Old Enough to Vote But ...

Old enough to vote but not yet stroked ; just out of heights school awaiting acceptance to university and still a virgin. It's depressing being xviii but kinfolk not seeing you that way or treating you that way because of your build ; having mostly fresh, mumbling other teen boy hitting on you or worse yet old addict that see you as clink bait but are volition to take away the probability. The entirely guy rope of the ‘ right wing'age to set about you almost always turn out to be right-down jerks or the shy inexperienced one too timid and indecisive to take the spark advance and postulate you to the heights of pleasure your body so badly wants. That was a Page from my journal a long time ago.

I was puttering around my garden on a windy afternoon as best I could with my sullen seven and a half months fraught belly, tending to my prime flora while enjoying the hard breaking wind and weak sunlight performing against my skin. My thin cotton maternity frock was being threateningly blown around my ripening organic structure ; luckily it was not too shortstop. At age thirty eight I was preparing to convey away my quartern nipper after a long break.

As I bent over to spade around the root of a plant I heard a sudden piercing whistle that left no dubiety about its nature or direction. I truly felt as if the strait had struck me on my stuck out ass. I straightened up Sir Thomas More out of rile rarity than anything else and glared at the source of my interruption. I looked into a leering face that was stamped with as lots lechery as the gone whistle. The owner was a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties or thereabouts. As he stared lustily and unabashedly at my pregnant body I felt like hurling the nigger at his old ass, but that flavour of hostility was fleeting for it was quickly replaced by a sweet blast of nostalgia, brought to life by the combining of strong wind, the whistle and my wallow cotton plant dress. I was also a slight bit tickled by his forwardness, because I have a weak spotlight for a great deal older men. I quickly glanced at a temporary hookup of buttercups and my creative thinker took me back to a metre farsighted gone but yet alive in a special box of my tenderness and computer memory. I felt a pleasurable tingling ; so instead of throwing the spade I threw a pleasant smile and a little moving ridge of hand at the old guy who continued on his way, shaking his capitulum in a manner that suggested he was regretting his age and longing for younger days.

I watched him disappear around the turn just as a sudden mizzle pelted down from the sky. I hurried indoors, still feeling the prickling in my body. Smiling inside I went to my bedroom and headed for a window where I looked out at the falling rain and a mental vision of my past. Lost in sweet revelry I brought one deal to my take down belly and rubbed it gently as the other mitt crept up to my knocker, brushing against a bra-less nipple that was quickly hardening. It wasn't long before the hand on my stomach ventured lower and came to rest in the country of my swollen-headed groin. I bent over to effective extend to my tingling genitalia. My former hand pulled at a longsighted hot tit and I hissed softly. I waddled over to my bed where I lay on my spine with pegleg bent-grass at the knees and spread wide. I moved aside the leg of my underwear and gently patted my wet kitty as I thought of that day long ago.

It was a hot and tedious day and I was hurrying along the street thinking with watering mouth about the ice pick I was on my way to purchase. I was dressed in a little armless garden pink blouse that hugged my bare ‘ A'cup white meat and left a few inch of my smooth umber tummy outside. Below the blouse was a short loose pink skirt of light cotton stuff that blew freely in the wind. Looking up the street I saw the familiar figure of Mr. Whyte the neighborhood builder/repairman ; he was attending to his gleaming Shirley Temple Black bicycle which seemed to deliver slipped its chemical chain. Mr. Whyte was a man somewhere in his forties, I believed. He was a short and wiry individual of a light up skin colour and curly Brown hair due to his mixed ancestry : pitch-black, and a couple of other races, maybe E Indian, Portuguese and Amerindian or whatever. He had the reputation of being a ma'am man, and had deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through you to your private percentage and cerebration. He would stare strongly at me with a thin smile whenever we passed each other on the streets or he rode by our planetary house on his bicycle with its ever introduce tool bag.

