by Linda Chorlton
Rose-Marie lay very still, her mind though active, seemingly disconnected from the her body. She had wakened a few moments earlier, feeling langourous, still listless from sleeping. Her first thoughts were of her husband, how he had gone away to work for two days and that she didn't even remember kissing him good-bye, although she knew she must have done so. After this length together, these things happen so automatically, you do them without even remembering.
Sad to reflect, this was how far their relationship had begun to deteriorate. The thought annoyed her. Home life hadn't gone this far without establishing some sort of basicroutine. Or had he really just crept out into the early morning, leaving her deep in her dreams about...
She had been dreaming of an old lover and now her thoughts turned to her friend, the man she had,perhaps mistakenly, seduced into having illicit sex with her, on her living room carpet...years ago. It wasn't that it hadn't been fun.
Actually the thought made her both frown and smile simultaneously. The look of shock on his face when she had asked him, "How long have you wanted to fuck me?" His look of stupified delight had vanished and she had really stunned him. His cock was hard, his face a few inches from her cunt where he had been licking her into a lather, looked at her, astounded and amazed... hardly believing his ears.
It was warm and sunny in the bedroom and she felt really pleased that her husband would be away. Today she had a lunch date with her friend and tomorrow she was to see her lover. All day tomorrow. Wonderful. It had been two weeks since they had seen each other, and she was looking forward to spending the day in his arms. After eating a light breakfast, she sat down at the dining room table, read over some mail and started preparing to work on a presentation for the next week.
The doorbell rang. He was early. Not so surprising. For years he'd had a crush on her, serving and servicing her as and when she dictated. He was a nice person, odd, creative, always sexualising. It made her smile. There were some things she could always count on, things that made her feel happy and ... feminine.
Today he had a bottle of champagne. "Two years," he said, "two years since we last had lunch."
She wondered if he had come anticipating resuming where they had left off. Several times he had given her full body massages. They had been nice, pleasant and fun. But if he expected to resume such intimacy or, even more unlikely and preposterous,re- enact one of the fantasies he used to tell her about on the phone, he was due to be disappointed. Quite recently, just a few months ago he had related a fantasy which included mild violence. It had surprised her.
She didn't equate anger and violence with sexual excitement. Never had. But when she expressed dismay and wondered at his motivation , he had taken great pains to assure her that it was all only a fantasy, something he had thought she would find very exciting.
"If it bothers you, forget it," he told her on the phone. "My imagination runs wild sometimes. You know that I'm really a wimp. Over-eager. Your devoted sycophant. Why else would I go to the trouble of creating seventeen or eighteen fantasies for you?"
He made a noise, ostensibly clearing his throat. "Of course in college I was different. In those days I was a monster, a macho bully whose only desire was to sexually abuse helpless women. But I've changed. You must believe me. I've reformed!"
They had both laughed at that. In college he had been quiet, unwashed, and amusingly insecure. However, his phone fantasies had been fun, an enjoyable moment in her sometimes boring days, flattered that he had always made her the centre of the action. That was the best part. She imagined that if she wanted, he could be persuaded to do some of those fun things for her. So long as it somehow involved sex. He was a sexual obsessive. Luckily, she had better control of her life and thoughts. By now he had moved into the kitchen, twisting open the champagne cork.
"I can't drink," she said. "I have a meeting this afternoon at four."
"No problem. But you won't mind if I have a sip myself, then." He walked over to the cupboard in search of a glass. Over his shoulder he said, "What a beautiful house! I had no idea. When you said it had won awards, well, I couldn't ever have imagined."
He opened the refrigerator. "Would it be all right if I used some orange juice? How about a Buck's Fizz, champagne with orange juice. Does that sound healthy and mild enough?"
"Fine," she said, "but not too much champagne." They sat and talked about whatever came to mind. He asked her lots of questions, about her husband, about work, about her daughter. Today her daughter and the housemaid had gone for a day trip.
