like. I wanted you to understand a few things but I didn't mean for us to get so...ugly. I love you.”

The words come softly. I can feel the phrases brewing in me as I talk. If I can keep speaking, I have the bizarre sensation that I'll know what to say. I pick invisible lint off the sleeve of my green jumper. I can tell I have your attention, mostly because of the pause I've chosen. You haven't moved.

“I gotta grow a thicker skin, I guess. I wish you didn't talk about me. About US on your show”

“Yeah.”

I can feel my eyes narrowing as you echo your previous monosyllabic response.

“I won't do that so much any more.”

To my ears the words sound ominous. You stumble on.

“I'm sorry I mentioned your pot belly, you must know I'm being stupid, it's only tiny. I criticized your dress-sense but someone had to say something...you're outrageous.”

I should have been angry, right then. I should have been inconsolable. But one side of your mouth twitches in place of the ability to grin. You reach for me with tree trunk arms that I call home, encircling my waist. I exhale as though I have been holding my breath for ten years, leaning into your embrace. We're so close I can smell your skin. I nuzzle your neck.

“You shouldn't do those things.” I reprimand.

Another pause.

“Babe, you do bad things too. This would never have happened if you hadn't started up at me about eating less butter. You made me feel like shit. I can look after myself, I'm a grown man”

I'm listening. One impertinent finger lifts my chin so we have eye contact.

“In future, don't ever shout at me. I hate shouting.”

“You wouldn't listen/”

And you silence me with a kiss. A searing, heated, nasty-hot, grazing kiss that makes me want to clutch you and devour your head. You stubble burns me. You lash my softness with the intensity of your viper-tongue.

It's the same tool that less than two hours ago was hurting me. You dared to you insult me with your two-bit philosophy and your precious opinions over the airwaves no less, so my humiliation was complete. Now I'm dining on our discontent. There's a desperation in the union of our mouths. You're clutching my shoulders and pressing your warm chest into mine. Our shuffling and the noise of our breath takes up space in the stagnant hallway. You thrust your hips and I step back. We stumble. My back comes to rest pressed against the wall. You unbutton my work shirt with shaking fingers.

I make a noise in the back of my throat and pull your ti-shirt over your head, exposing your chest to my hungry fingers. I kiss you collar-bone and the spot where your chest hair stops. I gasp as you stuff your hand up my shirt and fight the under-wire of my bra to catch my breast. I can hear your shoes clumping heavily onto the floorboards as you kick them off.

I almost bang my head on the wall as your keen lips recapture mine. Without your belt I can easily wedge my hands past the elastic of your boxers, into the warmth of your groin. As I grasp your madly erect cock, we both stop. Panting, looking at each other for the briefest of moments. Then I'm kissing your lips and wrapping my free hand around your neck, pulling you closer.

You meet me there, in the middle, surrounded by a dark haze of indecision and need. 'Oh Kane' my heart calls. I don't want you to hate me.

We kiss as though after this last exertion we'll have nothing left to give each other. Maybe there is nothing left to hope for once this moment passes? Cities have been lost for less. The surrender makes me whimper and you mistake it for lust, pulling me into your embrace, smothering my voice with your tongue. As I love I am lost. As I give, I am disappearing into the apparition that you wish was me. It has to be enough for now.

I'm reeling. Backing away from you. I can't see your eyes and if I could, your pupils would be dilated so much they would obscure the vivid green. You're as vulnerable as I am at this moment but neither of us draw breath to commiserate. I hastily help you out of your jeans and your socks. There's lots of panting and shredding of clothes. We're so clumsy as we rush, it's almost laughable. I'm hungry for your cock.

You're naked. We're hot, wet, sloppy. You're hiking up my tiny skirt and touching my clit through the lace of my knickers. I'm squirming against your fingers. You're sliding a brutal hand around my breasts, grasping, rubbing. You're pushing the materials of my clothes out of your path, there's no thinking. I get a sharp pleasure from the feel of stretched cloth.

I'm at new heights of feverish arousal and I want you to fuck me in the impeding doom of twilight, on the floor of our unlit hallway. I want to feel you moving inside me, when the only sound will be your rasping breath and my mews of ardour.

I get my wish.

With your knees bent and my back flat against the wall, I can feel your cock about to enter me. My knickers are pulled to one side. We both tip and you use your knees to lift and pin me up. Cock meat slides into my-not-quite-ready pussy. I open to you but not without a bite of pain. You like it tight. Your grunt assuages my tiny grudge. I enjoy the fulfilling feeling of you sliding home.

Our eyes don't meet. You're tongue is on my neck, in my ear. You're lost in softness, thrusting. It's hard to manage like this, despite the anger. You move us. Clamouring down the hallway with your impaled load. My hold on tight, my hands clasped around your neck. We continue fucking in the kitchen. You dump me so I'm splayed on the dining table, my hips meeting yours. I can't quite reach your chest although I stretch my fingers to try to touch you. When you thrust it makes my back arch. Your dick nods at my g-spot.

“AAAhh”

I sit up, shuffling my arse towards you. We both watch your meat sliding in and out of me, sleek with juice, thick and pink. I lean back on my hands and you follow. I can feel the heat from the wall of your chest but we're not touching. You continue to pump in a frenzied rhythm, driving us both to the edge. I brush the hair out of your eyes and our lips meet. You're raking your tongue over my teeth, plunging it into my mouth. I'm sucking it, against the backdrop of squishy noises from our sexes meeting.

We're still kissing as I cum all over your blissful pole. I'm moaning and thrashing. I'm a danger to us both in my mind-numbing orgasm. You're tongue retreats and you hold me. After the shuddering subsides I can feel the pulse in your neck, close to my face. You're chest hair tickles my sensitive breasts. But you haven't come. You keep thrusting at me and my body is more pliant now. I lie back, enjoying the rushing feeling of your dick coming and going. I imagine your little arse cheeks clenching as you stroke.

You pull me up, I get stuck to the plastic table-cloth as I move. I almost laugh. You flip me over and bend me over the table. The urge to laugh leaves me swiftly as I take what you have to give. With your big hands on my hips, your pace increases and the depth of your strokes make the back of my eyeballs hurt.

“Oh. Kane!”

There's a guttural noise of pleasure from your exertion. I can feel you growing inside me. I feel the shuddering mini-tempest of your cock as you unload wads of spoof up my insides. I sigh and start to giggle. It's a breathless, massive noise. I don't know what we'll do now.

Kiss me. It doesn't matter, kiss me.

Insatiable

Playfully Riley coaxes his lover to new heights...

The magician continues to weave his magic, sliding his finger in and out of her moist hole. Karina moans, licking her lips. He plunges, not rubbing, just thrusting with his digit, ignoring her surrounding flesh, her clit, focusing too much of his attentions on her cock slot. She fights to divert his attentions. Kneeling next to him, on all fours, Karina is sucking on his meat, keeping her cunt within easy reach. Karina enjoys herself, diving for the head, sliding her moist tongue around his helmet, lathering as she travels. She pulls his foreskin taut before engulfing his member in a complete, moist stroke. In return, Riley's dexterous hand responds, finally beginning a gentle, insistent assault on her nub.

