Locked in embrace
She sat in the car like a deaf mute. If silence was deemed consent, her quiet was confirming acquiscence to the liaison ahead. Eyes focussed intently into the infinity, she barely stole a glance my way. It would appear I was merely a taxi driver, ferrying her to her private carnal engagement.
As I closed the car door, she alighted from the passenger side without assistance. She followed a couple of paces behind as we headed for the apartment. It was just past noon, and the neighborhood was deserted, with barely a stray passerby in sight. Housewives busied themselves in the kitchens, after packing off the kids to school.
In the hallway, she weakened in her resolve, and I had to hold her by the arm to guide her upstairs to the bedroom.
The room was carpeted, and ceiling high drapes softened one wall. The split unit airconditioner hissed a cool 25 degrees as the thermostat cut in. There was even a scented candle, diffusing French Lavendar perfume, to add to the ambience. The big mirror at the dressing table looked over the satin sheets of the large bed.
When I reached to embrace her, she collapsed to the floor, and curled up against the bedside table. An importune change of heart. I tried to pull her up, to facilitate the removal of her knee high dress, but she squatted down again, drawing up legs protectively to her chest.
Impatience and anxiousness prompted me to stripped completely in an instant, standing nude directly in front of her, eye level at my family jewels. She muttered meekly, "You're not ready."
I glanced down at my manhood. The relaxed organ was dwarfed by the large scrotum, the holding bag for the the testicles, and a very tactile sphere of sensitive veins and tissue. Apparently in no hurry to do duty, the limp rod of flesh and blood was lying dormant. It appeared my desire for her body proved to be more cerebral than physical. Why else was my erotic ambition not manifest in that penile state?
"Make it ready," I commanded her.
She reached tentatively between my legs with both hands. One palmed and massaged the testes through the loose skin of the scrotum, and the other rolled the love cylinder with thumb and index finger. Within seconds, her familiar touch worked the instrument to a more impressive length and girth, requiring all four fingers to curl round the shaft for her grip. The exercise coaxed her out of her reticence, and she started to use her tongue to lick the sensitive undersides of the balls and tease the glans head peeking out from the foreskin. As the erection mechanics angled the uncircumcised penis upwards, she engulfed it with one swoop of her head. Her tongue snaked to ream and lap the hot shaft inside the warm cavity of her mouth, and her cheeks filled with the expanding tool. She was at her element, though where she acquired the skills is a mystery I chose not to query.
It was not my idea to be fellated to conclusion. I stood her up willingly now, for me to unclasped her buttons and pull the dress over her head. My nose nuzzled her breasts and teats as I removed her brassiere, savoring the sensual scent. The sheer panties were rolled down to expose the nether set of lips, moist with her awakening desire. The erotically charged atmosphere was having the predicted effect on her. I laid her nude body gently on the bed.
Starting from her thighs, from just above her smooth kneecaps, I traced a wet tongue up the insides of her legs. She trembled slightly when I contacted her vaginal mound, and sucked greedily on the swollen labia majora. Leaving the clitoris for the moment, I ventured past the belly button, skimmed the fluttering stomach, and worked up the underside slope of one breast. I dwelled on that breast, feasting on the succulent flesh, ringing the aerole, and then licked the nipple bud to extended state. The symmmetry of her twin set was marred by the nipple on the left. It was larger and flatter, like a crushed chocolate strawberry. I lavished it undiscriminately with the sucking mouth, and attempted to wolf down the whole breast meat. She was whimpering silently, stirred by the exquisite arousal of the sensual pampering. I was worshipping her like an art student appreciating the contours of a Grecian torso at the Louvre. Seduced by the curves, the soft shapes, the texture of the pliant flesh that palpitated at the touch of my exploring fingers. My eyes scanned and probed her intimate highlights, burning at the sight of her elusive clitoris, the butterfly wings of her labia, her protuberant breasts, her impertinent nipples, trying to etch the images permanently into the photographic plates of my mind. She openly declared the intimate secrets of her feminine flesh to me, and I revelled in the embrace of her sexual proximity, knowing that the allure will never survive the scathing light of the outside world, outside this private haven of hedonism.
But she was not an inflated manniquin with a cut out for simulated copulation. She was a hot blooded female with a latent fire of sexual appetite, thirsting to be quenched with the violence of spurting penetration. Much as I would have liked to just lie content next to her naked body, I had a masculine role to fulfill. It would be selfish to be satiated with her nude presence, while she pined for satisfaction.