The little girl was talking quite intelligently already and could do her ABC's and count to twenty. She had obviously benefited from the genetic strengths of Rose-Marie and her husband. He asked about her lover. She told him about the recent afternoon session, when she and her lover had taken a bath together.
Sitting in the bubble-filled bath facing each other, first they had splashed each other with bubbles. Then, with a lascivious smile, she had boldly leaned forward, reached beneath the bubbles into the water between his legs. Taking his limp cock in her hand, she had slowly stroked him, and, when he was hard, his body trembling with desire and excitement, her hand slid up and down on his soapy cock.
This provoked him into action. He had stood up and soaped her, lathering her breasts, tweaking her nipples which were hard and like peanut shells, down to her stomach, all over her firm and rounded buttocks, and then bravely he had rubbed, stroked and caressed her cunt.
She had shaved her mound of venus, for him, and her "bald pussy" responded to his attentions by becoming a rim of pink. Still covered with bubbles they stepped out of the bath, pulled the plug and turned the shower on full hot. As the bathroom filled with steam he put a warm towel on the sink, pressed her backwards against it, and they kissed and stroked each other, their stomachs and chests and hands slipping and sliding over each other's soapy bodies as they caressed, probed and slithered, her lover's hard cock pinned to her stomach, sliding up to her breasts, slipping between her ass cheeks and anywhere else her lover could manage.
When they showered off, he had turned her round, and, as she leaned forward, her hands on the wall, he made love to her from behind. The warm shower water ran in long tickling strings of wetness off her back as he rammed his hardness into her wet secret place. Her breasts shook and she could feel him in her stomach on every stroke.
They came together, his arms wrapped around her waist, his cock shooting and spasming inside her pulsing cunt, the bathroom steamy and hot, the water streaming off them. At the end of her story, her friend asked, "What are we going to eat?"
"Well, I have some..." and she described the contents of her refrigerator.
They made do with some vegetables and cold pasta...and he indulged in another Fizz. After he had washed the dishes they sat in the study. The food and drink gave the room a warm glow in the early afternoon light. "How's your back?" he asked.
"Fine. It hasn't bothered me in months."
"May I rub your shoulders?"
He moved her onto the floor and she sat in front of him as he rubbed her shoulders and neck. As always his touch was warm. Strong and gentle. He moved down to the centre of her back. After a few minutes he guided her to lie downn her stomach.
The carpet was warm, comfortable. He was good, attentive and sensitive to her tiniest stiffness. Surprisingly he found quite a few tight spots, little circles of tension in her neck, shoulders, back and arms. Her body sank heavily into the carpet, scraps of thoughts and memories flitted through her langourous mind.
As his touch lightened slightly, she wondered if his intent had changed and his thoughts had become more sexual. It wasn't going to work this time, she smiled to herself. But his massage remained direct and unlascivious and, after a few minutes, her suspicions were allayed. Beneath his touch, her muscles melted. She felt content and pleased with life. She felt contented in the languour of sunlight, lunch and the slight hum of the champagne. He massaged her bum, very carefully, not moving onto her legs as she had expected.
"Here," he said, "I'm going to stretch your arms," and he moved away from her arse cheeks and began rubbing her arms. There was a rustling in the bag he had brought and left under the coffee table, but she thought nothing of it. The sun through the window was on her legs and it felt as though it was warming her very bones, heating her legs and flowing over them like a thick warm liquid. The weight of her breasts and pelvis in the carpet felt good. She smiled coyly.
After two years, he hadn't lost his touch with her. His massage was fulfilling, relaxing. His rubbing moved to her wrists and she noticed that he was rubbing her forearms and wrists with some soft material, something of velvet or felt. As he rubbed he lifted one wrist and then the other and put the material around them, gently lower ing the arms back to the floor. There was the sound of a belt buckle and she wondered if he was taking off his pants, perhaps to masturbate over her.
