She met me at the door, pulled me inside, closed the door, pushed me up against it, wrapped herself around me, and slipped her tongue into my mouth. There was no awkward moment, no pause to look around and consider what I was supposed to do-just instant, frantic passion. I don’t know if she had done this before, or if it was just instinct, but it was exactly what I needed. I’m so glad I didn’t have to make conversation while I stood around with that boner!
Clothes started to come off right there in the foyer. (I know her tank top was laying on the mat when I left.) -and we groped and stumbled our way through the house; connected together. I don’t remember how I got there, but suddenly I was standing naked in the bedroom. She ran her hand just once down the length of my penis, signed aloud, with a little shiver, and pushed me firmly backwards on top of the sheets.
I back pedeled to get myself in the middle of the mattress, not wanting to take my eyes off her as she pulled off her panties and tossed them through the open door to the bathroom. I noticed that her thighs, which are nicely plump, were perfectly smooth and round-beautifully shaped-and her stomach, though soft and faintly stretch marked, was flat and smooth. She was absolutely clean shaven-not a hint of a bush. I thought for a moment about looking for a condom, but she did not pause to lose momentum. She did not quite pounce on top of me, but it wasn’t a sultry slide, either. Her movements were hungry and urgent.
She was sitting astride me, moving her wet, hot slit against me, grinding back and forth atop my dick, which was pressed flat against my stomach. She was still wearing a purple sports bra, nipples popping underneath it, and I groped for it. She pulled it off over her head, tossed her hair back over her shoulder, gathered up her pony tail into an untidy heap behind her head, and snapped the electric band around it-still holding the bra in one hand, still grinding her hips on top of me. A band of sun slipping between the curtains was across half her face, her breasts were lifted up with her arms above her head, and she was so beautiful that I couldn’t breathe. She looked down at me, dropped the bra on the pillow beside my head, bit her bottom lip, and ran her hands down the sides of her breasts, still moving her hips as if she were on horseback. That image is burned into my mind, and I hope never to forget it.
Her chest was not perfect like a magazine model, but it was gorgeous-a mother’s chest with a bit of sag and some stretch marks, but full and smooth with tiny perfectly shaped nipples. I grabbed her waist, pulled myself up, and started to kiss her breasts. She moaned and arched her back for 30 seconds—and that was all the foreplay I was going to get. She pushed me back down, put her hands on my shoulders, and deftly slid her hips forward to align us, and slipped me inside her.
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