I spread her legs delicately and used my index finger to check the lubricity of her vagina. She raised her legs as I guided my penis into her puckered opening. She sighed audibly when the head went in after encountering some initial resistance, a speed bump on the road to nirvana, followed slowly by the rest of the hot red shaft which was eased in gently. The myraid ridges of tiny muscles inside her vaginal cavern were like live screw threads that pulled my penile shaft inside with a thousand secret fingers. I marveled at the geometry of the fit. My uniquely shaped sword was being returned to a scabbard customed fashioned by an expert craftsman. Had I known we were such a good physical match, our male and female parts, I would have paid her more than the cursory attention I did years ago. The reflection in the mirror showed off the symmetry of our intelocked bodies in profile, with my partially withdrawn shaft visibly embedded in her slit. In that missionary position, I covered the whole length of her body with mine, with the only protruding appendage of my anatomy parked neatly in her special recess designed to receive it. Her squashed breasts molded against my chest, teats tickling mine. I began to labour luxuriously, grinding my pelvis against hers. My strokes were paced leisurely, I wanted to indulge in the delicious friction of her inner flesh gripping my invading shaft. Looking at the sensual tableaux like a third party voyeur, I graduated my strokes to a rapid crescendo and then plunged my erupting tool to the very depths of her at the last climactic moment. My throbbing penis and her contracting vagina moved as one, a rhythmic ebb tide as the intoxicating wave of sensuality swept over us. We remained joined at the pubis for a long luxuriant moment, the sexual union fused us as one, body and mind.
Reluctantly, I eased my spent penis out of her drenched tunnel, slick with the comingled juices of our mutual discharges. A sliver of semen trickled out from between the inner labia, already enfolding like a withdrawing flower to hide her pleasure orifice. My penis still glistened from her feminine secretions, and I pulled her hand over to cup my genitalia affectionately.
In that tender moment, I mentally declared my love for her. It was not the love that will withstand the scrutiny of a cynical world, it was one that sublimates beyond the contractual obligations that society demands. Yet it was not a illicit union of two primal animals drawn together simply by torrid lust. It was the ultimate sensual communion of two sexual beings priviledged by chance and opportunity to celebrate life as a pair, and the epitome sensory pleasure that life can bestow on a man and a woman.
Her body silently affirmed the victory by blushing a deep crimson red from the tops of her heaving breasts to the flush of her cheeks. This unique reaction of her body chemistry alone would have been sufficient for me as testament of our sexual compatibility. But within the context of our cultural background and mores, it would have been impossible for us to discover what nature had planned ahead for us. Pre-marital sex existed then only within the covers of pulp literature, or semen stained paper backs of horny schoolboys. Without this revelation, she was just another plain jane of a female specimen, which I easily recommended to another interested party, who married her.
As I closed the car door, she alighted from the passenger side without assistance. She followed a couple of paces behind as we headed for the apartment. It was just past noon, and the neighborhood was deserted, with barely a stray passerby in sight. Housewives busied themselves in the kitchens, after packing off the kids to school.
In the hallway, she weakened in her resolve, and I had to hold her by the arm to guide her upstairs to the bedroom.
The room was carpeted, and ceiling high drapes softened one wall. The split unit airconditioner hissed a cool 25 degrees as the thermostat cut in. There was even a scented candle, diffusing French Lavendar perfume, to add to the ambience. The big mirror at the dressing table looked over the satin sheets of the large bed.
When I reached to embrace her, she collapsed to the floor, and curled up against the bedside table. An importune change of heart. I tried to pull her up, to facilitate the removal of her knee high dress, but she squatted down again, drawing up legs protectively to her chest.
Impatience and anxiousness prompted me to stripped completely in an instant, standing nude directly in front of her, eye level at my family jewels. She muttered meekly, "You're not ready."
I glanced down at my manhood. The relaxed organ was dwarfed by the large scrotum, the holding bag for the the testicles, and a very tactile sphere of sensitive veins and tissue. Apparently in no hurry to do duty, the limp rod of flesh and blood was lying dormant. It appeared my desire for her body proved to be more cerebral than physical. Why else was my erotic ambition not manifest in that penile state?
"Make it ready," I commanded her.
She reached tentatively between my legs with both hands. One palmed and massaged the testes through the loose skin of the scrotum, and the other rolled the love cylinder with thumb and index finger. Within seconds, her familiar touch worked the instrument to a more impressive length and girth, requiring all four fingers to curl round the shaft for her grip. The exercise coaxed her out of her reticence, and she started to use her tongue to lick the sensitive undersides of the balls and tease the glans head peeking out from the foreskin. As the erection mechanics angled the uncircumcised penis upwards, she engulfed it with one swoop of her head. Her tongue snaked to ream and lap the hot shaft inside the warm cavity of her mouth, and her cheeks filled with the expanding tool. She was at her element, though where she acquired the skills is a mystery I chose not to query.