She wasn't sure she minded if he wanted to masturbate, but he was going to be disappointed if he expected her to help in any way. And he damned well had better not cum on my blouse, she thought with a start. With that annoying thought she lifted her head to see what he was doing. Her wrists were held by straps of velvet, red velvet.
As she moved to sit up she was surprised to find her wrists were fastened to the foot of the desk. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"This is stupid. I have to go to a meeting at four o'clock."
"I know. And it's only one o'clock, which gives us two hours to relax and enjoy the afternoon sun. So lie down, take a few slow deep breaths, and let me make you feel good. Please. I promise you'll only enjoy yourself. The moment you feel threatened or unhappy, I'll take them right off. Of course, with the handcuffs you have to trust me. Some people like having someone serve them, having someone lead their pleasure. There are even slave and master love games. One person is the slave for an afternoon, the next time that person gets to be the master. 'Course, slave-master is not a game I expect you'd enjoy. Unless you get to be the master. But try this with the red cuffs. Trust me."
"You had better not do anything hurt me or upset me. I'll be awfully angry" She gave him a stern look.
"Don't worry. Have I ever done anything to you that scared you or hurt you?" He was creative and sexually obsessed, but he wasn't a hurtful person. Her stern look softened.
Perhaps she should relax a little. Perhaps this would be interesting, even enjoyable. He moved her gently to lie her down and once again went to work on her neck, stretching the muscles, working slowly down her back. With a sigh she gave up and decided to see what happened before making a fuss.
With her head to one side on the carpet she noticed a pen that had rolled under the desk. But she forgot about it as her back again warmed under his touch. He worked with slow broad strokes of his hands, gently pulling the blouse out of her skirt, sliding it up to the nape of her neck. He unfastened her bra.
"You have a beautiful back, you know. Nice muscles." With his hands he drew and worked the muscles in a ripple down her back, just to the waist of her skirt and then back up, tracing circles around her shoulder blades. His hands were warm and his touch strong but gentle.
Warm repeated strokes on her back, each time a little lower until they were almost to her buttocks. She took a breath and released it with a sigh. His hands left her back. There was a pause. And then a touch on her ankles. Almost a tickling followed by a slow, firm skittering scraping of fingernails drawn gently up the insides of her legs.
"Wouldn't it be nice to have a tongue crawling up the inside of your legs. An erotic slug, so to speak, seeking refuge and haven. Somewhere above the Tropic of the Knees."
"You're being silly," she said, laughing. Sliding her skirt up to her bum, he scratched gently up and down on the insides of her thighs, moving closer and closer to her clitoris, her tights accentuating the tingling sensation. "Does this feel good?"
And she started as she felt his tongue, ambiguous through the nylon, but a tongue clearly, on the back of her leg. The sun had moved and she could feel its heat on her naked back. The tongue, damp and warm through the nylon, moved in slow circles, advancing gradually upwards until he was licking the fabric at her crotch. Excitement started. Blood rushed to her labia, swelling them pnky.
His hands worked her buttocks, massaging deeply into them, releasing the muscles in her hips, muscles she had never really noticed before, muscles pleased to be released. Her legs moved gradually apart as he worked. His hands kneading her buttocks, his tongue massaging happily the crotch of the panty-hose.
The wetness of his mouth was beginning to be joined by a slight wetness of her own. Moments later his hand reached under the waistband of the skirt to pull down her red lacey panty, and a second after that she felt the tongue on the inside of her thigh, again making its way upwards. She felt his scratchy cheeks on the tender skin immediately below her cunt.
She shuddered. A pause and then his tongue plunged inside her, pressing the lips of her secret place apart, his hands on her thighs, then by her bum, his fingers pressing her ass, moulding it, rolling the muscles of her cheeks even as he slowly licked her. The room was starting to disappear into a swirling mist. She shivered when his lips found her clitoris and he sucked on it, pulling in gently, first with his lips and then with a gentle nibble of his teeth, sucking on it, licking it as his hands pressed her pelvis forward.