“Oh ….Rie...” she sighs “Oh Yeah.”

Karina makes appreciative noises. Her voice vibrates as she bobs on his cock. Her pussy throbs. She tries to return the pleasure without losing her mind, She spreads her thighs even wider, allowing him ultimate access whilst she continues to suck and lick. She buries her lips in the divot at the base of his shaft greedily. Her mouth is deliciously close to his balls. Her wet kisses increase his desire. He groans, A LOT. Riley clenches his thighs. She giggles and the throaty sound translates immediately onto his penis, sending a shiver up his cock. Riley reaches down and holds onto the base of his dick, extracting her face from it. His expression is keen with desire.

“Don't do this. Stop” He grins. “Stop”

All the while his fingers fidget on her insides. He gives her delightful, feathery caresses and clouds her mind with erotic sensation. His fingers explore her labia, flitting about to include her clitoris and Riley thrusts inside her slit with two fingers. He finds no rhythm, deliberately. She tenses her pert bottom, enduring the torture. His touch holds a certain urgency. Excitement drives his fingers.

“Gentle” She whispers, unable to wait.

In one move, Karina is whisking her leg around. She sits on top of him. Karina puts a palm flat on his chest and begins to stuff her pussy with his length. At first she holds his gaze but as his man-meat finds its way in, she finds herself almost unable to keep her eyes open. Its like butterflies and steel; chilli and sponge cake, inexplicable but deliciously filling. The smoothness of her descent makes her pussy feel like cream. She is hot and slick, greased by desire. His ample length rides in, stretching her. She takes her tantalising time.

Riley lets her slide home, until she is fully stuffed. He holds her hips. His grip is strong and she is unable to rise and stoke. They remain connected in limbo, in the breathe before a fuck. His palms thread upwards from her hips and he fills his hands with her breasts. Each thumb teases a nipple and waves of feeling flicker through Karina. Fire makes its way from the tip of her pert tipples to her sex. She sucks on her bottom lip. It emerged from her mouth glistening.

The heat of his palms moves all over her velvet globes. He grasps and flexes his hands around them, holding her flesh until she bends, willing him to take her breast in his mouth. Her chest descends, he licks at the tips. She tenses her pussy muscles, feeling his girth on her insides, immobile. The sweetest of tortures.

“Please?”

She begs and he ignores her. Riley lathers one pink, pert nipple, rubbing and coating the other with the warmth of his hand. Her pussy remains stretched but still their bodies are stagnant. She enjoys the feeling of being impaled, wanting more desperately. Karina shifts her weight and Riley's hand shoots to her hip in reprimand, steadying her

She opens her eyes and admires the man kissing her big breasts with enthusiasm. She leans in, thrusting her chest at him, breathing hard. His fair hair hides his eyes. Desperate to feel his cock thrusts, she hesitates only a moment. Karina grabs the candle from their night stand, unloading some of the saucers hot contents onto his pecks. He jumps, taken aback by the scalding heat. His action inadvertently thrusts his cock deep into her.

“Witch”

Riley stops making love to her breasts. He blows out the candle and sets it to one side. Deftly he switched their positions and strokes without preamble. He charges the silence with his forceful entry. His rocking hips thrust his ample man-eat into her wet folds and eagerly Karina meets him. She spreads her thighs wide, willing him to plunder more of her. He pumps and when she thinks she might die from it, he holds her ankles either side of his ears and takes his cock to new depths.

Riley drops his pace. She moans and moans. Their intimate slowness doesn't last. Riley coaxes her up and flips her. He drives his unrelenting pole into her softeness, her knees either side of his thighs. She lets him take her for a number of deep, fast thrusts. 'Gentle', she tells him, as though calming a stallion. Riley registers her request. He's buried in her, 8/10th lost to the moment but he grins, obediently slowing their pace.

Karina moves next, drawing her hips up rhythmically and rolling her pelvis in time with his strokes . He lets her lead as his orgasm builds. Karina keeps up her rocking motion, bending to allow her body as much penetration as possible. Eagerly she buries her head on the bed, near her elbows. At each deep stroke her fingers clutch the mattress.

“OhGodOhGod. OH GOD!”

She feels Riley thicken, his legs growing tense like tree-trunks. Then she forgets him, hearing and seeing nothing beyond the tumbling blackness of her own earth-shattering orgasm. Spurred by her exquisite, impromptu inner-massage, Riley unloads his cum. He slows his movements, watching Karina bounce and writhe as passion ripples through her. Her pussy muscles clench and unclench delightfully and so he holds on, waiting. The moment subsides. Karina giggles, feeling dirty and playful. It's the only sound in the silence following their mutual release.

Carefully, Riley continues to feed her his diminishing member, pushing what is left of his fatness back into her slickness. He is familiar with the pleasant reaction his final effort might receive. It does the trick. Most unexpectedly, Karina loses herself in another crashing orgasm, her pussy alive, her cheeks flushed, her resistance at its weakest.

She eases him out of her then, before being reduced to a wobbling mess of pussy and secretions. Karina rolls onto her back and pulls him to join her. Riley relaxes. He kisses her ebony shoulder and the corner of her beautiful mouth. He didn't say anything and she isn't sure it's necessary. When he lowers his head and takes her into a desirous, tangle of tongues she knows they don't need to speak.

The kiss deepens. She wraps a leg around his thigh, drawing him bodily closer. In surprise she notes his cock's hardness between them. The man's desire is insatiable. Karina runs her hand through his blonde hair and continues. Her hammering heart belies her exhaustion, though she's more than ready for more.

Izetta and Alfonse

Izetta has her man. Right now they share a perfect moment. But maybe, just maybe, what he asks of her is more than she can give...

Izetta's eyes close in near-bliss. His hand sweeps across her lovely, caramel-toned, rounded hip and continues on towards its target. With a little thrill she notices just how closely Alphonse is watching her response. How she loves an attentive lover and this man is solely focused on her pleasure. His brown eyes study her face, as though drinking her in. He lies mere millimetres away, their faces almost touching. As his adventurous hand begins it's delicate probing of her pussy, Izetta can't help herself, she closes her eyes and lets out a kitten-cry. She follows her outburst with whispered, encouraging words.

“Don't stop”

Fleetingly, Izetta parts her lashes to view her lover's stubbly visage. Having found her sopping, intimate folds, his eyes are slitted and heavy with desire. Entwined, Izetta breathes into his parted mouth. Every dexterous stroke of his fingers between her thighs, stokes the passion at her core. Izetta writhes, his ministrations rob her of conscious thought. No longer is she able to find his lips with hers, though she longs to allow him to feel her fever. Instead, Izetta moans and rasps. A wanton to the desire he has unleashed with a mere touch.

