Deftly she removes my knickers and as she brings her right leg over my body I glimpse her cunt. Its shaven and looks so soft and edible. She sits on top of me, and I can feel the heat and the wetness of her slide over me. My eyes drink her in. Again I reach up and begin to play with her breasts. I can’t believe how soft they are. Tentatively exploring them, I roll the nipple around between my thumb and forefinger. I feel the rush of excitement sweep over me at the reaction this gets. Her whole body trembles and she throws her head back. I feel her push down harder on me and she begins to move her hips. Slow teasing circles. I want to sit up and put her nipples into my mouth but she won’t let me…instead she takes my hand and guides it between her legs. Then I feel for the first time just how aroused she is. Her clit so wet already, my finger tip just skims over it…and she lifts her hips so that I can linger at her open slit. I don’t want to rush it..I could easily plunge two maybe. As if in response, he dropped his hand from her hip to close against her cheek, spreading his fingers softly against the jersey and closing them, bringing with each one a small wave of her. She hummed slightly, tilting her head into him. The Parisians in front were kissing lazily with the boredom of the wait. In response, a few anxious conservatives began studying the screens before returning to the comfort of their phones. Her humming moved to a murmur as his spreading fingers rose slightly to find the opening they had inserted in her dress. All of their clothing now had such an entrée cache, a closely tailored seam that flowed with contours and patterns but allowed a hand, at least, to find its way towards skin and flesh underneath. And this, his hand, now did. Fingertips brushed against smooth skin, bare beneath the jersey. They found the crest of her crack, and stroked the soft v of where her cheeks began. In front of her, she too now found refuge in a study of her phone, as.
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