His hand pulled her bum up to give his insistent tongue better access. From the clit he moved upwards to the sensitive G-spot between ass and slit and he toyed there, the tip of his tongue teasing her, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to swivel her pelvis in response.
She was looking to the left, her nose in the carpet. It smelled clean, the carpet smelled like the vacuum cleaner. She could see the legs of the chair a few feet away, sunlight spilling over the chair onto the floor. His tongue still doing its service to the gateway of her melting insides, he slid a finger into her cunt. She moaned and moved to make his access easier.
He added a finger and began to gently poke her wet secret place with two fingers. She moaned. "This is only the warm-up, the preview to the main event," he said breathlessly. Still sliding his finger in and out of her moist cunt, he finally moved his head away. His other hand took hold of her shoulder and pulled her onto her back. She looked up at the ceiling, and, closer, the edge of the desk.
They seemed miles a way, years in the past. He reached to his left, took a cushion from the couch and propped it under her head so she was looking across the room at a picture she and her husband had bought several years ago. Her friend's head disappeared once again between her legs.
A bobbing head was all she was aware of, and her extreme pleasures rose. She felt his hot wet lips on her clit, pulling it, working it around and around, letting it slide out and then diving back onto her cunt a second later. She bent her knees and slid her feet up, opening her knees apart.
"I'm going to take you on a fantasy, alright? See if you like this. A well-hung man you're going to meet and fuck, without so much as a word." "You're going to visit your lover," he said, "and you're at his house, for some reason or another. His wife and kids are away for the week, so you go into his house to surprise him.
But he's not there, so you change into a t-shirt and shorts and sit at the kitchen table to wait for him. There's a knock at the door and when you answer there is a man standing there you've never seen before, a very handsome man in a blue pinstripe suit with a blue cotton shirt and a lawyer's tie.
He's surprised to see you, and, in his shock, he steps into the kitchen. He is surprised, nonplussed, obviously very taken aback by your wholesome attractiveness."
"You're staring at him, admiring his square jaw, his red-brown hair, when he looks up. Your eyes meet and you know that he wants you and that you want him.
You say, "Hi," and he says, "Hi," and the two of you move towards each other until he's holding you in his arms. You press yourself against him and you can feel his cock getting hard, your own pelvis rolling and swaying against him, urging him, encouraging him. His hand moves to your breast and he holds it, playing with it, moving sl owly to squeeze your nipple through the thinness of the t-shirt, the palm of his hand feeling it, pressing it, wanting it. " "You put your hand on his cock. It's hard and hot through the wool fabric. You clutch it, squeeze it in your hand several times as he gasps, taking your other breast in his free hand, fondling it, searching for the nipple so he can roll it between his fingers.
He presses you backwards against the kitchen table so that the two of you are grinding against each other, your hand kneading his cock, his hands fondling your breasts."
"Suddenly, without a second thought, you drop to your knees, open his pants and take his cock in your mouth. You suck him, his hands caressing your hair, touching your face. He is almost ready to come, when he stands you up, pulls down your shorts. He parts you with a finger and spreads your juice over the outside of our slit and lifts you to sit on the table. He manoeuvers his cock to touch you, to slide it around the edge of your cunt pink rim. And then he slides his cock into you, standing in front of you in his suit with his fly open, his eight-inch ramrod cock probing into your eager sex."
"Your arms are around his neck, holding him as he makes love to you. You both come together, the toaster and microwave, visible over his lurching shoulder, blurring in your ecstatic vision. For thirty seconds you hold it, he slowly shrinks i nside you, you feeling the drops of cum falling to the polyurethaned oak table beneath you. He pulls away and puts his tackle into his pants. You pull up your shorts."
"'He's not home?' he asks quietly, his square jaw hardly moving, his eyes turning sleepy from spent passion."
"'No, but I expect him any minute" you reply.