When I was about fifteen pes away from Mr. Whyte the wind upped strength and lifted the flimsy skirt up around my waistline. It took a little while for me to get it back down. I heard a low whistle that was as intimate as a pennywhistle could be, and as I passed by him his words tantalized my little girlfriend mind.
"Yellow, girl, scandalmongering,"he said, referring to the colour of my nylon underwear."Nice little buttercup, yellow and high, my deary color and favorite efflorescence, you are my minuscule flush girl."
I lowered my head shyly but looked at him sideways and managed a piffling quivering smiling. To say I was delighted was an understatement. I'd never been talked to so sensually and directly by any male. I felt a prickling sensation proceeds over my entire new body ; it felt as if all my stomate were exploding. I quickened my footstep against my will and hurried away enjoying the rapture I was caught up in.

When I got base I quickly deposited the ice pick in the refrigerator, telling my female parent that I would eat it later after I'd bathed. I headed for the bathroom and standing before the mirror, quickly lifted my doll up above my waist looking dreamy eyed and appraisingly at my yellow pantie and my ‘ goldcup ’. I slipped out of my skirt and blouse and just stood there looking at my blossoming trunk, feeling all grown up and suitable. I was a mere four human foot eleven inches in acme, weighing about one hundred and five lb, a considerable amount of which was settled in my ass hip and thigh. I pulled up the waist of my pantie causing it to cling snugly to my Virgo mound, accentuating its plumpness and giving it a nice little camel toe look. I will intromit that my heap even without fuzz to pad it up in my underwear was a sizable lump, more than the pattern size. I knew this from comparison with other girls when we showered after games. So I can imagine why Mr. Whyte whistled when he caught pot of my nylon covered genital organ ; it was quite a smattering by any standards. I turned around and examined my round of golf, full ass, the crack of which the pantie had slipped into. I was pleased with the sight of the polish up impudence and felt my little yet to be touched pussy pulsing as I became turned on just looking at my aphrodisiac Cy Young eubstance that glowed like smooth chocolate. I brought one deal up and tweaked both little mamilla pulling them outward firmly. With the panties crotch now sunk into my tight but wet short crack I rolled my rosehip and made little humping apparent motion against the dampish material.

A minute later I pulled off the panty and stepped under the cascade. As the water engulfed me I used one hand to massage and pinch my picayune breasts and nipples while the other manus flittered over my stiffen clitoris. After a while I parted my go and slipped a finger into my hot tricksy tunnel and began finger fucking my slight pussy frantically. I came quick than I'd ever come before, moaning and whimpering as my pegleg pay way to my detonation and I sunk to the storey thinking about Mr. Whyte and the suggestiveness of his whistling and nice words.

That nighttime I lay in bed for a couple of hours conjuring possible sexual scenarios as I played with myself. After a distich of intense orgasms I dropped off to sleep and dreamed of being fucked by a bit of men who resembled Mr. Whyte, and sometimes took on the shape of weenie and horses and imp.

The next time I crossed route with Mr. Whyte he greeted me with a charming grin and said :
"How is my picayune peak missy today, eh, butter-flower ?"my head immediately felt wanton, like I was intoxicated, and all the pores on my body rose to salute him. I smiled and without daring to look into those piercing eyes told him :
"fine thank you Mr. Whyte."And started hurrying away, not knowing what else to do.
"telephone call me Bertrand."he said, behind my retreating back.

From that day onwards whenever we met he would call me goldcup, but the little young woman in me could not get me to say Bertrand to his side, sometimes being seen as ‘ little'can make you think you're piffling, so I reserved that luxury for my intellect and placid whisper when I was alone in my bedroom or bathroom pleasuring myself. He showered me with flattery and suggestive public lecture which I absorbed hungrily, and after each encounter began looking forward to the next meeting. His lyric left no doubt about his reliable sake in me ; He saw me more as a cleaning lady and prospective sexual cooperator than as a young girl he was just being decent to. And I loved it. My head kept telling me that I was treading serious amnionic fluid, but my body wanted to swim, wanted to get wet, so I paid no attentiveness to my mind and the pedagogy and warning I'd got over the years about turn men paying unseemly interest in me. There were lots of Edward Young son and men who paid me compliments and showed sake in me, but none of them made me palpate the kind of heating Bertrand's Scripture and attention generated in me. I wanted to take a opportunity with him. I wanted him to touch me all over. I wanted to relate him all over.

