Saturday, August 21, 2010

A Day at the Beach

First of all, I am NOT a predatory older woman who hunts, stalks, lusts after, and imposes her attentions upon some innocent, inexperienced young female.

I saw her lying on the beach nursing her child of about two. The little girl wore only a headscarf. The mom wore a bright pink bikini, the top of which was pulled down slightly to accommodate the sucking. She made no concession to getting her share of the sunshine, lying there, her lovely arms stretched out, her lovely golden hair spilling over the reflective pillow upon which she rested her head.

Spreading my towel, I situated myself nearby. I pulled off the skirt portion of my beachwear, used some lotion, and spread myself out. I admit that I continued to watch the glorious blonde out of the corner of my eye. Finally the teeny-weenie was satiated, and mom pulled up her top. She noticed me peeking, and I smiled… She smiled back. I desperately searched for an excuse to say something. “Gotta go to the ladies room… Could you watch my stuff?” She nodded and smiled an acknowledgement.

I said “Thanks!” upon my return. She replied, “No problem. I know what a bother it is to be alone and try to look after things.”

“You’re here alone?”

“Yes. I rented that cottage over there for a couple of weeks of carefree summer fun,” she smiled. I didn’t ask about why someone like her would ever be alone, though the question certainly arose in my thoughts, and I simply concluded that that was the way she wanted it.

“I enjoyed watching you feed you daughter,“ I said smiling. I didn’t tell her that it also made me horny as hell. My bikini bottoms were soaked through (fortunately they were black), and my boobies were hot with my nipples hard as rocks. She didn’t seem in the least nonplussed by my remark, and a little tingle spread through the center of my groin as I discovered how friendly toward another lonely woman she seemed to be.

“Why don’t you come up to the house for a cold drink?” she asked as she stood, carrying her daughter whose arms wrapped around her neck. I accepted her invitation with enthusiasm as I helped her gather up her things, noting that the sand looked like a sugar coating on her golden hind. Smiling, I brushed it off with her towel. “What’s your name, hun?” …the obvious question.

“Michele… friends call me ‘Chele.”

As we walked up to the house, I noticed her car, a little red convertible, a car that seemed to suit her perfectly. The cottage itself was extremely casual, as one would expect, lots of rough wood and bright country furniture. There were really only two rooms: the main room with a bar-like kitchen and a pot-bellied stove for any heat that proved necessary, and a bedroom. She put the little girl, already asleep, down for a nap.

‘Chele grabbed herself a cold seltzer. Confronted by a full bar and plenty of juices, I opted for a Planter’s Punch, which I mixed myself. After the hot sun, the cold juicy rum drink went down fast. :=P

The d├ęcor of the house, though temporary, clued me in to a sensual temperament. It all screamed openness and assertiveness as opposed to the excessive modesty and self-consciousness one often sees in a woman’s home. By this time we were feeling relaxed with each other and were seated knee to knee on her somewhat over-sized sofa.

Emboldened by the rum, I complimented her on her gorgeous body and breasts. She quickly removed her bikini top. There were her two large beautiful breasts, with both her nipples sticking way out and oozing milk. We both giggled and looked at each other, and it was as though each of us could read the other’s mind. She asked if it would be OK if she touched my breasts to see how they felt. I caught my breath, but said yes, I guess so. She slowly took both my breasts in her hands and gently squeezed them and started massaging them.

Even though great minds think alike, I’m not sure she completely understood what I meant when I then said, “May I, please?” I think it really surprised her when I took one of her nipples in my mouth and started sucking on it. Ooh, it tasted so good. I sucked hard and got a lot of breast in my mouth with the nipple. I massaged her other breast and nipple while she nursed me. The milk was sweet and tasted like - pineapple? It was hindmilk, richer than the foremilk, and I sort of felt bad her daughter had not gotten it. She closed her eyes and moaned a little as I suckled. Then I moved on to the other breast. I believe I drained her completely.

She had been massaging my tits all along. They were superheated, and my nipples had hardened. She shyly asked if she could suck me. Why “shyly” I don’t know, given what we had been doing, but I don’t think either of us had had much sexual contact with other women, so I think we were both a bit hesitant at what to do next. She slowly lowered her head toward me on the couch. I put my hands behind her head and slowly pulled her face down to my breasts. She slowly kissed my nipples and licked each of them, sucking gently. She rubbed against them and I could feel her cheeks, chin, nose, and tongue.