"'I'll call him tomorrow,' he says, and he leaves by the kitchen door.
Your lover comes home five minutes later and as he walks from his car to the house, you rush into the bathroom to freshen up." As the masseur told the story, he slowly opened her blouse, button by button. He pulled her bra up around her neck, exposing her breasts to the afternoon sunlight. The nipples stiffened as they both watched. "Beautiful," he said. As he looked up, their eyes met and they both laughed. "Warm in here," he said, and he took off his shirt.
"Very warm in here," he said, and he pulled off his pants. He had on black bikini underwear. She could see the cock, hard and bent downwards through the taut black fabric. He stood over her, his feet on either side of her and he slowly rubbed his cock through the cotton fabric, slowly, hypnotized by the sensations he gave himself, sliding his hand up and down on its hardness. He slowly lowered himself to his knees so that he sat lightly on her belly. "I don't want you to have to dryclean your skirt," he said.
And he unzipped it, slid it down her legs and put it over a chair. She flinched as he quickly reached out of sight over her pillowed head. His hand reappeared holding a bottle of massage oil. He poured it onto his hands, rubbed them together and began to work them over her breasts. The oil smelled like sandel wood and as he applied it to her body she felt stimulated, sensitized. It was a wonderful feeling, the hot slippery oil on her breasts, on her belly, on her shoulders and neck.
She felt so calm, so relaxed from the massage and the warm sun through the window. She revelled in the rush of sensation from his oily touch on her nipples. He rolled them, squeezing them, gently spinning them free from his grasp.
"Good?" he asked. She barely nodded. His palms flat on her breasts, he massaged them, the slippery contact electric through her skin, her breasts aching to be held, cupped, worshipped. They needed attention, they needed to be relieved of this arousal which made them ache. With his forefinger and thumb he gently flicked the nipples as though they were marbles, tiny drops of the scented oil flying each time his finger touched them.
He leaned his head down and drew the nipples between his lips, teasing them, letting them pop free. He pulled them, sucking and licking them and the puckered aureoles around them. Pleasure built up inside her, flowing from her breasts to her cunt and down through her tingling legs.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked. She realised a second later that her next words were going to be, "But I don't want you to." He simply shook his head "no" and rubbed her breasts in a wide sensuous circle with his hands. His right hand travelled downwards and he gently placed his fingers below her slit and drew them upwards, spreading the wetness and sending an electric shock through her body.
Suddenly she wanted something inside her, a cock, even fingers to assuage the aching she now felt in there. As he stroked the entrance to her sex, her pelvis arched off the floor in time to his stroking. He coordinated the stroking with the sucking of her nipples. Stroke, and he lifted his head, letting her left nipple release, her breast shivering, the nipple hard and erect. Stroke, his finger teasing just inside her rim of pink, sliding up and past the clitoris. Pop! he released the other nipple from his lips.
"I don't want to fuck you. I just want you to feel good. Think of men's cocks and your cunt and your beautiful breasts and the warm afternoon sun." His cock bulged beneath the black fabric. Suddenly, she wanted him to touch it.
"Take off your underwear and show me your cock. Touch it for me. And I'll sit on your face. And you'll make me cum. But first, touch yourself. You can masturbate yourself, if you want."
He stood up and took off his underwear. His cock was rigid. He licked the palm of his hand and slowly began to masturbate for her, stroking his cock as he stood beside her. His hand moved in slow strokes, the cock pulsing with each rhythmic stroke of his hand. She lay mesmerized. His balls swinging slowly beneath the cock, the purple head getting larger and darker each time he stroked his hand up its length.
His face became tense with pleasure, his mouth open, his breath whistling hoarsely at the end of each stroke. For a second he stopped and a tiny clear drop of fluid quivered on the tip of his bulging cock. His legs were locked and Rose-Marie saw the muscles of his thighs clenched, their shape hard beneath the skin.