The space between them, though minuscule, is too much. She mews with pent-up frustrations, wishing for the moment when he will enter her. She reaches between them and grasps his cock, wrapping her fingers around his throbbing head. He bucks into her hand, as swollen as stone, as ready as granite. She shifts. Aching. When will it end?

Sensing her quiet desperation, Alphonse pulls her bodily atop him. As she straddles his impressive frame she runs her appreciative fingers over the fine down of his dark body hair. His massive chest expands beneath her touch. He is not vain but her fingers burn him. He swells beneath her gaze. She bends her head to kiss him. She rubs his shaft using her wet centre, coating his cock in her slickness. The darkness in his eyes pleases her and she knows they will have to join bodies soon. Leaning back on his thick thighs as though horse-riding, Izetta thinks about grasping his cock and taking him into her mouth. She doesn't. The thought passes. She is unable to wait.

Alfonse is an intense man, he demands of her, greedily eliciting responses. Now, he pulls her towards his delectable lips. If she is honest, at this moment, Izetta finds no hardship in being led. She nibbles his lower lip, feeling his need strengthening beneath her. Alfonse redoubles his efforts, gasping her close. Rasping, his broad arms encircle her shoulders in an entreaty, 'Fuck Me' his eyes implore, within them the golden flecks are burning.

She shuffles her hips, ensuring when she slides home, she is in control. He's so strong, crafty, and needful that her upper-hand lasts only a few, short strokes. Beneath her, his great body musters it's energies. He holds her gaze intently as his pole rubs within her, taking amazing aim. His thrusts remain shallow. She keens for a full stroke, one that will allow her to feel the exquisite pleasure he promises in those impossibly lustful, golden-brown eyes.

He controls their fucking with dexterous strength. Izetta can feel his expert cock as it excites her most intimate of places. Within seconds her world shatters, splintering into exotic darkness that turns her limbs to molten liquid.

She pants, her beautiful skin growing sticky from exertion. Alfonse kisses her lips, their bodies still joined and thrusting. She enjoys the uninhibited, messy intimacy of it. Her face is buried in his neck. He rasps and pumps. She twists her hips towards him and rides the gesture, struggling to maintain control.

The way they play astounds Alfonse. His passion is steadily mounting, his moment sure to come. It's what she gives to him, in these unstructured seductions, that pleases him the most. Her body responds to him like no other. His touch rouses her to fire and she so clearly revels in it. The simplicity of lust. Gracefully, her beautiful body bucks and writhes, now and in their moments of exquisitely pleasurable foreplay.

The honesty and intensity of her responses stuns him. There is no hint of manipulation. Her piercing, green gaze has the power to hold him and speak directly to his burgeoning love. Izetta is more alive in these moments than he has ever seen her. 'Glorious' Alfonse thinks. He feels her pussy tighten around his ample cock and grits his teeth. He fears their fun will end.

Alfonse lets his thighs relax. Honourably, he lets her take her turn at directing their love-making. Above him Izetta continues to ride. She plies at his barrel chest, kneading his flesh in her ardour. Izetta's head has been thrown back, exposing her sun-kissed neck. Now, she meets his gaze and his thumb starts it's cheeky journey. He releases his hand from cupping her buttocks and his thick digit glides between them. Each eager thrust of Izetta's hips brings her throbbing nub in contact with his hand. She bites her lips, folding them into her mouth to hold back a scream. Moments later, unable to stop herself, Izetta releases a guttural moan.

“Ooh GOD”

His eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches her take her pleasure. Her pussy quivers, her inner walls milk his member. He can't take the strain. Awash with the sounds of her release, he claims his own, spurting his seed into her slick passage and it sets of his Minx once more. She half-squeals half-moans and writhes.

In the afterglow Izetta lies where it ended, crumpled onto his body, her breasts pushed flat against him. All legs are akimbo. Struggling to catch her breath, Izetta slides off his broad frame, to his right side. Alfonse provides a broad arm as her pillow, her flaccid arm rests across his chest.

“We ought to go”. Her voice is still a pant between breaths.

Alfonse' eyes are closed. A moment passes. He turns his head and trains his unusual gold-flecked gaze on her.

“I love you”, he says simply, kissing her warmly on her parted lips.

Izetta can only gape at him. She tries to gather her wits. In silence she moves to sprawl next to him, removing herself from his heat. She wills her breath back to it's normal.

“Izetta..?”

“Sshhh. We can't.”

She rolls, planting a firm kiss on his full, lush lips.

“We'll talk about this. Later”.

Izetta gets up and begins to dress. Alfonse eyes her back in disbelief before he too sits up from the pallet and starts to assemble his clothes.

Visual Amusements Part #2

My brain is in motion, please stand by. In the interim I give you this retro delight. Every girl should have a good appreciation for the all-in-one. It's funny, I don't recall a range made for Barbie ...

Lust and Longing

She's afraid for the wet, salty stain her pussy lips will likely leave on the sofa. Crysta shifts in her seat and wishes fleetingly that her skirt wasn't so short, that she wasn't so aroused and most of all, that her brazenness hadn't prompted her to abandon her knickers at her rented apartment.

Marcel chuckles into her mouth, feeling her shift, wondering at her sudden anxiousness. Crysta can hear his mirth through her lusty haze and it grounds her, pulling her back to the present. Marcel's sensual assault on her mouth continues. His warm tongue continues to slip in between her lips exploring and titillating her sensitive, wet skin.

“Please, please?”

She whispers into their embrace, against the heat of his kisses, in the sharp air she can gasp. She pulls away for a reluctant moment. The question goes unfinished. Marcel examines her fine features. Her cheeks are flushed and her swollen kiss-bruised lips shine with their mutual saliva. His gaze moves to her telling, desirous pools. Her green eyes question him.

“Not here?”

Marcel asks the question softly but he makes no move to remove them from the busy foyer. Crysta holds herself stiffly, unwilling to plead. There is an ache in the soft hollow between her thighs. Her fingers itch to run through Marcel's glossy, neat hair. She extends a hand, touching his thigh, ignoring the shot of carnal excitement that darts about her body.

“I think, I should go”

Crysta knows the tone of her voice belies her need.

Marcel leans in. At first she thinks it is to kiss her.

“Don't you want me?”

His voice is a whisper, brushing past her ear. She is but is unable to read the expression on his face. When he speaks again his voice is normal.

“You're right. You go ahead, I'll catch you up. I need to make my excuses to the Board”

He dips his head and kisses her lightly. Crysta gets up, anxiously glancing at her seat, where a small stain is beginning to spread. She hears Marcel's laugh as he strides away from her. His cruelty stabs at her. How could he know it troubled her? He doesn't look back. How could he be so insensitive? Quickly, she makes her way out the glass revolving doors and back to the apartment.

