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Vendredi, 24 décembre 2010 @ 07:27
The blood rushing through me, the smoke of the hash, the heat of his empty bedroom made everything a blur. I felt my body being stroked, fondled, a finger slipped into the heart of my sex, lips pressed against mine. I was rolled gently onto my stomach, and my hips pulled backward with my ass in the air; I felt the smooth slide of flesh into mine, and the warm press of a cock against my lips. I took it into my mouth and matched the strokes of my ravisher, pressing it deep into my throat. It seemed to go on for hours, the clutch of hands in my hair, the hoarse cries, the whispered directions and moans of triumph; the hardness I took into my mouth was first surrounded by hair that was as black as midnight, and then a reddish gold; the hands gripping the globes of my rear now caressing, then adamant. It was as if I was awash in that warm sea of which I had been so afraid, floated in it, first on my knees, then on my back, now on my side, surrounded by warm lips and gentle hands; fine, shining hair under my hands and coarse, rasping hair against my body. The fires flared up brightly for a time, silken hot, burning themselves out in a burst of heat and light, and then quickly died down to a smolder, leaving us sweating and breathless, entwined in one another's arms.