Slowly, he resumed. And as he worked, he began to move down, kneeling over her so that his cock was almost between her oiled breasts. "I'm going to make love to them, I'm going to make love to your beautiful breasts," he whispered.
And he put his cock between her shining breasts, the sunlight relfected by the oil and sweat that now covered them. He took a breast in each hand and pressed them together around his cock. And he began to slide himself between them, the oil an d sun blanketing them, the breasts and cock and his hands a marvelous passionate focus of attention.
Rose-Mari arched her back so that her breasts were higher, so he could get his cock totally wrapped in her oiled breasts. The unbidden thought, that what would feel best was his cock in her cunt, crossed her mind. She turned her attention back to her breasts, to the slippery work of his cock, to his ass sliding on her stomach, the muscles hard beneath his weight, her breasts hot, the nipples pressing into his palms.
Again she thought of how it would feel to have his hot hardness slide slowly in and out of her vagina, her insides sucking him up, taking his cock from him and making it her own. He moved to hold her breasts in place with one hand, putting the other hand behind himself and between her legs. With his finger he began to gently stroke her clit.
"Ohhh," she said, "ohhh, that feels good. Put your fingers inside me. Please finger dip me." He moved them down and slid them inside of her. He slid his hips forward and with the tip of his cock he teased her lips. She put out her tongue and licked it .
He held it there while she slid her tongue around the tip, pursing her lips so she could take it between them and feel and taste the salty smooth skin. He slid further forward and put his cock in her mouth. However uncomfortable she may have felt an hour ago at that thought of his cock in her mouth, at this moment it felt good, a prelude to things he would do for her. As she let her lips slide over him, Rose-Marie tasted the oil from her breasts, slightly bitter in her mouth. He lightly touched her face, his fingers tracing the outline of her cheeks, her eyebrows and nose.
He ran his fingers through her hair, threading his fingers in it, pulling it lightly. The pulling of her scalp, the massaging of her hair felt good. With his fingers he touched her lips around his cock, he slid them over her lips, her saliva wet, a drop sliding down her chin and onto her neck. He pulled his cock from her mouth and moved away from her. His strong hands lifted her and turned her so she was sitting up. Sliding beneath her, he lay on his back and slid under her so she sat on his chest. Her hands lay on the top of his head, the cuffs dangling through his hair.
He began to move his tongue slowly around her clit. "Ohhh," she said, "Ohhh, that's good. Go slower." As his tongue teased her clit he brought his hands around under her arms to fondle her breasts. His chest felt oily and as he fucked her with his tongue she began to slide herself forward and back on his chest. Her ass on his oily chest felt slippery and warm, his hair tickled between her ass cheeks.
Now that she was sitting up she could see the top of the desk. The books and papers were scattered about. "I'll have to pick up later," she thought. Still eating her, he massaged her ass with one hand, kneading it and kneading the muscles deep inside. Sliding his tongue in and out of her slit, he also began to press with his upper jaw on her pelvis. She began to fuck his mouth, his tongue inside her cunt, darting over her clit, his mouth pressing forward rhythmically against her. With her arms in the cuffs she was unable to use her hands, unable to do anything except pull his hair, pulling his head forward to her, pressing her cunt and hips and ass and pelvis into his mouth, her oily hot body fucking him with a hunger she had not known.
She pressed her tits forward into his hands, her nipples standing hard and dimpled, her breasts sliding and shivering beneath his caresses. He cupped her breasts in his hands, he pinched and squeezed her nipples. For a time they loved, rhythmically making time stand still in her erotic pleasure. His lips and tongue lead her down a path of contented pleasure. After a time he stopped.
And gently moved out from under her. There was contentment in the air, a peace, the silence of siesta time in the afternoon, when all the world seems to be napping and the sound of the random car, passing by, seems muted and faraway. In the background of this afternoon haze, a soft click darted through her reverie, followed by a gentle whine. She half-opened her eyes, but he had already turned away from her.