Once through the doors Crysta takes off her clothes, throwing them carelessly over a chair. She pads about the apartment, reveling in her nakedness, making the choice not to 'gift wrap' her body for him. She dislikes the scratchy bras and tiny lacy panties that are meant to be seductive. They leave her cold. Instead, she paces, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze on the fine hairs of her belly. Like skinny dipping, she thinks and opens the balcony door. There is nothing in the rooms but white, sterile surfaces and clean, crisp order.

Finally, Crysta takes a seat on the floor beside the immaculate bed. Before her is a full wall of mirrors. They are the sliding doors that house the closet.

She sits with her knees bent, feet flat on the floor. Her rich dark hair tumbles in unkempt waves past her shoulders. Crysta watches herself, first running a slender hand through her Hispanic locks. She opens her legs. The peach of her pussy is swollen and glistening. Marcel knows too well how to bring her to aching arousal with his kisses and caresses. She is tired now, from being teased. Tight, agitated and fit to burst.

Her reflection cups a breast, feeling the soft weight. Next she licks her thumb and toys with the brown nub of her nipple. She leans back into the side of the mattress, plunging an eager few fingers into her wetness. Crysta begins to stroke, gently playing with her labia. She takes care to run her fingers across the fine hairs at her cleft, and then back into her secret place. Crysta shivers.

She lets the air escape from her lips in one rapid breath. In the silence of the room her own need is the only sound. As she elicits pleasure, experimentally, she increases the volume of her tiny gasps. Her aural adventure succeeds in adding warmth and wetness to the lush playground beneath her fingers.

She strokes and watches, her lips parted. The blood-flow to her face increases. She looks hot and ready. Now stroking is not enough. Crysta turns her body, facing her round arse to the mirror and her face to the mattress. Her chin almost touches the top of the sheets.

She squats on her heels, leaning around to try and see her pussy. She wants to see her flower and it's pleasing reaction to stimulus. Crysta dips a finger into her vagina, wiggles. She likes it a lot. She inserts two. The mirror-play is quickly forgotten. Soon she's on her knees, burying her face in the mattress, using both hands between her legs. One hand deftly rubs her clit and the other slides two digits in and out of her pussy. She moves them around, finding her g-spot. Her body begins to sing.

“Oh!”

Crysta doesn't hear the key in the lock. Marcel steps into the room and follows the small, hot sounds he can hear from the bedroom. He puts his keys down on the night stand and Crysta looks up at him with big eyes, snapping her hands from their playground. Caught in the act. Marcel blinks, he doesn't say anything. Her cheeks are stained with shame.

She makes as if to get up. Marcel stops her, he kneels behind her on the ground, in the gap between her bed and the mirror. He kisses her neck, his warm breath helping to appease her embarrassment.

Crysta has her hands on the floor, either side of her kneeling form. It looks to him like a position of defeat. Marcel takes her arms gently and raises them. He places her hands, palms down, on the bed and traces the line of her beautiful form. He runs his warm hands from shoulders to hips. She turns to question him, trying to look at his reaction through the corner of her eye. She can’t read his expression.

Behind her, still all dressed in his corporate suit, his eyes are downcast. Marcel is taking his time to admire her body. Flattered, she breathes a further sigh of relief. His gaze is obscured by his long, dark lashes. She turns her head away, content now to enjoy the sensation.

She feels Marcel's hands traveling the length of her sensuous, nude back. He splays his hands softly under her bottom and cups each cheek in his hands. He leans down. She feels the silk of his tie brushing the small of her back. Marcel plants a kiss on her coccyx. She wiggles her creamy cheeks and the sensual assault intensifies. He plants warm kisses up along her spine, spreading his arms over her shoulders, caressing the skin there, all the way to her hands.

Crysta is fighting to stay still, reveling in the feel of limbs turning to water under his reverential touch. His ministrations reach her nape. She's sitting back on her haunches now, her sex inches from the carpeted floor. She whimpers, her need a tangible presence in the room. Marcel chuckles deep in the back of his throat. It makes her think of chocolate and caramel and not the busy foyer from less than an hour before. Into her ear he whispers.

“I can’t believe you started without me. I'm glad I came when I did. Let me worship you.”

Marcel stands and pulls her up beside him. Crysta feels the heat of his body through his suit. She presses her flesh to the material. It feels good, cloth and buttons teasing her nakedness. Rapidly, she does her best to undress him. She removes his tie, tugs out enough of the knot to lift it up over his head and she splays the shoulders of his suit jacket recklessly, brushing the unwanted item to the floor.

Crysta's hands are shaking as she begins to unbutton the collar of his shirt, first one button then two, then three. She's going too fast. Marcel grabs at her wrists and halts her progress. He kisses her lips and draws her tongue into a sensual dance of longing, feeling the velvet insides of her mouth, sucking her tongue. She can hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Then, Marcel is planting little kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, the lobes of her ears. She giggles, taken aback by the gentleness of the love he is trying to give.

Marcel clasps her wrists and all but throws her onto the mattress. She tumbles eagerly onto her back. He doesn't follow her. Marcel undoes his own buttons, looking her directly in the eye as he undresses. Never has she seen a man look better in his shirt tails. The singlet hugs his hard torso and the muscles of his arms are clearly visible, more so when he moves to remove his shirt.

Next he flicks his belt buckle and Crysta can barely stand it. Marcel grins, watching the parade of emotions across her lovely features. She props herself up on her elbows, dark hair spilling onto the bed in delicious contrast to the sheets. She is unaware of her captivating beauty. A tiny self-satisfied smirk threatens the corners of his mouth.

“What?”

Marcel doesn't reply. He unbuttons his suit pants and slides down the zipper. He reaches in and eagerly pulls his erect cock over the elastic of his starched, white boxers.

“Do you want this?”

He points his member at her. It's thick and substantial.

“Oh Yes” Crysta breathes, closing the distance between them and rising to her knees.

She holds him in her hand and increases the firmness of her grip. Very slowly, Crysta small hands trace the entirety of his length. She makes a primal kitten-grunt in the back of her throat and fairly pounces on him. At first she licks. Her delicate teasing, after so much tension, threatens to drive him insane.

“You're no good for me” Marcel stammers.

Crysta goes on to lick him thoroughly, like a Calipo, covering all of his shaft in her sweet saliva. Finally she plunges his length into the recesses of her throat. Marcel's relief is short- lived. She stops.

“I want you to fuck me. This is very nice. But I want some. You owe me cock.”

She tugs on his member. Marcel flinches. Crysta feels his reaction in the muscles of his thighs.

“Take off your pants”

Marcel obeys. His steel-blue gaze leaves her as he draws his pants down to the floor. She admires his handsome profile and those flawless, chiseled cheekbones. Stubble threatens his chin. Mine. She thinks fleetingly, proudly.

