A smile on her face
I drove into the multilevel carpark earlier than our planned time of meeting to check out the lay of the land. Depending on her whim/mood/fancies, a bit of privacy may come in handy for the second part of the evening's program. As anticipated, the higher decks were devoid of vehicles at that evening hour.
Waiting outside the restaurant I had suggested over the phone, she was wearing a long sleeved cotton turtle neck and a wrap-around skirt. Hmm, no buttons or zippers. Good signs. She never wore make up, her face was still fresh with the youthful features that stood well against the test of time. Even without heels, she was slightly taller, one reason why I never contemplated a future together. Petty, but it was a real obstacle for starting a relationship, for me anyway.
We did not order too many dishes, but what was on the table, she determined to empty the plates. Shouldn't waste food, was her remark. Surely she was financially comfortable, although both of them started off fiscally tight in a new country. Unemployment and other social benefits sounded pretty generous, given the numbers she quoted, even though it lasted for about four months before the business took off. No designer bags for her, no brand name clothes, a simple gold chain was the only ornament adorning her.
Nothing significant was discussed in the conversation. The small talk was casual, neither touching our separate lives or delving into our state of mind. Any eavesdropper would deduce we were merely two shoppers running into each other by chance, and stopping for the pleasantry of a cup of coffee. No hints of an assignment. No clue to the smouldering convoluted tangle of emotion that brought us together. Again.
Since shopping was not on her list, we proceeded to the carpark after dinner.
As soon as I closed the door, we reached out to kiss. She volunteered her tongue, and I curled mine over hers. Suck face was an appropriate expression. My hand palmed her right breast, and felt the rough cotton of the cheap bra. As I pulled up her turtle neck, she unclasped the undergarment to release the twin mammaries. The blind nipple was on the left breast, thicker and shorter. Mouthing it after working my tongue down the cleavage, the exploration got her excited and she reached under my shirt to stroke the bare flesh of my chest. First her nipple, then a substantial portion of warm breast went into my hungry mouth. Free fingers worked the right side, twitching the longer nipple there, kneading the breast meat like baking dough. The windscreen was starting to steam from the efforts of our gymnastics.
I leaned back to enjoy the splendid vista of her naked flesh. She had taken off the top completely, tossing it carelessly behind. She was showing off her bosom, and the protruding hemispherical orbs that affirmed the maturity of her sex. A flower in full bloom, no longer the flat chested school girl that failed to catch my attention during schooldays.
Pubic hair peeked out from the waistline of her skirt, now riding low below her belly button, no thanks to the contortions in the confine of the small car seat. The wrap came off for me to reach between the hot flesh of her thighs. It was wet. Hot and wet. Her vulva was literally soaked with feminine juices. The labial, swollen with her desire, were drenched like buttered buns. "I always get wet easily," she whispered. One finger, then two, slipped into her ready vaginal, and roamed her portal insides to seek the G-spot. Last located just an inch above where the clitoris reared its head, the contact produced an instant spasmic reaction from her. Her vaginal tunnel would start its rhythmic contractions, squashing my invading digits, flooding them with the special secretions, wetting my hand, as her face clenched in a contortion of pleasure. She uttered not a sound, but the tightly shut eyes and strained facial features would betray the violence of her orgasm.
She lay relaxed in the supine spread of her absolute nudity. Her triangle of dark pubic hair hid the source of her throbbing climax, whilst pointing to the apex of her voluptuousness. "Would you like me to shave it for you?" she asked, running her fingers over the short fur.
After a short interlude, practised hands in the dark moved to unzip my fly, and reached in to massage my shaft. Even before I could clear my clothing, she swallowed the rod of flesh, taking the entire length in one swoop. Her cheeks hollowed and filled alternately, applying gentle suction with the back and top parts of her mouth while moving her tongue exquisitely around the frenulum. She began fellating me in earnest: using an up-and-down motion, simulating vaginal intercourse with her mouth. She was still stark naked, and her boobs bounced as she went about her pleasurable task. I reached under to milk her teats, in rhythmn with her bobbing head. Then I asked her to take the penis out and rub it between her breasts. The visual sight was as erotic as her lips sliding over my glans, the tactile pleasure from being sandwiched with the slopes of her breasts a new delight. She was kneeling in the carpet of the car floor now, elbows on my thighs, breast tips just brushing my scrotum, as she started to pump my rigid rod with increasing tempo with one hand, and the other fondling my testicles, then wandering down to stroke my perineum, the sensitive area between the scrotum and the anus. Doggedly, she worked on the strokes, up and down, up and down. She used her tongue to tease the eye in the glans, the sensitive back of the head of the penis, the line of skin that runs down the center of the testicles, and the underside of the shaft of the penis. Her long hair was flying with her efforts, her breasts slapping my thighs with each descend. As much as I would liked to have the scene burnt permanently into my mind, I closed my eyes to drown in the ecstatic moment. I came. Spurting furiously, even as her relentless hand continued to squeeze every drop out. "Some of it is in my hair, you nearly hit my eye," she reported with pride. She was beaming with delight, obviously pleased with the vehemence of my ejaculation. Was her happiness attributable to my performance, or her efficiency to produce the result?
