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Her face floats above me. The flickering candlelight provides the only illumination in the room, highlighting her beautiful pale skin and creating sharp contrasts with her dark red lips and flushed cheeks. The shadows of her curves compete with the sheen of light as it glistens from the thin film of sweat covering her delicious body.
She sits astride me as I lie flat on my back, with her hips undulating against mine. Her strong thighs grasp at my hips as we rock together in unison. I can feel myself throbbing inside her soft wetness, the lips of her cunt clutching around my rock-hard prick. I am not sliding in and out — our arousal is whetted by the rhythmic rocking of her pelvis against mine, punctuated by the pulsations of my penis and the periodic clutching of the inner walls of her vagina.
This feels better even than orgasm. Oh so much better. We float together in an aroused state, spasming constantly as we each peak separately and together, just short of our final release. She draws me into her ecstasy, sweeping me into a blissful erotic trance where time has no meaning.
This is the state that we have both yearned for — the feeling of total surrender, and ultimate arousal. I had no idea of how good it could be, until she showed me the way.
We live separate lives, each with many obligations and commitments which place rigid demands and constraints on our time. But somehow we manage to carve out the time that we both have come to need so badly.
We meet at the discreet, secluded hideaway — a comfortable rural unit with a sitting area, kitchenette and bedroom. There are a number of these facilities in the area — apparently it’s an entire “cottage” industry (pun intended) which has sprung up to fulfill the romantic needs of lovers who need a place where they can be alone together. We have tried several different locations, until we found one that we prefer. Under other circumstances it might seem cheap and tawdry, but it doesn’t matter to us — once I hold her in my arms, everything else seems to pale in insignificance. There’s nothing cheap about the way we love each other — it’s the most real emotion that I have experienced in a very, very long time.
I arrive at the rendezvous with just myself. She arrives with plastic bags full of goodies. When we enter the room, I check out the bathrooms to make sure there are towels, and spread a fresh blanket on the bed. She is a hummingbird to my musk-ox; flitting here and there and pulling stuff out of her bags — lighting scented candles, putting fresh cakes and chocolate on a plate for later, when we are ready for a sweet interlude, and distributing bottles of oils and creams at strategic locations around the bedroom for future use. We talk together as we move around the room – about our days, about our jobs, about our children. And whenever we are in range, we brush fingers, slide our hands around each other, and exchange squeezes and sweet kisses before moving off on our respective tasks.
It’s not a simple matter to disengage ourselves from all of the demands of the outside world — to accept that, for the next few hours at least, the only needs which matter are the ones which compel us to share the deep love that we have found with each other. I’ve learned that this bustle of activity is a way for her to adjust to the surroundings and the situation, to relax and enter into the spirit of the encounter. But more than that, she has the amazing ability to create the perfect setting with the addition of numerous small but significant touches — a timeless bubble bostancı escort of perfect solitude, created just for the two of us.
The room is set. She wants to shower. Sometimes we do it together — the lure of her soft curves under the cascading water is often too much to resist. This time, however, I let her shower in peace (*smiling*), content to pull down the covers and undress slowly as I listen to the water falling and conjure up visions of her luscious body. I turn off the lights and lie back on the bed to await her entrance, the pear-scented candle that she lit providing the only illumination in the room.
She enters the room, her hair slightly mussed, with a smile on her lips and a towel wrapped demurely around her torso. She glides onto the bed, dropping the towel in one smooth motion as her hands reach out to caress me. I reach up to pull her down to me, but she pushes me back down on the bed and tells me to turn over. She wants to massage me before we make love.
She takes her massage quite seriously. She pours fragrant oil on her hands, and onto my back. I feel her small hands everywhere, probing insistently as they move up and down my legs, and then working their way up my back. It is blissful relief. I am not used to letting go like this and letting someone else do what they will with me. The result is hypnotic — I enter into a relaxed state, breathing slowly and deeply.
Her hands move down to knead my asscheeks, and I realize that I am getting pleasantly aroused. My penis, trapped below me, is lengthening and hardening slowly as the feeling of loving and being loved washes over me.
This is another — possibly the greatest — of the changes that she has wrought in me. I have lost control of my own penis.
As a young man, achieving arousal was always effortless. Even later, I could get hard at will — all it took was the proper stimulus, or the selection of an appropriate fantasy to achieve the desired response. Now, though, it feels like all my sexual responses have somehow been rewired. Oh, I can still get (somewhat) hard — at least on occasion — when stimulated by fantasy. But most of the time, fantasy just doesn’t “do” it for me anymore.
On the other hand, I find myself getting hard at the most unexpected times. And they are invariably the times when I am feeling how deeply I love this woman. This can be disconcerting at times — there have been occasions when she sucked my prick and I was unable to become fully hard. But then, only a few minutes later, when she is simply resting enfolded in my arms, I can feel my prick suddenly surge to life, becoming engorged and eager to penetrate her fleshy folds.
It’s like my sexual equipment has been replaced with a new model, and I have not been given the instructions. I have to learn as I go along. However, I have learned not to question my responses — the “new me” is so much more fun and satisfying than the old one…..
I roll over, and my now-rigid member springs up into the air. She laughs at me and lets her soft body caress me as she slides up and over me to bring her face to mine, teasing my prick with her fingertips. One hand of mine snakes around her waist to clutch one of her buttocks, while the other arm wraps behind her shoulder, my hand grasping at the soft hair where the base of her head meets her neck, pulling her lips to mine to engulf them in a deep searching kiss.
The feel of her smooth, yielding skin with the soft curvature of her muscles just below the surface is intoxicating. No doubt about it ümraniye escort bayan — for me, at least, the skin is the most erotic organ in the body. I bury my face in the flesh of her neck, between her lovely chin and her shapely shoulder, inhaling deeply. My hands are running all over her body — there is so much wealth to experience, so much sensuality to absorb. It’s almost frustrating — I don’t know where to begin.
