Tsst, tsst! Anna's on all fours with her head at my balls, her hands either side of my hips, her knees to my right, next to my shoulder: She reaches back, finds my right hand, lifts it to her motte, presses: I press back, then, knowing where her lips must be, fingerwalk to them by feel, twiddle them:
Then grab her left haunch, tug:
She straddles me, knees either side of my torso, still head down ass up, still sweetly slurping my bag:
Now she's right in my face: Her secret place, origin, liquid asset: From the smooth tawny skin of her crotch cumulusnubby resilient flesh ovals up, out: vertical, pursed, snowflake unique:
Still hidden the slit I know must soon show.
Laying my index finger against her, I flip her lips, flip her lips, side to side, until they just part: run my finger up the dry rough parting, down, up and down, teasing her lips apart, until she gives me some stickiness: Then, there at that spot paddling index- and middlefingertips, I coax out more fluid, spread it over her lips, spread it round, work it in:
Now in earnest she lubricates: Her fluids well up, she distends, engorges, plumdark red from pinkbrown: She opens, her lips giving not a slit but a furrow, a runnel:
Paddling my index finger between her fat swollen red wet twatlips, hearing:
Tsst, tsst!{270}
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 12/19/2004 04:09:00 AM
•
4 comments
When you finger her cunt first it is dry then it gets wet. She puts on the condom. That had the queer smell.
{270}
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 12/19/2004 04:02:00 AM
•
5 comments
Dumb as a tenor? And if I shared that I knew the milieu—better,
le terroir—of
La Traviata intimately? With my mother, for example?
{NA}
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 12/19/2004 03:56:00 AM
•
0 comments
