We had dinner at a small Italian restaurant down the street from my apartment. We laughed and talked over antipasto and tortellini Alfredo. He held my hand across the table. He had strong hands. His fingers were long and lean and no strangers to manual labor, but gentle as the silky lick from one of his old paintbrushes. I could imagine him taking the brush and sliding it up and over the inside of my wrist, along my arm and towards my breast ... I took a drink of my wine and concentrated on the conversation.After dinner, he walked me to my door and hugged me. He started to leave but I pulled on his hand. He swung back around and before I could think about it, I leaned up and kissed him. I don't know who was more surprised, him or me. Surprise quickly turned to pleasure as he kissed me back. His kisses were hesitant, his lips soft and supple. There was a fluttering down in the pit of my stomach and I felt lightheaded. It was as close to swooning as I'd ever come. When he let me go, I. “Zenith. The highest or culminating point. Her final thunderous moan evinced the zenith of her orgasm,” he declared, pleased at her eruption. He removed his finger from her tightness, and placed one final gentle kiss on her glistening mound.“Enervated,” Sarah remembered that word from the sheet. “Despite feeling thoroughly enervated, Sarah yearned to please her teacher,” she proclaimed as she hopped off the desk and bent over the edge of it, arching her back, proudly displaying her pert bottom and juicy opening. Mr. Wilson unzipped his pants and stood right behind Sarah, admiring the delicious sight before him. He entered her slowly and carefully, seeing as her pussy was still throbbing and tender from her intense orgasm. Sarah’s moist insides gripped him tightly; he had to push himself all the way in. Once within her, he began to thrust back and forth, enjoying the sound of her moans once again. He drove into her deeper and harder and faster. The old wooden desk wobbled beneath.
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