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Had you seen them kneeling there, side by side, you might at a distance have mistaken them for some anachronistically pious couple at their nightly devotions. But a closer inspection would have revealed them to be naked, and that their hands, far from being joined in prayer, are engaged in altogether more carnal pursuits.
They are kneeling on the sitting-room floor, leaning against the sofa. Jessie, her arms extended, is clutching its back-rest, kneading it, catlike, in a paroxysm of pleasure. With her body at full stretch, her dipping back and out-thrust buttocks form a sinuous curve — a line of beauty — traversing the sofa’s seat, and her breasts, softly pendant, are swaying freely like ripe fruit. Ira is pressed hard up against her, thigh to thigh, his right forearm lying casually across her left buttock, his hand almost lost to view in the deep canyon of her arse, and his fingers — the edge of his forefinger mainly — are exploring the fissure now welling in that canyon’s slippery floor.
Apart from his lover’s sonorous sighs, the only sound is that made by Ira’s hand sluicing against the swollen lips of Jessie’s cunt. From time to time he inclines his body towards her, and, with his free hand, caresses the suspended breasts and trails his fingers down the long, firm plain of her belly, until the edge of the sofa (against which his penis — as elegantly curved as a scimitar — is also resting) halts further downward progress.
In the valley of Jessie’s arse, what had begun as a bubbling spring is now a stream in full spate. And in that flowing channel, Ira’s hand, moving rhythmically under her, marks no distinction between anus and perineum, clitoris and vulva, but treats them as an aggregate — like islands in a stream — while yet conveying the silent promise, that during the night ahead, there will be countless opportunities for each precious part — cunt, clit, arsehole, and what lies between — to receive the loving attention it deserves.
Jessie’s response to the somewhat mechanical back and forth action of his hand against her underparts is intriguing to Ira. It piques, as well as excites him that an action so crudely fundamental can so readily turn her on, and that she should find his rather perfunctory handling of her cunt so evidently Ankara Yabancı Escort pleasurable. She is breathing heavily now, each rasping intake of breath deeper and more sonorous than the last; her exhalations emerging as voluptuous sighs punctuated by sharp intakes of breath and whimpers of pleasure whenever his fingers venture near, or touch, a particularly sensitive part. He employs the edge, as well as the palm of his hand, using the big knuckle at the base of his forefinger to massage, as one, the groove of her anus and the tight nub of muscle between anus and vulva, and to part the swollen lips. He’s preparing that long moist furrow — readying it for both plough and seed. From time to time, as if inadvertently, his middle finger taps against her clitoris and Jess, catching her breath, shivers along her spine.
You should not assume, from what I have said above, that Ira is an uninspired or less than eager lover, and doubtless, the quivering state of readiness of his engorged member, resting on the couch would — could you but see it — suffice to dispel any such notion. But, let me add, that Ira (who is an artist at heart) can imagine no dearer subject, for a painter, than Jessie’s naked body. Were she his wife, rather than his clandestine lover, and had they but other than snatched moments together, he could imagine no occupation more to be desired than looking at Jess, painting her, and, in between times, fucking her. And so, whenever possible, he holds back, seeking to enhance not just her pleasure, but also his in observing her. The alternative course of leaping on top of her and filling her cunt with his jism, though efficient from a biological standpoint, holds very little appeal for him (although it would be a lie to say that never once, during the course of their relationship, did this happen).
By now, the streaming valley that is Jessie’s perineum has become a conduit of pure sensation; her loins are engorged by an infusion which is now spreading its mellowing warmth through her hindmost-parts. Meanwhile, Ira has become aware that a generous effusion of love-juice is welling in the hollow of his upturned palm. Gravely, he anoints the globes of Jessie’s buttocks with her juices and watches, enthralled, Bahçelievler Escort as their glistening rotundities reflect the flickering firelight.