It was not my idea to be fellated to conclusion. I stood her up willingly now, for me to unclasped her buttons and pull the dress over her head. My nose nuzzled her breasts and teats as I removed her brassiere, savoring the sensual scent. The sheer panties were rolled down to expose the nether set of lips, moist with her awakening desire. The erotically charged atmosphere was having the predicted effect on her. I laid her nude body gently on the bed.
Starting from her thighs, from just above her smooth kneecaps, I traced a wet tongue up the insides of her legs. She trembled slightly when I contacted her vaginal mound, and sucked greedily on the swollen labia majora. Leaving the clitoris for the moment, I ventured past the belly button, skimmed the fluttering stomach, and worked up the underside slope of one breast. I dwelled on that breast, feasting on the succulent flesh, ringing the aerole, and then licked the nipple bud to extended state. The symmmetry of her twin set was marred by the nipple on the left. It was larger and flatter, like a crushed chocolate strawberry. I lavished it undiscriminately with the sucking mouth, and attempted to wolf down the whole breast meat. She was whimpering silently, stirred by the exquisite arousal of the sensual pampering. I was worshipping her like an art student appreciating the contours of a Grecian torso at the Louvre. Seduced by the curves, the soft shapes, the texture of the pliant flesh that palpitated at the touch of my exploring fingers. My eyes scanned and probed her intimate highlights, burning at the sight of her elusive clitoris, the butterfly wings of her labia, her protuberant breasts, her impertinent nipples, trying to etch the images permanently into the photographic plates of my mind. She openly declared the intimate secrets of her feminine flesh to me, and I revelled in the embrace of her sexual proximity, knowing that the allure will never survive the scathing light of the outside world, outside this private haven of hedonism.
But she was not an inflated manniquin with a cut out for simulated copulation. She was a hot blooded female with a latent fire of sexual appetite, thirsting to be quenched with the violence of spurting penetration. Much as I would have liked to just lie content next to her naked body, I had a masculine role to fulfill. It would be selfish to be satiated with her nude presence, while she pined for satisfaction.
I spread her legs delicately and used my index finger to check the lubricity of her vagina. She raised her legs as I guided my penis into her puckered opening. She sighed audibly when the head went in after encountering some initial resistance, a speed bump on the road to nirvana, followed slowly by the rest of the hot red shaft which was eased in gently. The myraid ridges of tiny muscles inside her vaginal cavern were like live screw threads that pulled my penile shaft inside with a thousand secret fingers. I marveled at the geometry of the fit. My uniquely shaped sword was being returned to a scabbard customed fashioned by an expert craftsman. Had I known we were such a good physical match, our male and female parts, I would have paid her more than the cursory attention I did years ago. The reflection in the mirror showed off the symmetry of our intelocked bodies in profile, with my partially withdrawn shaft visibly embedded in her slit. In that missionary position, I covered the whole length of her body with mine, with the only protruding appendage of my anatomy parked neatly in her special recess designed to receive it. Her squashed breasts molded against my chest, teats tickling mine. I began to labour luxuriously, grinding my pelvis against hers. My strokes were paced leisurely, I wanted to indulge in the delicious friction of her inner flesh gripping my invading shaft. Looking at the sensual tableaux like a third party voyeur, I graduated my strokes to a rapid crescendo and then plunged my erupting tool to the very depths of her at the last climactic moment. My throbbing penis and her contracting vagina moved as one, a rhythmic ebb tide as the intoxicating wave of sensuality swept over us. We remained joined at the pubis for a long luxuriant moment, the sexual union fused us as one, body and mind.
Reluctantly, I eased my spent penis out of her drenched tunnel, slick with the comingled juices of our mutual discharges. A sliver of semen trickled out from between the inner labia, already enfolding like a withdrawing flower to hide her pleasure orifice. My penis still glistened from her feminine secretions, and I pulled her hand over to cup my genitalia affectionately.
In that tender moment, I mentally declared my love for her. It was not the love that will withstand the scrutiny of a cynical world, it was one that sublimates beyond the contractual obligations that society demands. Yet it was not a illicit union of two primal animals drawn together simply by torrid lust. It was the ultimate sensual communion of two sexual beings priviledged by chance and opportunity to celebrate life as a pair, and the epitome sensory pleasure that life can bestow on a man and a woman.
Her body silently affirmed the victory by blushing a deep crimson red from the tops of her heaving breasts to the flush of her cheeks. This unique reaction of her body chemistry alone would have been sufficient for me as testament of our sexual compatibility. But within the context of our cultural background and mores, it would have been impossible for us to discover what nature had planned ahead for us. Pre-marital sex existed then only within the covers of pulp literature, or semen stained paper backs of horny schoolboys. Without this revelation, she was just another plain jane of a female specimen, which I easily recommended to another interested party, who married her.
posted by sandy @ 7:58 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home