We kissed. Our lips pushed and nibbled, our tongues toying between parted lips, but when I pushed aside her thong and slid my finger inside her, she plunged her tongue deeply into my mouth. I stroked the downy curls between her legs and slipped my fingers further into her wetness. With a quick and shallow breath, she parted her legs further. I crossed my fingers inside of her, my thumb rubbing across her clit, stroking her rhythmically. Gently and thoughtfully, but greedily.

‘Chele began to make the most exquisite sounds imaginable, sounds I’d never heard that no actress could ever hope to duplicate. She moaned, first in surprise, then in helpless surrender, as my fingers slid in and out of her and my thumb crossed her clit. I pulled out my fingers and held them up for her to lick as is licked them myself, our tongues lapping, our mouths sucking.

Working my way along her body, I circled her nipples with my wet tongue before continuing down. I played with her navel with my fingers and tongue, and I could see that the touch sent tingles to all the right places in ’Chele’s body. When my tongue touched her inner thigh, a shudder of desire shook her. She seemed to have expected something quicker and rougher, but I was taking her on a journey of my own creation -- a long, secret journey, exploring hidden places in new a different ways. She hadn't anticipated such exotic and lengthy pleasures.

It struck me that this was a wild, intimate adventure of a type she had probably heard about but never really experienced before. I was determined to make her experience one she’d never forget.

She grabbed handfuls of my hair and ears pressing my face into her cunt and moaning, “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Well, I had no intention of stopping. As I licked her passion-wetted flower and its little pistil I continued moving my fingers inside her and began to massage her perineum. There was plenty of love juice to make it slick, and I immediately detected an increase in her sexual tension. “Oooooooooooooh…” she exclaimed. “That feels… incredible!!!”

I could barely resist touching and probing the little rosebud further along, but she didn’t ask for it, and I didn’t want to put her off her ecstatic mood with a surprise she wouldn’t necessarily accept. I told myself I should save something for a possible future encounter. Thinking back, I can’t believe I was being so reflective and considerate. I was as mindlessly ecstatic as she, and on the verge of my own special kind of climax, watching this wonderful creature enjoy herself so.

For a while we positioned ourselves scissor fashion, our pussies rubbing, mixing our love juices as we watched each other’s faces radiate pleasure and joy. "Oh, my God," I muttered hoarsely giving her an open mouthed invitation that she took. With every movement I worked back down her body. Every shift of position gave a breathtaking hint of mindless ecstasy that seemed to grow with each second. She shuddered and clutched my shoulders for strength, losing herself with each lick and tickle of my tongue.

There wasn't an inch of her that I didn't taste -- from the base of her throat to the curve of her waist to the backs of her knees to her crimson toenails. And as I indulged in the wet petals of her womanhood, she tangled her fingers in my hair and arched her hips as ripples of ecstasy shook her body. I felt each spasm as though it were my own.

"Oh God…" she groaned over and over as the lightning bolts of ecstasy shot through her. And as we clung together in the midst of spiraling fireworks, I found words welling up from inside -- words I didn't know had been lying in wait, and words I couldn’t easily say. "I love you, hunny. I love you."

I worshipped her mouth, her cunt, and every part of her body until she wept with joy. Her arousal gushed like a tidal wave, a moving wall of incredible pleasure that swept us both out into an ocean of ecstasy. Ripples of release flooded through her, changing her, making her, I felt, mine.

She began to heave and writhe, flesh against flesh, mouth to flower petals. Each movement brought a corresponding reply when suddenly she reached down to me, pulled me against her, and began gyrating and grinding herself into me. "Yes . . . yes . . . oh . . . Oh . . . " came out as she heaved and convulsed into a series of explosive climaxes. The sensual waves continued as she was convulsed by great shudders that radiated the throbbing heat within.

We could not resist the violent passion, our wriggling, sighs, our intertwined legs pulling us ever deeper.

As our bodies moved together I was shaken to my very soul at the intensity of the feelings that moved me -- feelings that were by turns primal and selfish, gentle and yearning. I held on until I felt the last few gentler tremors shake her body. Then I rose and buried my face in the soft and fragrant cloud of her hair. Dazed and motionless, we lay there finding ourselves, our old selves that had never before experienced such wonders.

We both knew that our real lives could in no way accommodate this being routine or permanent. But we also knew that we would again find a way to repeat the new joy that we had found. Our situation was not impossible, but our tristes are definitely going to be catch as catch can and less frequent than we would like. But just the thought of her makes my whole body tingle. I have a wonderful, indelible memory… and something to look forward to as well.

