She looked at me again with a sly smile and calmly brushed her hand across my chest, downwards and over my penis. “Well, if that’s how you feel… who am I to argue?” she conceded. She looked over to the living room, spotting the couch and proceeded to grasp my half-stalk and lightly pull me toward it.As I walked with her gripping my dick, I shook my legs out of my jeans the rest of the way. When we got to the couch, she pushed me down into a seated position. Then she took a step back and hooked her fingers around the top of her dress and began to slowly pull down. I was getting a nice strip tease, as she twisted and turned her body in front of me. I mindlessly began to stroke my dick as she was swaying and dancing without music, shuffling her dress down off her hips. She turned right around to present her fine ass as she rounded the dress over it, bending forward in the process. As the dress revealed her panties, I noticed a sopping wet spot behind her anus where she had squirted from. Your hand gently kneads my left breast as both heat and moisture build between my legs. I bow my back and press my hips into yours, longing for you to feel the telltale signs of the craving that swells in my belly. With a sudden mind of their own, your hands roam over my body, squeezing, kneading, groping, as your hunger echoes back the intensity of mine. Your fingers trace the familiar trail from my nipples to my warm, wet cunt; and as you press into me, I exhale in a low growl. Increased intensity fuels your agression and you nip sharply at the flesh on my back. The bites both pique and inflame my skin, and the moments that separate the torture from the welt soothing kisses, seem like a delicious eternity. Your fingers tug and pinch my labia, rolling them, slipping in and out of them to dip into my wetness. You deftly circle my clit, brushing across the swollen bud in an erratic, irregular rhythm. The pressure of your erection swells against me, seeking the source of that sticky.
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