Licking around the swollen head, she pressed her lips against the tip and slowly took him into her mouth. Pulling as much inside her as possible. Stretching her jaw as wide as she could, she did not get far before she was forced to stop and let out a choked groan. When he pressed against the back of her throat, she was not expecting the feel of it. Her groan was accompanied by a low growl from above.She looked up. He was watching her again, his eyes burning into hers. This time she didn't look away, and let them sear into her making her tremble and her hands, still wrapped around his cock, shake. With his size, when her mouth moved on him--sliding rhythmically and automatically over his now slick head, she worked them as well.One of Kieren’s hands threaded through her hair and cupped her head. He tried not to apply any pressure. She was doing fine by herself. What the girl lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm. She was truly made for him. But, he could only constrain himself. The smells, noise, disease, fear and sheer terror, somehow, not transferred by the silver screen and all the tricks of modern film making.He had watched the ruins of buildings being rebuilt, almost in an unseemly haste, as if to purge the lingering scars of destruction from sight and therefore, from memory. Mental scars could not be rebuilt or expunged from the mind so easily. Time was to be the only healer and that, not very successful in its efforts.Every year, the ever dwindling numbers of ex-service men, filed along the Mall in a proud march, to lay wreaths of poppies at the Cenotaph and pay their respects. Each with his own story of his part in the last world war, Each holding their memories of fallen comrades, small and large victories, amusing anecdotes and tales to enthral young children, or bore the elder, young men. Not all of the war had been about blood and guts, mud, hard rations or killing the Germans and the Japanese. Some of it had lighter moments, but not much.Every.
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