Obviously if I WERE a predatory older woman who hunts, stalks, lusts after and imposes her attentions upon innocent, inexperienced young females, I would have long since been devoured by my prey.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Girl on Ice

One thing that keeps robbing me of time with Michele is her interminable training program. Her taut little body comes at a price, and she keeps at her rather grim-seeming practice regimen, but she also seems to enjoy it immensely. Early one Saturday morning, not yet light out, I went to the rink to see what was so much fun.

I parked my tush on one of the cold rink benches, and immediately wished I'd worn something longer if not warmer than my bright purple squall jacket. My jeans were simply not up to the task of insulating me from the cold hard surface, but my rear end is quite capable of warming a bench :=P. After a while I got more comfortable, aided by a hot chocolate from the stand. (Hmmmm, wonder when those pretty cognac-color cords will go on sale at Lands End...)

Skaters (mostly girls) were warming up both off and on the ice. Some were practicing crossovers, mohawks, and turns, and doing portions of the USFSA tests. Others were doing spirals, lunges, shoot the ducks, bauers, spread eagles, pivots, and attitudes. Still others were going through the familiar jumps and spins too numerous to mention.

I knew from my conversations with Michele that figure skating was a complex sport, that it's not just the jumps and their difficulty - it's also how well a given jump, spin, or spiral sequence is performed. And there are basic skating skills on display between these performance highlights: edge quality... speed and power... "flow." Does the skater move smoothly across the ice, or does she continually lose speed and have to regain it with a push to the other foot? Do the connecting elements use bi-directional and difficult turns such as brackets, counters, and choctaws, or only the relatively easy forward three turns and inside mohawks? Does the accompanying music find expression in the movement? So I watched the practice with interest, trying to see how all the activities fed into the final product of what might become an actual performance.

Michele and a few others of her age etched circles in the ice with a special tool, and started very slow, deliberate patterns over the circles they'd made. The younger girls yelled, somewhat contemptuously, "Compulsories!!!!! Yeeew! How last century can you get?!"

I really didn't get what happened next. The practice was over, and after the typically strenuous exertions, most of the skaters were stumbling off the ice, except for the few older skaters chatting and the gaggle of teen agers noisily flaunting their youth. Suddenly, Michele, whom I'd come to watch, sped up and circled the entire perimeter of the ice. She went onto the inside edge of one skate, lifting her other leg up and back, stretching her hands out over her head, taking the blade of the free leg and pulling toward her head, and then just balancing and gliding on one leg all the way around the rink... a perfect (and very long) Bielmann.

It was a lovely but hard glide, and Michele stopped in front of me, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her pretty face framed in an auburn updo a few inches from mine. Her skating outfit was gray like the winter sky, and, in spite of the coldness of the rink, damp with perspiration. Little beads of sweat were running down her pretty face. Her eyes danced with exhilaration, and while I looked at her, the color of her cheeks shifted and deepened just as it would upon a bed of pink blossoms swaying in the wind.

I leaned forward to gently kiss the flowers. "What's up with the impromptu show?" I asked.

She replied, "With us 'older' skaters still on the ice and within earshot, that little 14-year-old bitch over there said a little too loudly, 'Why are THEY still competing?' My coach just now said
to the little snot, 'That's why [referring to me] - because they love the beauty of the sport. And if you are really lucky you will be able to do that in ten more years. And one more thing. The compulsory moves----a deliberate return to the basics----are the building blocks of EVERYTHING.'"

I could tell from the expression on Michele's face that this was a great moment and that she was going to be in a really good mood for quite some time.

Michele usually walked to and from the rink, but I offered her a ride, which meant she didn't have to shower and change here, and she quickly pulled off her skates and slipped on her down parka and loafers. I further suggested that after she freshened up we engage in one of our favorite pastimes, some power shopping. This brought out a smile of even greater intensity than the one she'd had on her face ever since her lovely display. We were at her house in less than 5 minutes, and she disappeared into the bathroom.

In the meantime, I tried out her new furniture, a gorgeous turquoise and white room size sectional and loveseat, wonderfully large and comfortable. I began to think that maybe we shouldn't go anyplace. But given our mutual passion for shopping, I also did not want to interrupt the flow of our day... After all, we didn't get one to ourselves that often. So I began trying to think of places where, if the need truly arose, we could kill two birds with one stone. Uh, stores with private fitting rooms maybe? Hmmm... Maybe Nordstrom's. Some folks complain about their lighting, but they DO have mirrors on 3 sides. Hehehehe. :=P

Michele came out wrapped in a towel, looking even more gorgeous in her steaminess than she had in the cold and went straight to her bedroom to dress. As usual, I marveled at how her strong musculature could radiate such a delicate appearance of softness. She reappeared in about 2 minutes flat dressed in jeans and a bright yellow turtleneck. Once again, where to go? We left for Nordstrom's.