Wickedly, Crysta leaps up off the bed. She means to prolong their foreplay, rushing outside into the cold of the afternoon. He watches her through the glass, playfully leaning out over the balcony and looking at the other high-rises. He shocks her by joining her out on the terrace. Marcel's body presses her thighs into the cold mesh of the balcony railing. His hands appreciatively take in the contours of her slender waist, her breasts. Her nipples are budded from the wind.

Unable to help himself any longer he nestles his cock head into the warmth of her thighs. She shifts, glancing over her shoulder at him, catching his awkward kiss on the corner of her bottom lip. God she is beautiful. He pushes his cock into her, not asking, taking. His urgency surprises them both.

Crysta bends her knees and shuffles him backwards. The delicious fullness takes over her senses as he enters her slick passage fully. Cold, eager hands grab the railing. Then she pushes back. Marcel grunts, he strokes. He keeps his rhythm long and uneven. Crysta pants, silently begging for relief from his teasing.

He holds her hips in his hands, watching his manhood disappear time and time again. A sheen of sweat forms on her pearly white skin. She is the most delicious woman he has ever fucked. It's enough to keep him rigid, bigger than he's ever been.

“Mrhhhm” She says “Mrhhhaaa”

Pride swells in his chest. Her loss of control is his doing. Marcel is careful not to give her too much, it's a heady combination, a fine woman, the cold; their view. He wants to save something of himself. He wants to make their time together unforgettable. Marcel wishes to fuck her with grace.

When he withdraws his cock she wiggles with surprise. He reaches up to hold her shoulders, until she is facing him. The balcony air whips her hair into a mermaid's frenzy. Pink spots shine on her cheeks. Marcel leans in.

“I have more...”

He takes her hand and leads her inside, making sure he has control this time. He doesn't trust this sprite to stay put and let herself be made love to. Marcel wants her undivided attention. He wants to unload his seed into this special woman, but only once she has become his sated, mewing lover. He kisses her in the space before the bed and makes no attempt to pull her onto the soft mattress.

“You’re beautiful Crysta. Your skin is the colour of cream.”

Her leads her into the kitchen and beckons for her to sit on the counter. Crysta obeys, her curiosity aroused. From his briefcase by the door, he brings a pot of thickened cream. Crysta grins. Marcel's steel-blue gaze holds hers as he takes off the plastic lid and peels away the foil seal. He dips fingers into the tub and licks one, feeding her the rest of the cream on his hand. If she was any more excited she might be forced to purr.

Marcel enjoys the show as she sucks his digit. Her mouth is deliciously hot, her tongue swirls. He dips his fingers into the tub and smears some more of the cream on her thigh. Marcel comes to her on his knees.

Crysta takes in the sight of his handsome head between her thighs, licking lightly at her left thigh. She might burst from the pleasure of it. When the cream is all gone he continues planting his heated lips on her thigh, traveling inland to her shaved labia. Until finally, he dips his tongue inside her lips to taste her centre.

Crysta curls her toes. She runs appreciative fingertips through Marcel's thick, dark hair, mussing it in her unbridled enthusiasm. She doesn't think he'll care. Moments later, in wide- eyed bliss she's cumming on his face. The orgasm rips through her, almost unexpected. A searing delight.

Marcel looks up from his task. He wipes his lips on her thigh. As he stands before her, his satisfaction is evident by his straining arousal. She pulls his head down into a hungry kiss. Marcel uses his hands to slide her hips forward. In no time his hard cock bears down at the apex of her legs, seeking entry to her intimate space.

“Oh. Yes”

It is all Crysta can think to say. Her limbs are deliciously jelly-like and the ache in her middle is intense.

Marcel slides his ample man-meat into her. They fit snugly, perfectly in union for a moment. He holds her thighs in his hands and looks down into her green eyes, creating a pause in the storm. Crysta closes her lashes in a silent plea to hurry. Marcel strokes.

Bliss.

He continues, happily picking up the pace. Sliding his member in and out of her soft folds. Soon, he's hammering into her slit and the room is alive with his grunts, her softer tones and the wet sound of their flesh meeting. Despite the thoroughness of the fucking he is administering to his willing accomplice, Marcel takes a moment to kiss her on the lips. She cups his face in her hands. As she cums a second time he tastes it in on her tongue.

“MmmM”

Her pussy muscles convulse around him. It's too much. Marcel feels the volcano building in his toes. He clenches and unclenches his butt muscles, trying not to dig his nails into her delicate flesh. He aims his head skyward, ready for release. Crysta chooses her moment perfectly, reaching in to stroke his perineum.

He spurts his substantial load and it feels as though he is emptying his soul. The moment swims and spins. Panting they lean on one another. Bodies slick with sweat, limbs rubbery with exertion. A perfect contrast to the characterless surrounds. Crysta kisses his salty lips and unwinds her legs.

“We should rest” She whispers. A grin turns her expression mischievous.

“We only have all night”.

Showcasing well-chosen accessories

One dirty night of lust and loving

Elise palmed the other man away from her in an instinctively feline response to being over-stimulated. Harry stepped away obediently and began tracing his own hard cock with his fingers. Harry ran his balled-up hand along it’s length. Carrying on, she supposed, from where he would have liked her to have taken over.

Elise couldn’t have cared less. For the moment her attentions were drawn elsewhere and Harry was the least of her concerns. She concentrated on the delicious feeling of being taken from behind by the substantial scotsman currently holding onto her hips with his ham-like hands. God it felt good to be ridden by this man. Her lover was so powerful, so beautifully, sturdily made. He bent her easily as though she was play dough and he ploughed her depths with youthful, unrelenting, enthusiasm.

His cock was thick and as he stroked in and out, steadily building the pace. It was all she could do to remain on her feet, holding on to the back of the baroque sofa, swaying with the intense motion of being taken again and again. Rhythmically his pole slid in and out. She moaned, fit to purring, loving every precious inch of the pounding and feeling her orgasm building. Her legs trembled, her belly twitched

“Ooooh Yes. Yes”

Aiden’s large hand slapped her arse.

“Thaaaaat Feels. Soooooo. Good.”

She swayed and her hair fell across her eyes. In front of her, Elise could make out the frenzied movements of the other man. Harry was clearly enjoying the show. She was surprised at just how much. As Aiden injected himself into her wetness once again she closed her eyes in bliss. He stroked, Harry came on her face.

She had almost been able to forget him in her present impaled luxury and the spurt of hot man-juice forced her to open her eyes. His pink sword was hanging a little limper now, still sliding pleasingly between him slippery fingers. Elise smiled up at him. Wiping the jiz from her cheek with one hand, she braced herself with the other. Aiden continued his glorious work. She was about to lick her finger and help Harry out with a bit of a show when all of a sudden the thrusting stopped.

“Wha...?”

