She takes her pants off to reveal a pair of black panties and pulls her t-shirt off. I now see a full view of her amazing breasts. She has tender looking brown nipples that stick out asking to be nibbled on surrounded by areolas each about the size of a quarter. Theyre practically heaving with every breath she makes and are absolutely inviting. The blood flow downtown is driving me nuts. She brings a finger to the crevice of my chest and draws down the muscular lines. I know that youve been on somewhat of a dry spell lately, she says. If you dont mind, I would like to take this chance and show you my appreciation. Would I mind? Hell no, I wouldnt mind. As her eyes look into mine, I grab her by the waist and bring her up against me to plant a kiss on her juicy lips. Her warm hand is still on my chest and she can probably feel the crazy beats of my heart going at racing speeds. Our tongues play with each other and I make my way down to her neck, kissing every inch of her smooth skin as. But not words of love and romance. No flowers. No dinners by candlelight. I touch myself. It is dark. I am alone. Now I am hard. I feel the first drops emerging from my tip, and my hand slides both along the smooth skin and with the slick lubricant I am producing. My hand slides along the smooth skin, but slowly and quietly. I have to be careful. There is a door. But it is only a door. Doors are meant to be opened. They can open at any time. I touch myself. I think of words that create images. I think of pure images. Of memories. Tight black leggings with no underwear. The outlines of lips so clear, so obvious, so visible. Images that were not sexual at the time. Images that were the subject of playful words. Words that some people took offense at. I touch myself. The image is different now. The image is of lips that need to be touched. To be sucked. To be licked. I touch myself. The image is of folds opening, of pink dampness beneath the black outer shell of tight leggings. The.
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