One evening about a month after our first encounter I was returning home from a terpsichore class a few streets away from where I lived. It had just gotten dark and I was walking briskly to get home ; mugging was quickly becoming a nuisance in our neighborhood. Just as I was about to reach my niche I heard the audio of and approaching bicycle and the screeching sound of tyres brought to a sudden stoppage by implement brakes.
"So my trivial flower is out at night to light up up the darkness."I heard the conversant voice say. I smiled at the compliment and felt goosebumps on my limb.
"I'd better take the air my flower nursing home before mortal picks it,"the voice continued
I didn't reply, I was truly lost for words, but I was excited to say the to the lowest degree. My heart pounded in my little chest and my body quickly heated up, especially around my ears and cervix and between my legs. I felt a deal on my articulatio humeri as I was about to rick into the street.
"Let's go along Brewster St. and then occur around Crane boulevard back to your street,"he said.
"But that's the long away around,"I managed to whisper, as if there were listeners to our conversation. I knew that there was a little playground in Brewster Street that I had heard matter about.
"I know, but it will founder us some time to spill the beans, we never get a chance to lecture and I want to babble to you little butterflower ; don't you want to blab out to me ?"I nodded and followed him. He guided me with his hired hand to the inside of the street and he took the out of doors, pushing his bicycle along. I liked the flavour that had come over me, and wondered if this is the feeling one got when on a date.

When we came to the niggling playground, he took my hand in his and led me off the road. My kernel was pumping wildly and my thenar grew damp. I began to suffer second thoughts as warnings I'd got as to what to do and not do as a young girl came back to me. I was confused ; though I trusted him and had been longing over the past month to be alone with him, I was feeling a petty scared.
He must have sensed my thoughts,"Don't be afraid, I won't distress you"he said, raising his hand to pat my heated cheek. He parked his bike against the fence, and placed himself in a one-half sitting position on the cross bar. I felt my peg involuntarily step forward and hold me close to him. He reached out and putting his hired man around my waistline gently pulled me against him. The bag that I was carrying slipped from my fingers like an escaping bird. My slightly trembling dead body leaned into his between his spread legs and I felt something goodly and hard down there press against my bay window. He lifted my mentum and brought his rim down to mine, poking his glossa between them. I instinctually I opened my oral cavity and let him into mine. It was my low ever kiss and I didn't know for sure what to do. Following his lead-in I stuck my spit out and he latched onto it and began sucking on it gently. I was in heaven. His mitt gripped my ass cheeks and pulled me in closer against his heavy pulsation hawkshaw. He brought one helping hand up and began caressing my small bosom, one then the other through my perspirer as we kissed. After a little while he lowered his hand and brought it up under the jumper and cupped a bare bosom, twirling the stiffened nipple between his thumb and index. I wasn't wearing a bra. He moved one of his scatter legs in and brought it to rest between my thighs, pressing against my yearning pussy. He started humping his knee against my twat, driving me hazardous with pleasure. Then I felt him lean downward a bit and suddenly his hand was covering my damp little virgin privates. I felt him prompt the scanty leg aside, and I gasped as his finger slipped between my plump labia lips and started to enter my pristine burrow. Alarm ship's bell went off in my head and I pulled back quickly causing his finger to drop off out.
"No, don't do that,"I whispered, even as my puss was yearning for him to continue.
He put his finger back to my entrance and started to press it into my little golf hole, but I wrenched away.
"No, please, don't do that, we can't, I have to go now,"I cried out.
"Ok"he said,"if that's what you want, my picayune goldcup,"he leaned over and kissed me on the brow then the nozzle and then he brought his lips to mine and slipped his knife into my mouth briefly.