He gently moved her back from her sitting position, putting a pillow once again under her head, making her comfortable. She felt as though she was at the beach, lying in the sun, having a dream, a fantasy brought on by a hearty lunch and strong drink. It felt wonderful lying there relaxing, her body langourous in the soft warmth of the carpet. Rose-Marie was content to lie resting, her breats warm and heavy, her cunt wet and steamy.
Down in her warm, wet, well-tended cunt, she felt a touch, a pulsing, a soft singing on the wet lips. For a second she thought it was him, that he had put his cock to her sex. The thought only seemed mildly disturbing. She decided she'd wait to stop him only if he tried to put it inside her. But he slid it around the edge of her secret place, teasing her, playing with the lips of her slit.
It felt somehow odd, somehow not quite what she expected of a hot thick cock. The singing humming thing wasn't him, it wasn't a real cock. The thought crept towards her, arriving she didn't know when, an inconsequential thought as she lay sunbathing on the beach on this delightful fantasy vacation. He moved it longways, and slid it slowly up and down, masturbating her, teasing her, pressing it for a moment against her clit, then sliding it downwards across the entrance to her passion-stained cunt.
She arched against its shivering warmth. It was hot and big and it made her tingle, sending waves of excitement through her body. She began to move against it, her body enraptured with the stroking hotness against her cunt. He changed the angle and slid it into her. Rose-Marie opened her legs, her legs pressing outwards, akimbo, to give the widest space for the blessed pulsing warmth.
He slid it in and out, in and out, making love to her, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. He moved his face closer and with his tongue stroked her clitoris, at the same time loving her shivering cunt with the humming surrogate penis. Rhythmically he ran his tongue around her clit, stimulating her, working her passion higher, moving in slow circles, building her towards her climax, the mysterious plastic penis keeping erotic tempo.
Her passion built and suddenly she was unable to control her body. Her pelvis arched up to meet every thrust of the vibrator, every circle of his expert tongue. The tropical beach were she was lying suddenly became alive with men, populated with handsome naked men sporting erect penises, men lining up to serve her any way they could. The sun gleamed from the penises as they worshipped her, their cocks saluting her, helping her, urging her on in her passion.
Time lost all its meaning. In this secret place of fantasitic passion and engulfing excitement they moved together, he making love to her with his mouth, tongue and surrogate penis, making love to her in the golden heat of the afternoon sun, the room echoing dis tantly with muted love sounds, the air passionate with tropical sexual enraptured silence. Rose-Marie's face and torso were beautiful in the sunlight streaming through the window, madonna-like in their white purity, rosy and glistening with her heightened state, her state of ecstasy.
Her breasts were gorgeous and heavenly, her nipples standing out in relief, casting tiny shadows across her breasts. Her glistening stomach was outlined with muscle, her smooth-skinned legs knotted with love and passion. Her thighs pressing together and apart, involuntarily keeping the rhythm of his loving. Her toes dug into the carpet, pressing her pelvis upwards in passionate embrace of the day.
Her body shivered uncontrollably, and she cried out. "I'm coming. Oh, I'm coming!" With one hand he stroked her breasts and nipples, and with the other, clutching a singing piece of white plastic, he made love to her. She shook and arched and moaned.
Streams of colours flew through her mind, the sunlight falling across the two of them, a splash of warm gold bathing them as they achieved ultimate sexual release, maximum emotional pleasure. And then she exploded, shivering and arching and pulsing and... Just exploding. She had not cum like this for far too long, so it magnified itself, renewed, regained almost. The ecstasy lasted a year.
The ecstasy lasted a moment. Her inner self sang with joy, brimmed over, filled with emotion, with passion and love, and... and... Passion. Silence came again. An exhalation. A sigh.
And Rose-Marie lay warm and fulfilled. She paused. After the pause. "I have a meeting at four," she said. "What time is it?"
Her voice quavered slightly. He grumbled that it was all over much too soon. This was his pride talking, as he moved to get her her skirt..................
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