She turned in dismay. Aiden kissed her full on the mouth, slithering his tongue inside her searing, sensual mouth, teasing her more. It was an impromptu embrace, laced with passion and which pleasantly surprised Elise, increasing her lust. She panted and he sucked on her lips, kissed the fine sheen of sweat from her nape, cupped her breast with his massive hand, sharing his heat. Their exchange heightened to fever pitch. Her pussy ached, her mind reeled. He firmly kept a distance between them, his burly forearms keeping her at arms length though she writhed in the air between their bodies, craving his embrace, pushing her pussy closer, unfulfilled.

He gently set her to one side. Harry flopped into the couch, watching them. Elise was breathing hard, cheeks flushed. Aiden grinned. He ran a hand over the length of his impressive cock as though feeling it’s worth, appraising his tool.

“Talk dirty to me”

It wasn’t a question. In his thick brogue it was a caress and she happily obliged. Elise licked her lips. She crossed the small room and took a seat on the foot stool in the far corner.

She planted her beautiful bottom provocatively, arching her feet and pointing her toes. Her sex opened, in full view for both the men. The wet flesh glistened with her juices. Elise watched Harry’s eyes widen and his dick renew it’s salute. Praise enough for the silent gift she lay before them. A little grin curled the sides of her mouth.

Elise licked her thumb, she wet her digits . Then she used her fingers to play gently with her nipple, tracing the areola and causing the pink peak to bud. The cleft between her thighs throbbed. She let out a breath. In a voice made soft and husky by desire she began.

“Aiden I love your cock. I fantasise about it’s girth pushing at my folds. I fantasise most about the moment when your beeauut” at this point she pinched her nipple and wiggled her hips.

Aiden took a step towards her, unable to help himself, his engorged member bobbing before them as he stepped. She met his eyes in silent command and he stopped. Aiden let out a groan but he smiled, tense with desire.

“...beautiful cock head, taut and hot, pushing it’s way into my pussy hole. The way it feels when you’re about to enter me. You make me want to beg to fuck your pole forever...”

Harry looked interested, but Elise’s keen eyes noticed the pleased grin that slipped from his lips. Her intake of breathe was audible.

“Harry” She sighed as she slipped a finger down her middle, tracing a path to her muff quickly.

“Harry”

She shoved an enthusiastic finger into her slit, more for his benefit than hers, then two, and moaned at the pressure she caused. Elise licked her lips.

“Harry you make me... So. Hot.” she panted.

Elise left the comfy spot on the footrest and reluctantly disentangled her hand from her pussy. She started to close the distance between herself and Harry, giving in to the feline, empowering pleasure of crawling wantonly towards him, her pretty arse in the air. Aiden looked sorely tempted but he stayed where he was, feet planted firmly on the carpet, legs apart. He watched her as though his eyes would devour her and she savoured every second.

To Harry she continued “I want to stuff your cock into my mouth or my arse and use your pleasure pole to make me cum. You want me to cum don’t you Harry?”

Elise was between his knees. Harry looked down at her in delight. She reached for his now fully-erect cock and ducked her head. She took the tender head in between her lips and traced the helmet with her tongue. Harry quivered and shook. As Elise worked at covering his whole cock with saliva, she felt Aiden shift behind her.

Elise stifled a grin through a mouthful of man-meat and continued. These boys knew what she liked.

Elise began to use her mouth and her hands in a steady rhythm, cajoling Harry’s penis. Harry grunted with delight and ran a hand through her hair, assisting her head to take more of his cock. He rocked her mouth gently further and further down his pole. Elise hummed and Harry ‘Ahh hh’ - ed. Her work would be nearly done.

Aiden shifted his weight to his knees and once again positioned himself behind her. He guided his massive girth to the entrance of her pussy and Elise stopped. She held Harry’s cock in her hand a moment and wriggled her luscious arse on the dick at her rear.

“I want you to Aiden” She reassured him.

Aiden played with the puckered pinkness of her arse hole. His fingers began to work their way inside her. Elise tingled. She took one look at Harry and saw the hunger in his eyes. Without words she resumed her job of sucking him off. He grunted, running an appreciative hand down her back.

Elise could feel the enormous cock head bearing down on her anal entrance. He was slow and careful but Aiden was huge and at first it burned. He waited. Elise licked Harry’s length and cheekily pushed back a tiny fraction on her haunches. Aiden followed her invitation and insinuated more of himself into her tight little arse hole. Elise moaned in pleasure. Aiden surged forward and patiently waited for her muscles to relax. Then, instead of stroking he shifted his weight and reached around to her clitoris.

He pumped, lightly teasing her core with his finger. The world shifted off it’s axis.

“Oh . God.” Elise let the words out onto the cock in her mouth.

As Aiden established something of a punishing rhythm behind her, Harry held her head and surged. Great drops of cum shot down her throat. She pulled away and more landed on her lips, still more in her hair. She giggled but the noise was cut short by a stroke from Aiden.

Harry slithered down from his perch on the couch and came to meet her on the carpet. She let him kiss her cum soaked lips, fondle her breasts and lovingly, he took a nipple into his mouth as he made love to her other breast with his palm. Aiden was groaning now and she thought she might burst. With a carnal roar he took his cock from it’s cosy holder and shot his load down her back.

They slumped together, panting.

“Well how about that then?”

Elise wiped her face, blue eyes glinting with mischief. Aiden sat on his haunches at her back and she shifted her weight until she her thighs rested on his. Somehow, her giant lover manoeuvered them both so she sat on him, on the carpet. He cradled her slight body in his tree trunk arms. Harry joined them, reclining at her side, somehow managing to remain a part of their intimate embrace. They were silent a moment.

“I needed that” she said “You guys fuck like Gods”.

Elise grinned, sated.

Thought for the day

This has nothing to do with booty what-so-ever

I saw a man wearing a black and white t-shirt today with a stylized wedded couple on the front . She with a veil, he with a tux. The caption beneath read 'Game Over'.

Is it?

I am recently married so maybe that's why the hackles went up. I thought it was a juvenile way of thinking and that he just didn't understand, or was pretending to misunderstand - the benefits of an a committed, loving, (functioning) relationship.

And then I went on to think about it, perhaps too much. It's funny how a single incident has managed to stay with me all day.

In my experience living with another human in a partnership is about ebb and flow. Lately there has been a lot of the ebbing and not so much of the flow. That said, when it works it's magic. Some days though, the house feels like a vacuum not a sanctuary.

I know, I know, these things take time and it's a new house, a new neighbourhood, a state away from all we know and love. There is a lot of pressure on this thing we call 'our love'; our 'married life'.

Still on the ebbing - some days we just don't feel like friends. We are wrestling with each other, as we know we must, to keep a defined sense of the individual - the stubborn, changeable, forthright, independent individual which I could have sworn was the reason I fell in love with you in the first place.

Some days we argue a lot. Or rather, you sit in the kitchen, typing and gaining knowledge via the world wide web whilst I talk at you, occupying the same actual space but moving about in a different time and place. I think you want me to be there, you just don't engage or make me feel special. That's what I'm in need of, you know. I want you to make me feel indispensable, it feels a bit like necessary foreplay - for life.