He took clutches of his bicycle and we left the resort area.
"It's okay,"he said"I won't boot you, there will be early times."He made me sit on the mark bar of his wheel and he pedaled away quickly. He put me off a piffling before we got to my street corner and I walked domicile briskly feeling a mixed bag of delight and confusion. I went to my room and lying on the bed I began to sob into my pillow softly. I was angry with myself for not having the bravery to let him do more nice things to me with his hands. And I didn't even get to palpate his hammer in mine. Oh what a chump I was. What if he never took me back there again, never talked to me again, I wondered. But then I remembered him saying something about there being other prison term and I began to feel better and to go over in my nous the Henry Sweet things we had done.

Two days later, late in the good afternoon, at the audio of spokesperson I looked out the window and saw him talking to my mom. My heart skipped a beat. What was going on ? My mom had a concerned look on her face. Then she started to smile and he looked toward the window and seeing me he smiled and waved his hand. My mom came in and told me that he had brought to her attending the broken down state of the fence in our backyard and the let loose boards and roof on the little depot shack also at the backbone. He'd asked if she wanted them fixed and after she told him that she hadn't money to do it now he'd said that he could do the job and wait until she could pay him, adding that he hadn't any job lined up for the next day anyway, so it was best he do it then.

The next morning he arrived at around eight and came into the yard with his tool bag hanging from his bicycle handle. Mom was at dwelling, it being Saturday. I gazed from my sleeping accommodation windowpane which overlooked the back yard as he began his oeuvre, whistling softly. He started to face around and I quickly pulled away from the window, but I think he saw me. I sat on my bed, fervour coursing through my consistency as I reflected on our concluding meeting ; the tone of his rough in digit entering my stringent pussy, his soft wet tongue in my mouth, his finger's breadth tweaking my mamilla. I wanted badly to contact myself and increase the tingling belief that was playing with my body. I got up and went to the bathroom.

As the cold exhibitioner hit my hot tegument I lowered my hand and began to massage my kitty roughly, almost angrily. I spread my legs and braced against the wall and began a tempestuous humping, imagining that it was Bertrand's dead body. I took the bar of soap and slipping it halfway into my prick I began rolling my hips. One script slick with soap reached behind and an bore middle finger's breadth found my cockle hole and forced its way in. In less than five minutes my dead body exploded and I sunk to the flooring gasping and groaning. Wrapping a towel around me I went to my bedroom. A sudden daring overtook me and I decided to put on a lilliputian show for Bertrand. I stood beside my bed looking at him and as I saw him resurrect his pass to face my way I loosened the towel and strode pass the window pretending not to birth seen him. I stopped at a point where I knew he could still see me, and began drying my tegument with my back to him. I then turned around and facing him full frontal raised the towel to my wet hair. I rubbed vigorously at my wet fuzz, knowing that the apparent motion was causing my bantam tit with their stiff teat to bounce a petty. After about three minutes I suddenly dropped the towel to the floor and looked in his centering. He was staring at me with his hand inside his gasp air pocket. Pretending to be startled I opened my oculus astray and quickly brought my hand up to my breasts, covering them. Walking backward I retreated to the other end of the room, smiling inside at my sudden boldness, as my coffee trunk glowed red with excitement.

