I got my key in late August and asked Lan to walk over with me at lunch hour. My shirt stuck to my skin even before I'd gotten the deadbolt turned to behind us. I stepped up behind her, put my arms round her. She stood up on tiptoe and shoved her ass back at my crotch, then circled: my frotteuse. I reached round her, pulled her shirt out from inside her belt, got my hand under it into her pants, pushed all my fingers under her panties' elastic: felt the rough cotton tenting my hand as I probed through her bush to her twat.
She was already sopping.
Cunt wafted up. As she rubbed me, I felt myself swell, felt her flood as I laid my index finger between her fat lips, then crooked my fingertip in her, stretched left then right, and slid up her. Her stiff bush crinkled my palm. I yanked up grinding my palm at her motte while I wriggled my finger inside her. My hand gave her pelvis a fulcrum. She was on tiptoe. I partially knelt so she had a lap and pulled her aass back. She sat back my lap, and I felt the split of her cheeks through her silk pants. I pulled out my finger then put two back up her.
Cunt floated up. I pulled out my fingers. The back of my hand and my knuckles tented her panties. I pushed in three fingers and felt her walls give. She tilted her head back, and I could just see the slant of her cheekbones. I pushed in and pulled her against me and felt my dick slide on the fabric that covered her ass. I pulled out and pushed in again, and wiggled my fingers and felt her twat clutch. I dug up with my fingers and clenched with my palm, tugged up, and my hand bore her weight like a fulcrum. Her mound was a pivot. I moved her around. She was sweaty and spongy and sloppy and crinkly and slippery and leaky and cuntal and soaked. She was flushed with exertion. The air was like blood. She kicked off her pumps and I yanked down her panties and pants.
Her butt cheeks were tiny with cute little dimples. The rug was still littered with plaster and wood shavings: glass, nails, screws, tools. I stood with my pants and my underpants down round my ankdles. We held hands; I shuffled to the nearest clear patch on the rug, leading her. She said "You'll get: hurt --" I flopped on my back in the litter and still held her hand, so I tugged and she knelt down and straddled me. She knelt, plopped her butt on my belly, and raised her thin arms, tugging her shirt over her head. I unlatched her bra in the front and left the straps flapping. I put my hands over her shoulders, pulled a tit to my mouth, and suckled her. She slid her butt down my belly till her bush brushed my dick. My tip sought her twat. With my hands on her hips I lifted her up so I got the right angle and plugged her.
I leaped like a fish slimed silver and stiff. I was in her and huge. She ground her bone down and I lifted her up and unplugged her and let myself wait. I tingled from fluid not friction since she was so soppy. Her cunt was a slot and my dick pointed up so I found the alignment and shoved her twat at me and plugged her. She grunted and ground her bone down. I lifted her up me, my palms on her hipbones, and pushed her back down me. Her hipbones were sharp. She rested her hands on my shoulders and ground her motte round. I lifted her up and shoved her back down and felt myself grow and unplugged her and probed for her, found her, and plugged her, and pulled her hips up with my hands at her hipbones. Her twat walls were fattish and sweet. She sat back and straightened and slipped up and down me. Her cunt was so sloppy I swam without friction. She raised up and strained her chin forward. I saw her sluice down and use me to pry herself open. Her spunk and my precome had matted our bushes. My hands cupped her butt. I wormed her around me. She tried to raise up but I held her down but then felt myself swelling and shoved her hips high so my flopping cock flung out come in the air. I burst and God drew a hook through my pissshole. My flopping cock spurted its come into air.
Juice oozing and cooling and caking on cotton panties and briefs. Hand in hand we walked back to the office and who knows who smelt us.
Thank you. It was beautiful at the time, too...
All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."