Why do I love you? For all the reasons that frustrate and perplex me at times. I love your silence and your understanding. I love your willingness to do whatever it takes to learn new things and make them happen, I love that you have your own projects and hobbies and you don't need me and my approval. I love that you participate in a whole world of your creation just beyond my reach.

It would be awful were we joined at the hip and enjoyed all the same things. I am too selfish and childish for you, much of the time. I want, I want, and mostly I just want your undivided attention, which is ridiculous because your creative independence is one of the main reasons I fell in love with you in the first place.

I just need to relax, essentially and to learn how to become a student of the universe. Learn, find, interact and discover all on my own. I suppose it's for this reason I've created this blog, it's not about you, or at least it never has been, until today.

We had a fight recently and I said that one day you will look up from what you have been working on with that damn computer, look about the kitchen and I won't be there. You will notice for the first time that I have social engagements that don't involve you, a calendar with meetings and friends you haven't met and that we will have run out of time for each other. Only belatedly will you discover I have left and kept swimming off into the world without you. Some days this seems likely.

It seems more probable that this horrible future might eventuate if neither of us chose to make the effort to stay connected. I have a growing desire to learn and be lead by those older and wiser than myself, to seek out new things and find ways to engage with those around me. I'll never be a skirt twirling, sandalwood burning, washed out middle-aged lady going to silence retreats. (I hope) but I do feel the pull of more knowledge.

So what does that say about us? I know I love you. I am reminded of your greatness and your kindness as a human on a daily basis. I know too that anyone that reckons relationships are easy has never been a fly on the wall at our place.

I wouldn't give up the great chat and the awesome sex and the strange feeling of creating the building blocks on which we will perch the rest of our adult lives. It's simply that I am part of something that baffles me. Continually, in this new set of circumstances, I am confronted by and I marvel at; love.

I have found something with my man. Something that many humans will spend most of their lives searching to attain. Which leads me back to the guy and his shirt. How dare you try to belittle my fragile new world in bold font on a white t-shirt.

What is marriage? Is it a dirt track down which you fling yourself willingly, to be buffeted by extraneous circumstance and the will of another?

Is it a road down which few of my peers wish to tread, as an outdated, ill-conceived notion of forced monogamy that threatens to be a hindrance not a help?

When I realised I wanted to marry you I also realised that I was more Grown Up than Little Girl. I knew what I wanted. I also knew that marriage was a decision about life in an adult world.

I have not lost my sense of wonder. I'm not completely all grown up and hope to never be. I still love puddles and dress ups and screaming into the wind. By the same token, gratis of the passing years and my growing wisdom, I am not mistaken in my understanding of adult decisions. They are not final, people change and I know there is no happily-ever-after. There is, however a powerful need for an individual to feel loved.

I have no doubt that I am.

For that simple fact, I will always be amazed and grateful.

Isobelle in a different light

I rewrote it, I like it heaps better... it's got more suspense and more lust

At last, Isobelle sits in the expensive silence of Ezra’s car. Her freshly shaven thighs peep out from the short hem of her favourite dress. On her body the fabric pools like liquid.

“We’ll go to my place”

Ezra glances at her. She is not relaxed. Good. He likes it when he has the upper-hand.

At the high rise, Ezra uses his keys and a security pass, leading her through the foyer and up the lift. It’s up and up. From the balcony Isobelle can see the city sky - line. She stands outside, enjoying the warm air, whilst he gets the drinks. Eventually he stand s in the doorway, silhouetted by the kitchen lights. Isobelle’s pulse races. It’s real. Her legs begin to tremble. She turns from him to the view, trying to rekindle her strength.

“So lovely” Ezra’s voice comes from behind her. Does he mean her or the view?

In a lazy movement akin to seduction, Ezra closes the distance between them, rubs his palm up her back, his full lips descending on hers. It’s a fierce first kiss, possessive and brief.

“What is it that you’re looking at?” He curls an affectionate finger on the warm, soft flesh of her upper arm. Isobelle can’t think.

“I... I...”

She clears her throat, unable to read the sardonic promise in his glittering eyes. She licks her lips for the sweet taste of champagne. Ezra eyes her, experiencing a jolt of lust .

He chuckles. “I’ve got ideas about you and I.” He speaks softly. "Things I wouldn’t want to do in a train.”

It’s the timber of his voice. Isobelle thrills, between her thighs, her swollen pussy is lush and wanting. Lost in the moment, Isobelle starts to take off her clothes. Ezra ’s admiration is written on his face. The slippery fabric of her dress descends to the floor and beneath it, her light curves are coated in black. A balconette bra hugs her breasts and presents them, below it, her knickers are tiny and lace.

As he surveys his prize, Ezra can see the pulse in her neck. It’s an act of bravado from this nubile, sweet lady. Her racing heart beat giv es her away. His keen eyes take in the scene and his cock begins to throb. There will be no misunderstanding tonight . Preamble has shredded with her dress.

Ezra remains motionless. His silence gives him a n air of r oyalty and Isobelle plays along. Parting her lips in anticipation, she pads sensually towards her stranger. His blue eyes take in the scene, his dark skin glows in the lamp light and for now, her gaze is focused on his full mouth. She is close enough now to brush his chest with her hand . She reaches up and plants a kiss on the firm skin of his neck. He smells of salt, faint, expensive cologne and sandalwood.

Gently easing her tongue from her mouth she tastes his flesh and stands on tip toes, planting another soft kiss near his ear. Ezra can hear her breathing as it changes. He is no fool and knows his power but she is coy and hesitant . Her frame too slight , her actions too gentle and yet, Ezra finds his interest in this beautiful creature intensifying. Tonight he could take her innocence and the thought rouses his senses to fever pitch.

Isobelle takes a series of breaths to steady herself . She is shaking. She kisses the corner of his mouth, offering a suggestion. Still, he does not respond. Isobelle takes a step back. Blinks, taking in the rising bulge in his expensive trousers.

Ezra imagines her tight, virginal pussy closing in around his proud cock. A jolt of electricity fuels his veins. He kisses her lips, gentle at first, insinuating his tongue into her wet, inviting mouth . She responds and leans into his kisses, straining for more. Ezra dips his hand down to cup a breast, burning a path with his mouth to the protruding flesh of her breasts. One hand strokes the skin on her flat stomach and Ezra can feel her quiver in answer to his touch.

She wriggles and presses herself closer inadvertently rubbing her almost naked form on his growing erection. He groans, corners her against a wall and allows his cloth covered cock to nestle in the inviting hollow of her thighs while his fingers trace the material of her bra, setting her sensitive skin alight. Isobelle whimpers as Ezra releases the catch, bending an eager head to suckle. Her puckered, pink nipple glistens from his caress. Isobelle runs her feverish fingers through his thick, dark hair. He looks up from lavishing attention on her moist breast. Ezra takes in the scene. Her skin is flushed, breathing unsteady and her eyes are desirous pools.