It hardly needs to be said, that the inevitable, consequence of such prolonged teasing is an exponential increase in Jessie’s arousal. Her sighs and moans; the subcutaneous twitchings and the trembling of her arse; her hands spastically kneading the backrest of the sofa, all betoken the urgency of her desire to bring matters to their next and final stage, and Ira is watching these signs intently.
Particularly, he is watching her hands, or, to be more precise, one of them. For Jessie’s left hand has, as if with a will of is own, detached itself from the sofa’s backrest, and, with palm out-turned, inscribed a graceful downward arc onto the settee, settling there, briefly, before continuing its blind progress and finding (to his wonderment and delight) its terminus in the location and enfolding of Ira’s erect penis, which is still at rest (although, right now, even more aquiver) where you last saw it, on the edge the seat. Jess favours his prick with a couple of brisk strokes, then tugs it sideways towards her
.
Ira understands the import of the gesture but, pulls away to indicate that he is not yet ready to oblige her. Jessie, on the other hand is still hopeful, and begins to frig him. This he does not resist, and he’s already panting slightly by the time he gets around to asking her the question that has been puzzling him/
How did you do that? How did you know where it was? There’s no way you could see it.
What, your prick, you mean? She asks, chuckling.
Yes, Jess, my prick — how did you know it was there?
I don’t know. I just sensed it had to be, I guess, and it’d be pretty hard to miss wouldn’t it? Anyway, what does it matter? Why don’t you just put it in me?
No, Jessie, no, it’s much too soon. There’s loads of other things I want to do to you first. The night’s just started. Let’s not rush this.
Christ, Ira. I need it so bad. Please, couldn’t you put it in me, for just a little while?
He continues to resist for a time but soon abandons what was a pretence anyway. Okay, my love, okay, he goes, and then, as if reluctant, Balgat Escort I’ll let you have ten strokes and after that we go back to fooling around. (‘fooling around’ was an idiom she used for foreplay. Would you like to fool around a little? she’d ask him, killing him whenever she said it.)
Ten? Jesus Ira, it’s not even worth putting it in for that. It’s got to be thirty at least, Please Ira, please. Don’t keep me waiting.
Twenty then, my love, and that’s my best offer. And you’ve got to count them. Out loud. I don’t want any arguments later.
While speaking, he has got himself behind her, lodged the tip of his prick into her wet pussy, and, with it held between his forefinger and thumb, is now making a series of loops or ellipses with its helmet, around the swollen lips of her cunt — whose aperture provides the template by which to open it more fully. She moans softly, and taking this as an indication of acceptance, he enters her.
His first thrust is slow, languorous, and very deep, as are the four that follow. But then, getting up onto his haunches, he favours her with five swift uppercuts, his balls slapping hard and fast against her upturned clitoris. She gasps, shocked by the change of angle and tempo, panting with each stroke, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh.
You’re supposed to be counting lover, he growls.
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! That was so sudden. It was so quick I lost count.
I haven’t. I owe you ten. So how do you want it Jess, fast or slow?
Oh god! I don’t know. It’s all lovely. Do me any way you like.
Okay, he says, start counting from ten. And pushes it in to the hilt.
Ngaaahhh!…Lovely!…Ten…huh…huh…elev…aaahhh…eleven…twe…huh…huh… twelve…thir…thir…thir…thirteen…four…huh…fourteen…Ohmygod, I’m going to come.
Keep counting!
I can’t, I can’t, I’m coming! Ohmygod! I’m coming! Now! Now! Now! N — aaaahhhh!
And he pulls her further on to him, to fully extend the reach of his penis inside her, and holds her trembling butt fast against his static loins till she’s done.
As orgasms go — though adequate to her needs of the moment — this had not been one of Jessie’s massive one’s and, consequently, Ira had been able (despite her best efforts to relieve him of it) to withhold his seed. He knew — they both knew — there were plenty more climaxes where that one came from and that Ira had done well to hold back. Their long night of love had just begun, and the prospect of many more pleasure-filled hours still lay ahead.
(Watch out for Part 2 coming soon)