Michele was driving now, as we had opted for the cooler and funner of our vehicles. Her super long daily commute had contributed to a propensity for speeding and passing semis, though I'm pretty sure her brand new candy-apple red Mustang convertible made it far less of a chore than it had been before. I rode shotgun esconced in saddle leather and watched out for state troopers. It was early when we arrived, and any semblance of a crowd had yet to materialize, so we headed straight for the close-in covered lot where we would be only steps from the door of the store.

As usual, Michele's approach was super-organized: She keeps an ongoing list of clothing needs posted in her closet, and as she dresses each morning, she makes notes of items she needs to complete various outfits such as a wider brown belt or a black tee with V-neck. (She also pre-organizes clothes into outfits, :=P) This list goes with her to the store. Upon arrival, we headed straight for dresses by way of leggings and the other accessories that Michele loves.

I think anyone seeing us would think we were a mother and daughter shopping together. I am a bit self-conscious about my age, especially when comparing myself to Michele, who is very much in her prime. In my mind's eye, I am an old woman with large sagging breasts, my unshaved pussy a hairy and unattractive morass. In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. I have a svelte figure, and those who know my true age tell me that look 15 years younger than I am. I still have a pretty face thanks to good bones. In addition, my "anjimal" (as Michele calls it) is always neatly clipped (in pre-1990s fashion), and otherwise scrupulously cared for as well. But her wonderful body still brings out my insecurities. At the same time, being with her makes me unconcerned about trying out things about which I would otherwise be inhibited and makes me totally un-self-conscious about youthful-looking clothes.

Michele collected about 5 daywear dresses; I found one. We headed for the dressing rooms. Apparently anticipating our needs, she headed for the handicapped dressing room where there was a little more room... probably just another case of GMTA. I staked a claim to the stall next door, hanging my jacket from the door and placing the dress inside. It was a perfect time to shop, as the other rooms were empty. The dressing rooms were nice... actual rooms with ceilings, not just stalls.

By the time I checked on Michele, she had already tried on one dress and discarded it. She tossed a dress at me saying, "Put this on." "It won't work," I protested, since we weren't the same size at all. "Yea it will," she said. "There were talls in the rack over there, so I grabbed that one for you."

As I obeyed her command, she looked at me. Michele's eyes are quick and bright; they are a lovely greenish color, and she has a wonderful way of turning them swiftly upon an object or person and holding them there until some form of obedience occurs. I pulled off my Polartec top, and, slipping easily out of my penny loafers, wriggled out of my jeans. I wuz standing there in my ribbed tank top and panties, a flattering look on me, though not particularly sexy. For her part, Michele wuz in her dark red half-cups and Italian panties.

"Pretty hot, huh?" Michele asked (or stated), placing a hand into her panties and running it between her legs, her fingers trailing through her pussy and then up to my lips for me to lick. The usual result occurred: my knees went weak, and I began to melt, getting flushed and hot. Her fingers tasted of unsweetened berries, bringing to mind how rigorous and healthy her diet was. I hoped in vain that I tasted at least almost as good, having had leftover quiche lorraine and strong coffee for breakfast.

"That's my baby," giggled Michele, herself lightly flushed. I put on the dress she had selected, but I was becoming becoming very horny and fixated on her half cups... She had obviously been thinking ahead when she had donned this particular set of underwear. I have always suspected that her plan was to keep me in a continuous state of sexual agitation. Many regard me as staid and unapproachable, as a woman of my age probably should be, but for her I'm merely a target for finely tuned sexual provocations. Not that I'm complaining...

The Rag & Bone Hellcat dress wuz definitely me (and her as well, for that matter). It wuz shown with R&B Moto pleather leggings and Newbury ankle boots (the boots no longer available, *sigh*). With the dress on sale for a paltry $198, the dress and legging total came to a mere $723. At that price I would have snapped it up, but I already have so many similar... haha :=P

For some reason, Michele finds it really easy to drop her drawers in a hurry, which she did while yanking me by my tank top down to my knees. I was between her strong legs, which she promptly draped over my shoulders as she sat on the bench. Her areolae peeked out over her half cups, and her sweet cleanly shaved slit confronted me directly. Blood rushed to my head (and elsewhere). I could feel my own pussy lips becoming swollen with desire.