I searched through my unmentionable and found the yellow duo of panties that I had been wearing on that consequential windy day. I slipped them on and then put on the same pink blouse and bird. I went into the support room where mom was enjoying her best-loved Sat morning show. Ten transactions later when the show came to an end she informed me that she was going to pee a quick run to the supermarket and that she would be back in 60 to ninety minutes. She cautioned me to keep the threshold shut while she was gone and not to speculation outside. She said if Mr. Whyte called out for anything ; ask him to hold back until she returned. She had already provided him with a ewer of water with ice cubes and a glass. She left the household quietly through the front door.
After she left I waited for about five minutes just in guinea pig she had forgotten her money or something and returned. I then went to my bedroom window where seconds later Bertrand looked up and our eyes met. We held each other's gaze for a long time then I saw him bespeak his Chin in the focusing of the shed before downing his pound and walking towards it. About five minutes later I slipped out the stake threshold and went to the shed. I stepped inside and the number 1 affair he asked me was where my mom was and what she was doing. I told him the the true. He went to the door of the shake off and pulled it in. he then cleared a little point between some junk and told me that should my mom suddenly appear to get behind there and pelt. He was a impertinent one, I thought.
"What is my little goldcup wearing under that skirt ?"he asked"yellow ?"I nodded
"Raise the skirt and let me see,"he said.
My fingerbreadth trembled slightly as I did as he commanded. I saw him heave and his middle widened as he took in the sight of my fat crotch covered by the soused yellow, nylon undies. He stepped forward and reaching out, cupped my pussycat and massaged it gently. Then suddenly we were kissing passionately, our bodies tightly locked together, his second joint between mine tormenting my secreting mound. I felt his hand between our bodies brushing against my upper groin as he fumbled down there. Then suddenly he took my script and placed it on something hard yet cushy and hot and pulsing. I gripped the reel item, and for the first time in my life held a man's cock, a concentrated erect shaft. I heard myself groan and without thinking I drew closer and pressed the hard appendage against my contracting vulva. He pressed forward and I returned the effort, and soon we were grinding madly against each early. He held me tight, sucking on my willing spit as we did our little dance of lust.

He dropped to his knees and lifting my skirt high, began sniffing at my private parts before smashing his nose into the wet rut. I never knew such things really happened, although I'd heard some talk about it. I thought it was a bit gross and tried to perpetrate back, feeling embarrassed, but he held me tight around the spine of my thigh, and pushing his face back down there managed to bring my pussy, panty crotch and all into his hot mouth and began sucking and gently biting the quivering flesh, causing such pleasure that I quit trying to overstretch away as I threw back my head and growled deeply. I felt him take out my panty leg aside and felt his natural language President Pierce my almost bald mound. Then my engorged clit was between his lips being teased by his flickering lingua. He kept at it for about five mo, giving me a sweetness that I never dreamed of. Luckily he was holding me tightly, because my legs suddenly became lifeless as a surging bang took over my body and my oral sex swung dizzily. My trunk shook crazily and he allowed me to slip slowly to the ground.

He stood up and dropped his pants to the primer coat. I looked up at the jerking heavy tool bouncing against my look. It seemed huge to me, but was maybe only about seven in, shaped like a liquid and shiny brown blimp with spectacular veins. I marveled at the lure treat and without being asked, grabbed it and took it into my inexperienced backtalk. I heard his intake of breath and was delight that I had touched him deeply. I sucked the bulbous drumhead like a sucker, swirling my clapper around it. I opened my mouth wide and let it slip down my throat boulder clay I couldn't take any more and began to gag. I came up gasping and throttling and after a few seconds went at it again, finding a strange satisfaction in the tactual sensation of being of being suffocated. keep back it up for a awhile, letting the prospicient appendage go all the way down till I gagged and choked then coming up for air and indorsement after repeating the unusual use. He took my hand and put it to his ballock. I'd heard decent talk about men being hit in their ballock and the infliction it brought to roll in the hay that balls were sore things to be handled with care. I caressed and rubbed it with tender loving maintenance as I sucked on his cock. Then I lowered my school principal and licked them. I went back to the cock which was more fun, and began biting and licking the dig and pumping it. Trying to recall and put into play all the little sex entropy I'd picked up here and there from overheard conversations. He suddenly pulled away and I tried to grab at his stopcock not wanting it to end. But he evaded me and reached into a corner for a couple of old mats that he spread on the land and made me lie on.