“I want you to place your hands on me”

“Fuck me.” She says softly “I’ve dreamed of you for days”

He chuckles, a sound that is soft and dense like wood and clover.

“What would you do?”

Air between them hangs heavy and empty a moment too long.

“I would take you in my hand" Isobelle flexes her slender finger for effect “I want to take your velvet steel in my mouth

“Velvet steel?" Chuckles.

Isobelle tugs at his pants with shaking fingers, his cock bounces free from its cloth cage.

She licks a finger and a thumb and slides her digits down from the head of his smooth, almost purple shaft to midway down it’s length . His cock is t hick, with a heavy head and a slight bend. It makes her pussy ache to claim him. She resists, drawing out the tension.

Isobelle sinks seductively onto her knees, s he hesitates only momentarily, eyeing his tool. It’s obvious she is unpracticed. Audibly, Ezra sighs. He makes ready to hide his member and lash his rampant need for her pussy.

“No no. It’s alright. I want to”

Ezra’s cool blue eyes are expressionless .

She takes the tip between her lips.

Then, as she takes more of his length into her hot, wetness , he bucks against the intense pleasure in surprise. Isobelle slurps and smiles as much as she can, shift ing her weight on her knees and tuck ing into her task. Soon his ample pole is slick with saliva, Ezra face-fuck ing in and out of her pretty lip s. A repeated, unrelenting action that succeeds in stirring his blood. Her innocence is replaced by eagerness. He grunts in approval and tries not to cum.

“You’re a good girl”

Pre-cum dawns on the eye of his cock, she can taste the salty, heavy drops. As he thrusts and grunts she can tell it won’t be long.

Abruptly.

He stops . Pushing her from him, looking down at her dishevelled hair, her swollen lips .

“You are too good at that”. More gently now. “Maybe that is enough for tonight”. His tone is ragged but his reason is firm.

Isobelle palls.

“Bu..t”

“I want to enjoy you like the treat you are ” Ezra rakes a hand through his thick, dishevelled hair. “Perhaps, for tonight, you should leave”

Ezra reluctantly begins to button his pants around his extended, aching pole. She sits dumbly on the floor in confusion. From the corner of his eye he watches her, hopes she is crazy with lust and will let him bury himself in her. She has to come to him, it has to be her choice. He retrieves her dress and thrusts it at her. She looks at him pleadingly.

“But you have undressed me with your eyes for weeks”

Her voice is soft.

“You are not even sure what it is you ask of me”

In her eyes he reads disbelief.

“I want you”

“What do you want?”

Isobelle hesitates.

“Say it”

Quietly. “I already did”

“Say it again. I need to hear it”

“I want you to fuck me”

Ezra ceases to adjust his clothes, he teases the bush at the cleft of her legs and sinks two digits into her folds. Isobelle’s lips part in surprise. He rubs the delicious wetness, finding her clitoris. Her knees almost buckle.

“Is this what you want”

“No” and then mildly, between gasped breaths. “I want cock.” She smiles dreamily, her whole body alive and humming with need . “You can tell I want it . Ca...an’t you? ” Isobelle gasps as he thrusts his digits inside her. He continues to pet her in a steady rhythm that brings her closer and closer to ecstasy. He glides his finger over her clit, teasing the nub gently. She lets out a little moan.

“Please?”

A heart beat.

“Do you like my mahogany table?”

Ezra’s tone is dry. She nods.

“Go over to it. Lean over so your breasts touch the wood. Show yourself to me”

Isobelle does just that. She leans across the table. Her plump pussy faces him.

“Spread your legs”

Isobelle is aware that if she shows him her sweetness he will see the pearly sheen of desire on her flesh. He will see for himself that she is ready and aching to be plundered. With a sigh she spreads her thighs.

In the glow of the lamps on the sideboard, Ezra can indeed see evidence of her enthusiasm. He makes no effort to go to her, keeping the distance.

“I want you to lean forward, stretch yourself across my table”

Isobelle inches her torso further onto the table. Her pert bottom automatically pushes further into the air. She breathes in slowly, trying to keep the intake of air steady so Ezra won’t hear how aroused it makes her. She fails.

“What would you like me to do?”

She takes the erotic silence as a cue and looks over her right shoulder at him.

“I want you to do what you were doing before. Touch me”

A pause.

Ezra sees her wiggle her delectable rear in anticipation but he makes no move to go over to her. He takes a sip of his drink. The moment stretches. Isobelle looks over her shoulder at him once more . Her expression is flecked with annoyance. A smug smile plays on his lips.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“But...?”

“I know you have been masturbating, you practically said so yourself. Show me”

“No! I...”

Ezra is measured in his movements. He places his glass down on the side table, unbuttons one and then another of his shirt buttons at his collar. Finally, deliberately, he is closing the distance between them. Isobelle makes as if to turn and greet him for a kiss. He places a palm firmly between her shoulders and the small of her back. It keeps her at her position.

Ezra releases his cock once more from the confines of his clothes. He throbs. His prize is so beautiful. He stands behind her with the head of his manhood nestled on the warmth of her sex. Isobelle takes frequent, shallow breaths.

“You won’t touch yourself for me”

“No.” Her voice is uncertain.

Ezra removes his gift. Still facing the table, she feels the loss of his cock. The moment had been almost momentous. Isobelle’s small frame is caught in a slump. Ezra braces himself.

In a swift, calculated movement he guides his cockhead into her dripping folds. Taken by surprise Isobelle is tight and on his first thrust Ezra experiences a heavenly sensation. Isobelle too, cries out.

“But...”

Ezra strokes once more. Now they are finally connected the feeling is tenfold, the anticipation has been too great. As his pole glides in and out of her pussy Isobelle revels in the new sensation. His large dick fills her slick passage, exploring and retreating in a ever-increasing rhythm.

“Ahh”

Isobelle lets her breasts slide against the finely polished wood of the table. As he pushes into her, she can feel her pelvic muscles as they quiver from the inside, Isobelle hears him groan. A sound of pure, gut-wrenching lust. Almost a smile on her lips now as she feels her body take her up over the crest of a mind numbing orgasm.

“I’ll teach you. You are mine" Ezra’s voice in her ear.

His pace is so fast and deep. One foot on a chair thrusting. He still feels good, sliding in and out of her, but Isobelle feels the slow come-down from her first orgasm. Behind her, the always-composed Ezra, with his pants around his ankles, his shoes still on - is clearly lost in the moment. Isobelle’s giggle becomes a squeak as she feels him grow even harder. Eagerly, Isobelle pushed back and Ezra at last finds his release.

Ezra finds himself pliant and sated as she turns, hips first, and plants a heated kiss on his unsuspecting face.

“That was my first. You were mind blowing. Promise me there is more?”

Ezra raises an eyebrow.