"You like my little anjimal?" she asked in baby talk. "Yes, me wikes your wittle anjimaw," I said as I stuck my face into her pussy and hoped to God I had shut the door. Meanwhile my hands went to work on freeing her breasts, and after a few tentative licks, my mouth went to work, Michele's cunt becoming creamier and more delicious with each wriggly intrusion of my tongue. By now I had her bra off, and my hands gently massaged her superheated 34Bs. "Oooooh," she said, "that feels unbelievable."

I stuck my fingers in her pussy under her clit and kept licking, hoping to trigger the serial multiple orgasms she so often has. After some minutes, I felt some tremors, mercifully unaccompanied by the loud yelps of pleasure that so often occurred with them. I moved up her left rib cage with my mouth, licking the length of each rib as they increased from the twelfth to the eighth, then decreased again from the seventh to the first, moving slowly to her hairless fragrant armpit, lingering there and kissing the sensitive flesh, then to her firm round breast, and finally to her collarbone to nibble her neck. Keeping my hand in her cunt I got up on the dressing room bench, and hers moved to mine as well.

I remember thinking that her ribs seemed so delicate, I hoped she'd be very careful on the ice. I then began to worry that my legs were sandpapery, but checking, I found that they were still okay. I draped my right leg over her lap. Her hand drifted over my leg and made its way up along my inner thigh where the tender soft flesh was warm and moist...

Kissing her mouth, she tugged at my lower lip as she so often did, turning it into a signature unique and private erogenous zone. My lips were hot and so were hers as we used the device of kissing to somehow meld our bodies into one. Wave after wave of sensation came from my pussy, driving me wild. Finally, a wave of pleasure washed over me, leaving me breathing in gasps that only very gradually subsided.

Breathing heavily, we sat all wrapped around each other for a few minutes before untangling the hot jumble of entwined limbs that so often characterizes us in repose. We looked longingly at the several thousand dollars worth of clothes we had brought in to try on, and then gave each other a GMTA look. Crossing two minds simultaneously was the thought that perhaps a store like this might have security cameras behind its mirrors. Oops. We put on our jeans and tops as nonchalantly as we could, and prepared to leave.

In spite of business hardly having picked up, somebody knocked at the door. We said, okay, and hurried ourselves along. Upon exiting, we noticed that the person who knocked was not even handicapped (and didn't have anyone with them :=P), and that there were plenty of other rooms available. But being freshly fucked, neither of us found ourselves able to harbor any animosity toward anyone for anything. I grabbed my jacket from the room next door.

We did notice that the entire area was a little noisier than it should have been.

"I want THAT outfit, not some kid stuff," screamed the obnoxious teenager, amazingly, the VERY SAME ONE from the skating rink.

"Don't be silly," said her mother, it's way too expensive, even for an adult who might get some use out of it. It's not for kids - it's way too sexy. Where would you wear it? There's no way I would spend that on an outfit for myself, much less on clothes intended for school. If you want expensive things, you're gonna hafta work for the money to buy them, and even then I wouldn't want you buying that."

"Yea, yea, yea..." and then a loudly whispered "BEEEEYOTCH!"

"What did you say?"


"You NEVER acted that way when YOU were her age," I said MUCH too loudly to a smirking Michele as we sashayed past.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Meeting Michele

Let me say that I have a passion for Second Life dancing, an activity that can keep me up late into the night. For a while I gave it up for less strenuous activities like sleeping, but, once I got another little taste, I got hooked again, and I found that I absolutely cannot go without. I'll shake my ass to almost anything: Hi-NRG, house, techno, Chicago, progressive, salsa, or whatever.

Please take note of my club dancing behaviors: (1) I tend to dance alone; (2) I usually dance right in front of the DJ and pay little attention to the rest of the venue; (3) if you come up to me and tell me I’m cute or that I'm a good dancer, I will simply take it as a bad pickup line or as sarcasm (it's SL, you know, and everyone is a cute star dancer); and (4) if you say hi to me, I probably won't remember you unless we're both regulars and I see you all the time.

I’m telling you this to put my remarkable first encounter with Michele in perspective.

I met her at Cirque Mystique, a Second Life hotspot of days gone by. It was Lingerie Night. As I danced alone, I could not help but notice this quietly lovely creature off to my left, studious-looking in her glasses, but exuding a soft sensuality that leapt out at me in a way I can't quite describe even to this day. She seemed to be friends with the hostess.