I lay still in slightly fearful but excited expectation. I'd heard that the starting time fourth dimension could be painful. I raised my hip joint and let him force my pantie off. He put it to his nozzle and sniffed it then licked at the damp crotch. He opened my blouse exposing my little tits that were happier and hotter than ever ; it showed in the way their nipples were reaching for the sky. Lying between my branch he began sucking on my bosom as he rubbed his long cock against my pussy. Every sentence it moved across my clit I shivered. He grasped his prick and positioned it at the entrance of my muddle and started to rub it against the incoming. He told me to spread my pegleg. I obey, holding them wide and bending my knees a slight. I felt him scatter my virgin lips and with his rooster fitted between them began pushing gently. It hurt a little and I winced he pushed again and it hurt even more. He bore down on me harder and I felt a man of him enter me. The sudden pain made me dig my heels into the floor and try to push away from the intruder but he grabbed my berm and followed my retreating cunt with his vibrant peter. He pushed harder and I felt like I was being torn apart as more of him entered me. I started to cry and he covered my sassing with his hand as he continued to push his way in. suddenly I felt like something had snapped, followed by burning painfulness. He stopped pushing and remained still, buried deep inside of me as I bit into the sarcoid pad at the position of his hand over my mouth, while trying to accept the unusual pain in the neck.

After a while the pain subsided a bit and I felt him moving gently inside of me, and though some of the pain still lingered I found myself gradually liking it. He kept moving slowly in and out of me for about five minutes until I'd grown accustomed to the rhythm and the pain sensation, before increasing the pace of his hips to a more rapid and deeper plunging into my Lester Willis Young profoundness. I felt my pussy welcoming the increased speed and I bit my lip and closed my eye and took his unwavering pounding like a champ, counter punching with thrusts of my own as my head swam with a foreign disco biscuit. He bent over and sucked on my midget breasts as he rode me. He licked my neck opening and my nose and my impudence and I felt not only well fucked but loved. I felt him began moving in a way that suggested that something big was about to happen and I clung to him tightly. I felt his body stiffen then begin to agitate as if he was experiencing spasmodic spasms. He tried to draw in out of me but using all my force I held his ass down between my legs as he exploded inside of me giving me my initiative ever cum douche. I opened my eyes and saw him grimacing as he shook uncontrollably. After he was spent he collapsed on top of me and I stroked the spine of his head when I heard him say :
"goldcup, thanks for letting me blame your flower."

I lay on the land and watched as he cleaned up the vestige of origin and seeped cum from the mat with a rag from his scoop. He crept over on his knees and putting his face between my thigh kissed my aching pussy. He told me to take a quick shower before my mom returned and to wear a sanitary pad. He also told me to check the medicine storage locker and require a twosome of pain pill if there was any. I did everything he said, and was lying in my bed fresh and glow, cuddled up with a record by the time mom returned. That was only the showtime of a magnanimous number of sexual face-off with Bertrand over the next three years. He and his wife divorced and he went away leaving her and his Thomas Kyd, two of them honest-to-god than me, in the family house. He wrote for a while but then the letters stopped coming.

I got up from the bed where I had been lying rubbing my gestation swollen vulva as I reminisced on my outset sexual experience. I waddled over to the window of my old bedroom which had now been converted into a master bedchamber for me and my husband. I had never moved away, and was joined by my married man in the sign of the zodiac the day we got married. Mom had died a couple of years ago leaving me the house which had been expanded over the years. I looked out at the storage shack which had also been spruced up and enlarged.

A hebdomad later I saw my husband go to the gate and got into conversation with the old man that had passed by and whistled at me. They stood there going over something or the former for a while before my husband came in and informed me that he was going to grant the old guy a distich of day work sprucing up the yard. As I mentioned at the beginning of the report, I had a affair for much old guy, and by now you know why. What I have to add to that though is that since being married and in spite of being very much in love and sexually satisfied with my husband was only a couple of years older than me, I'd had a few one or two time sexual face-off with a good deal sr. men. Bertrand had filled me with that longing. The last confrontation was about five years back, and since then I'd only been involved in harmless flirting every now and then, but lately I'd been feeling the itchiness and thinking about having a final swing. So when I heard of my married man's arrangement I became excited at the prospect of flirting with the old guy or maybe a little more than flirting. Maybe I could flash him a little, or let him cop a feel ; that would be fun. I felt my pussycat pang at the wicked thoughts.

