Satin Silk Saree

Now, it's just you, and I. After a pause precisely long enough for me to form the question as a thought, you speak for the first time. Quietly, authoritatively. "They're cedar -- over 100 years old, but I've been smoothing and sanding them for the past few weeks. That scent is their long-locked away sap, released for the first time in a century." You're endlessly capable with your hands, and your mind. I'm awed that you've created this for me. I walk automatically towards the cross, feeling the restrained power of your will. You speak. Without inflection. "I'm going to hurt you." I inhale sharply and close my eyes. A deep calm envelops me. Your voice justifies the thoughts and memories which I am allowing myself to replay in the theatre of my mind. I think of a fragment of our poem: "We take the golden road to Samarkand". The golden road. My journey. You: my guide. I mount the platform on which the cross stands. The wooden surface is rough on my naked feet. Your will demands. He tasted like whisky. I moanedinvoluntarily, and his erection twitched at the girlish sound. The ideathat I had this man so aroused was turning me on so much, and my own cock,which had stayed half hard when we were dancing, was now jutting out of mypanties and leaking precum. Fuck, I didn't want to chance discovery so Ipressed myself against the booth, my cock now hidden between the folds ofmy skirt and the wood paneling. On the other side, a packed table of guyswas downing shots. One bearded guy, not in costume, saw my head over thetop of the booth and raised his glass, smiling. But he then noticed thegiant hunk gnawing at my ear and averted his eyes, scowling.At this point, Kyle's erection had grown so stiff that it wasuncomfortable for me. But we were making out like teenagers, devouringeach other, and I didn't want to ruin the moment, so without thinking toomuch about it I reached back with my free hand to try to shift thingsaround. To my surprise, my small hand was greeted by.
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