I watched her for a while. She appeared to be in her 30s, and she moved with a careless grace that betrayed her athleticism. Closer inspection revealed a tautness uncommon in girls of any age, and I suppressed an image that leapt into my mind, one of her sinewy legs wrapped around me in a deadly (for me) embrace. Thinking such thoughts, a casual hello would have been difficult to muster.

But Lingerie Night does serve to reduce inhibition. I asked her to dance and she agreed with a smile and an expression of vague interest. As I drew closer, I saw that her muscle tone was no illusion, and that she exuded a quiet physical confidence that was not completely consistent with her somewhat scholarly appearance. She was exquisite, with a taut, lean body and lovely green eyes. All she wore was a teddy. I could see the well defined muscles of her arms, and I imagined them encircling me, along with her lovely legs, holding me close. I looked at her mouth. I began to imagine the taste of her lips and their hotness as they explored bits of my body. At the same time, I became anxious that she might reject the friendship of a woman of my obvious age, no matter how well preserved I might be.

We danced, jostling amidst a fair-sized crowd, a sploder sploding, particle effects and rave lights all around. I was mesmerized by her svelte figure, dancing gracefully, merging with mine, and then again becoming discrete. It turned out that my anxiety and fears were unfounded. We talked, exploring each other a bit, discussing our real lives mostly in generalities, but with some specifics. We found that we had a bit in common, including a love of Second Life dance.

We left the dance, however, and found a quiet place to talk elsewhere on Cirque (a pirate ship, by the way), a place from which to watch the moon and its reflection upon the Second Life sea. Music from the dance playing softly in the background, I gently grasped her hand. I found it hot to the touch. Not wanting to seem too forward, I toyed with it, turning it over and contenting myself with tracing the lines on her palm.

Though I had done the grasping, I found myself being led as she placed my hand on her cheek to stroke the fine baby hair in front of her ear. I stroked her face softly, softly, soothing... She turned, her green pools confronting my own eyes. Suddenly she came at me with a kiss that took away my breath. Her lips were like fire as she pushed her tongue between mine. Our tongues curled as we pressed into each other's mouths, and I gasped for breath as she suddenly altered course and moved on to my neck, her lips and breath so hot, gently sucking little love bites onto my skin.

Her heat was my cue - we would hold nothing back. Not that I myself needed to take any initiative. She guided my hand down to her camisole. I placed her hot little hand on my thigh. I then lifted the cami’s fabric drawing back the silk, and my tongue followed the contour of her tit as she threw back her head and moaned softly into the night. I licked one breast then the other, not yet surrendering to my desire to suck her gorgeous tits. I then moved on to her bare back, leaving wet kisses here and there, and breathing hot circles on her back to be spread around her soft skin with the palm of my hand.

As she reclined against my shoulder looking into my eyes, my hand found its way beneath the band of her knickers. I quivered from my tummy to my groin, and felt the trembling in her body as well. As I explored her wetness, her hand found its way into my panties. Her fingers began to explore my own wetness, and her simple touch very nearly brought me to orgasm.

Her fingers tugged at my pussy’s lips and began to trace the edges, smoothly, bottom to top...

She fixed me with her green gaze as she found my nub and began to rub it like the expert I was beginning to understand she was. With long soft strokes she caressed my cunt, slowly fingering my clit, slit, and deep wet hole. She stroked in a circle around my clit, then dipped into my wetness, bringing up my juices to smoothly glide around it. I felt the tension build as she took each of my hardened pink tits into her mouth, repeating the motion of her finger rolling around my clit with that of her tongue rolling around my nipples.

She moved her mouth to mine, parting my lips with her tongue, and sucking my own tongue into her sweet, wet mouth, beginning a hypnotic rhythm in which she fingered me as I fingered her. Our bodies moved as one in a rhythmic dance of beating hearts, fucking fingers, and twisting tongues. I breathed hot breath into her mouth and moaned, insane with the need for release. With a quiver of exquisite pleasure, arching bolts struck with a force that benumbed us both, and my mind raced as waves of passion flushed over me like blasts of hot sunlight.

Afterward we lay, back to breast, tush to cunt, reveling in our satiation, relishing an exquisite peace, her heart beating in time with mine. Now I wait out each day in anticipation, wanting only an hour or two to feel close to her. I said that when I saw her again, I wanted to taste her essence - to lick her 'til she came, and I wanted her to lick me. She said with a sly smile, "That's my plan too. But first, where do you want to dance?"