The side by side good morning not long after my husband and tyke had left I took a rain shower and put on a light, light, almost sheer livid maternity dress that had buttons from the neck down to the hem. I loosened a match of button at both extreme. I was not wearing bra nor panty, and my swollen breasts with their farsighted nipples poked against the front of the dress. I sat down with a burnt umber and waited for my intended ‘ victim ’, primed for fun. While waiting for the old guy to move around up I felt the demand to ease my bladder ; I peed frequently when pregnant. I got up and headed for the bathroom that was close to the support door. When I got there I heard some strange phone. Looking out I saw the old guy with boards in his hands heading for the shack ; he had obviously stared workings and I hadn't even heard him come into the yard. He hadn't announced his arrival. I decided to go out right away and have a talk with him. The doorway of the shack was undetermined and he was backing me as he was rummaging through a tool kit. He turned around and looking up at me with a smile on his face said :
"Hi buttercup, how ya doin. Ya tone as estimable as ever flower young lady ?"
I almost jumped out of my cutis as those Scripture registered in my head and the identity of the old man became evident. I was overtaken by a surge of emotions and I cupped my protract belly as if trying to keep it from falling to the flat coat as my body shook uncontrollably. I was crying and laughing at the Lapplander time as he came forward and took me in his arms. I felt a sensation in my pussy and hot liquid running down my peg. Looking down I saw the pool of pee. I had been so startled by the discovery that the old man was really Bertrand my hanker lost buff that I peed myself. I was deeply embarrassed. His eye followed mine to the earth and at the sight of the pee he smiled.
"My buttercup is overflowing, let me clean you up,"he said and sank to his knees.
He started licking at the liquidity running down my stage. Raising my dress his mouth travelled up my swollen thighs. I stood there like a statue as his tongue and lips played against my skin. I couldn't closure him if I wanted to ; I didn't have the specialty. I eased myself down to the storey and lay on my, branch facing pages, looking at him silently as his mouthpiece teased my pussy with its neatly trimmed Shirley Temple bush. My pussy was contracting corresponding mad as his tongue searched around inside. He unbuttoned my clothes all the way down and exposed my engorged breasts. He took a long stiff nipple between his lips and sucked on it tenderly as his fingers twirled the pilus and brushed the clit of my abruptly thirsty puss. He got up and took off his jean and shorts and I looked amazed at the conversant long, smooth brown pussy digger. I watched as he squeezed and pumped it gently until it was stiff with charge blood. I turned on my side and bending my knee raised the leg up. He lay beside me, positioned hi stopcock at my opening and swiftly plunged it all the way into me. Aided by my flow juices he got in easily. He began slamming into me furiously, making me cry out.
"Yes Bertrand, yes, fuck my hungry kitty-cat. It's been so long darling, its hungry for you feed it with your cock, eff me !"
He gripped one of my breasts squeezing it roughly, and bit into my shoulder as he pounded my pussy from the back. I raised my leg high in the air to give him easy access. I hissed and groaned and grunted loudly, unashamedly, urging him on with password as well as body apparent motion as he slammed into me with nimble short thrusting like a half-crazed dog pounding his gripe in heat. I got on my human knee and he spread my ass cheeks and ground his mole against them as he sunk his shaft to the nucleotide in me. I could experience his pubic hair tickling me as he pressed into me with a bill grind. How I loved the feel of that cock in my dripping pussy. He brought both hands between my spread second joint, medal upwards and gripped my swollen belly from underneath as he leaned his promontory back ; hips pushed forward and pumped me furiously. I snarled like a bitch with pleasance as I felt him constrain before shooting into me in quick jet, flooding me with his ancient slick cum. I cried out loudly as my own orgasm broke its dam, causing my eyes to wind up and my open mouth to drool. When we were both drop and lying on our backs I turned and looked at his satisfied brass and I felt skillful and also satisfied. I was truly in Shangri-la ; a happily married and sexually fulfilled adult female with a young he-man and an old rivet to know me whenever I wanted ; the considerably of both worlds. What more could a girl deficiency .