She reaches over for a dab of cream, and then slides up, catching my now-fully-erect penis and sliding it into her cunt with one smooth motion. She sighs as she sits up, looking down at me with a smile on her lips. Her beautiful gray eyes shine in the candlelight, but they are shining with her love for me. I am content, in ways that I never imagined.
After a measureless period of time spent floating together in our mutual arousal, I feel her need become increasingly urgent. She sits up more rigidly, her head tilting back as her eyes close. I know that she is nearing her orgasm. My hands reach up to grasp her hips, rolling them back and forth. She picks up the pace as my hands work their way up her sides, kneading her flesh.
I can tell she is close, because her skin breaks out in a fresh, thin coat of sweat, as if her pores are releasing their fluids in anticipation of a greater release. This turns me on even more. I reach up to grab her breasts, squeezing them as I feel her pebbly nipples under the palms of my hands. Her hands grab at my chest, pinching my arms as she stiffens up, crying out three times:
The last expression comes out almost as a sob. Her lovemaking is quiet and almost silent, but her orgasm bursts over her with a loud cry.
I pump myself up and into her, my prick pulsing in an orgasm with no ultimate release. The first time this happened, I though there might be something wrong. But the opposite is true. I have learned from my love that it is possible for a man to experience — at least in part — what a woman does in reaching multiple orgasms. I come without ejaculating, enjoying every pulsing sensation.
She comes down from her high slowly, shuddering at intervals. Eventually, she relaxes entirely and collapses against my body, her hair fragrantly tickling my nose. Every muscle in both of our bodies is relaxed. Our arms and legs are so entangled and intertwined that it is difficult to know where I leave off and where she begins. This is the most luxurious feeling there could possibly be.
As our breathing slowly subsides, we stroke and kiss each other, pecking at each others’ lips and any available silky smooth yielding surface. We talk, we laugh, we giggle, we exchange murmurs of love.
There is a glass of wine which she left on the low table next to the bed, together with the plate of goodies that she prepared. She takes a sip of wine, and then lowers her lips to mine. I feel the dry/sweet liquid forced into my mouth as we kiss. Before I can swallow, she has a piece of chocolate between her teeth. She puts her mouth to mine, biting off a small piece as she force-feeds the larger portion into my own mouth.
I feel more loved than I have ever felt before.
Time passes without notice — a few minutes, an hour. There is nothing between us except for our love, our words, and our caresses.
Without warning, I realize that I am becoming hard again. I try — unsuccessfully — to ignore my budding urge. But that’s silly — she feels it as soon as I do. With a smile, she rolls over onto her back, pulling kartal escort me with her. Now the cream stashed so strategically within arms-reach fulfills its purpose once again. She dabs her finger into the jar, swiping it down within her vagina, and then pulls up her legs to welcome me.
I hover over her, holding my weight up on my outstretched arms as I position the head of my cock at the entrance to her slippery sheath. I slip the head in slowly, wanting to savor to the hilt every millimeter of my deliberate penetration. She groans as I slide in ever more deeply, her cunt lips spreading widely around my hardness, until I am finally rooted with the base of my cock pressing at her mons.
Her eyes go wide, and I feel what she is reacting to. After lunging in to hit bottom, my erect penis feels like it is getting even harder, lengthening as it pulses and increasing in volume even as I hang suspended motionless inside her. The pressure is exquisite.
Now I cannot keep my hips from moving. I jerk slowly, pulling in and out. I increase the rate of my jackhammer thrusts, until just before I feel the ultimate pressure building at the base of my prick. I stop, holding my hips so that I almost — but not quite — slip out of her entirely. After a few seconds, I slide slowly back inside, until bottoming out at the entrance to her cervix.
She pulls her legs back, placing her hands under her thighs so that her knees are almost at her ears, and her legs wave near my head. The change in angle practically begs me to fuck her. And that is what she says —
There is no stopping me now — my need is far too great. I bury myself deeper and deeper, each thrust harder than the one before. And each thrust is accompanied by an encouraging grunt from my love — she wants to be fucked, and she wants it hard.
Having held back my ejaculation until now, it is not so easy to get that final barrier to drop. It’s as if my own final release is reluctant to break, preferring to prolong itself indefinitely. But there’s no holding back any more — I am overwhelmed with my need to come.
The release, when it arrives, engulfs me from head to toe. Every muscle goes rigid. I vaguely sense my love as she grunts out her own release — did she come again? Or is she just reacting to the splashes of my own come as I bury myself deeply inside her? I have no way of knowing — my own orgasm has saturated my senses.
I contract inside of her, again and again, spurting out liquid semen with every pulse. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that I was pissing inside her — the amount of warm, sticky liquid is so great. Her cunt continues to contract, until I feel like my balls have squeezed out every possible drop inside of her.
I collapse completely on top of my darling lover. I am vaguely aware of my weight that must be crushing her. I gather my strength to try to lift up my body and release some of that weight, but she reaches around me with both arms to pull me tightly back down to her. The words are unspoken, but the message is clear — crush me! I want to feel all of you pressing down on me, and into me.
My cock stays hard at first, almost as if it were ready for another round. But my body knows better. After a few minutes, it too surrenders itself to the inevitable, softening gradually. I lie there buried inside of my love — neither of us wanting this moment to end. I don’t need to pull out — my cock eventually does this on its own, contracting gradually until it finally slips out on its own accord from between her sweet nether lips.
My lover gives a small cry as this occurs, in mock disappointment. She is both satiated and insatiable. I have never been more turned on by anything or anyone else. I have never been so loved.
I drift of to sleep, enveloped in her soft embrace.
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