Viewing the local antiquities

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!


Tag: ; ; ; .

When you finger her 
cunt first it is dry then it gets wet. She puts on the condom. That had the queer smell.


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?


All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
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