She was still smiling broadly when I dropped her off at the bus-stop. Before she alighted, she reached out to plant a playful squeeze between my legs, drawing instant reaction. She's insatiable.
Waiting outside the restaurant I had suggested over the phone, she was wearing a long sleeved cotton turtle neck and a wrap-around skirt. Hmm, no buttons or zippers. Good signs. She never wore make up, her face was still fresh with the youthful features that stood well against the test of time. Even without heels, she was slightly taller, one reason why I never contemplated a future together. Petty, but it was a real obstacle for starting a relationship, for me anyway.
We did not order too many dishes, but what was on the table, she determined to empty the plates. Shouldn't waste food, was her remark. Surely she was financially comfortable, although both of them started off fiscally tight in a new country. Unemployment and other social benefits sounded pretty generous, given the numbers she quoted, even though it lasted for about four months before the business took off. No designer bags for her, no brand name clothes, a simple gold chain was the only ornament adorning her.
Nothing significant was discussed in the conversation. The small talk was casual, neither touching our separate lives or delving into our state of mind. Any eavesdropper would deduce we were merely two shoppers running into each other by chance, and stopping for the pleasantry of a cup of coffee. No hints of an assignment. No clue to the smouldering convoluted tangle of emotion that brought us together. Again.
Since shopping was not on her list, we proceeded to the carpark after dinner.
As soon as I closed the door, we reached out to kiss. She volunteered her tongue, and I curled mine over hers. Suck face was an appropriate expression. My hand palmed her right breast, and felt the rough cotton of the cheap bra. As I pulled up her turtle neck, she unclasped the undergarment to release the twin mammaries. The blind nipple was on the left breast, thicker and shorter. Mouthing it after working my tongue down the cleavage, the exploration got her excited and she reached under my shirt to stroke the bare flesh of my chest. First her nipple, then a substantial portion of warm breast went into my hungry mouth. Free fingers worked the right side, twitching the longer nipple there, kneading the breast meat like baking dough. The windscreen was starting to steam from the efforts of our gymnastics.
I leaned back to enjoy the splendid vista of her naked flesh. She had taken off the top completely, tossing it carelessly behind. She was showing off her bosom, and the protruding hemispherical orbs that affirmed the maturity of her sex. A flower in full bloom, no longer the flat chested school girl that failed to catch my attention during schooldays.
Pubic hair peeked out from the waistline of her skirt, now riding low below her belly button, no thanks to the contortions in the confine of the small car seat. The wrap came off for me to reach between the hot flesh of her thighs. It was wet. Hot and wet. Her vulva was literally soaked with feminine juices. The labial, swollen with her desire, were drenched like buttered buns. "I always get wet easily," she whispered. One finger, then two, slipped into her ready vaginal, and roamed her portal insides to seek the G-spot. Last located just an inch above where the clitoris reared its head, the contact produced an instant spasmic reaction from her. Her vaginal tunnel would start its rhythmic contractions, squashing my invading digits, flooding them with the special secretions, wetting my hand, as her face clenched in a contortion of pleasure. She uttered not a sound, but the tightly shut eyes and strained facial features would betray the violence of her orgasm.
She lay relaxed in the supine spread of her absolute nudity. Her triangle of dark pubic hair hid the source of her throbbing climax, whilst pointing to the apex of her voluptuousness. "Would you like me to shave it for you?" she asked, running her fingers over the short fur.
After a short interlude, practised hands in the dark moved to unzip my fly, and reached in to massage my shaft. Even before I could clear my clothing, she swallowed the rod of flesh, taking the entire length in one swoop. Her cheeks hollowed and filled alternately, applying gentle suction with the back and top parts of her mouth while moving her tongue exquisitely around the frenulum. She began fellating me in earnest: using an up-and-down motion, simulating vaginal intercourse with her mouth. She was still stark naked, and her boobs bounced as she went about her pleasurable task. I reached under to milk her teats, in rhythmn with her bobbing head. Then I asked her to take the penis out and rub it between her breasts. The visual sight was as erotic as her lips sliding over my glans, the tactile pleasure from being sandwiched with the slopes of her breasts a new delight. She was kneeling in the carpet of the car floor now, elbows on my thighs, breast tips just brushing my scrotum, as she started to pump my rigid rod with increasing tempo with one hand, and the other fondling my testicles, then wandering down to stroke my perineum, the sensitive area between the scrotum and the anus. Doggedly, she worked on the strokes, up and down, up and down. She used her tongue to tease the eye in the glans, the sensitive back of the head of the penis, the line of skin that runs down the center of the testicles, and the underside of the shaft of the penis. Her long hair was flying with her efforts, her breasts slapping my thighs with each descend. As much as I would liked to have the scene burnt permanently into my mind, I closed my eyes to drown in the ecstatic moment. I came. Spurting furiously, even as her relentless hand continued to squeeze every drop out. "Some of it is in my hair, you nearly hit my eye," she reported with pride. She was beaming with delight, obviously pleased with the vehemence of my ejaculation. Was her happiness attributable to my performance, or her efficiency to produce the result?
She was still smiling broadly when I dropped her off at the bus-stop. Before she alighted, she reached out to plant a playful squeeze between my legs, drawing instant reaction. She's insatiable.
posted by sandy @ 7:55 PM
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