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It was our third encounter, five long years since the second, six since the first. Our hope for a Same Time Next Year had been derailed by distance and circumstances, but there we were, once again face to face, skin against skin, reconnecting.

I had forgotten how her hand felt in mine. I had forgotten exactly how her busy tongue sought mine, how her hands held the back of my head, how she pressed her petite body against me, chest to chest, hips to hips, thighs to thighs. Her eyes were just as blue. Her recently shorn hair was shorter, though just as curly. Her breasts were exactly as I had remembered, firm handfuls that were tipped by small, pink nipples. Her skin was splattered with the same rust brown freckles. Her pubic hair was luxuriously long and soft and gloriously untamed.

We were naked in bed mere minutes after latching the motel room door, unleashing five years of pent up affection and passion. It was an ebb and flow, a hurried rush slowing to a languid eroticism and back again. We were a mix of hands and fingertips and tongues and suckling mouths. We were blushed cheeks brushing skin, moist breaths whispering sweet nothings into an ear. We were laughter, we were joy. We were passion.

My mouth only kaçak iddaa reluctantly left hers to move lower, first grazing her perfect breasts with my lips and tongue and nose, then wandering down the softness of her belly in a slow path to her hidden pink. I caught a whiff of her scent a mere few inches past her belly button, reacquainting myself with her wondrous musky taste as her whimpers and gasps reminded me of the shy self-consciousness of her noises, suppressed for so many years by the anxiety of knowing her daughters were sleeping – or not – down the short hallway in her home.

When our bodies joined, more intense memories flooded back into my consciousness. I thrilled at the pleasure of splitting her plump labia and slipping inside her warm silk. Her hips danced upward to meet the slow rhythm of my impaling stiff flesh. Her arms hugged tightly around my shoulders as my thighs muscled hers apart and held her knees high and welcomed my deep penetration. I was captured by her glistening eyes and the strands of hair stuck to her damp forehead, her open mouth, and our whispers of “I am so glad you are here” and “I love you.”

And when I climaxed, her eyes opened wider and her mouth circled into a breathy ‘O’ as my kaçak bahis hips strained forward and my body froze in that primal paralysis as my cock pulsed again and again and again, spurting my juices into her heated slickness, remembering how she had told me that first time how much more semen I ejaculated than her husband. Afterwards, her fingers played in the leaking white.

We made love twice more that evening, each with a slow buildup to an explosion of joyous pleasure. By midnight we were asleep, our bodies barely touching in the center of the unnecessarily large bed. We were awakened in the morning by the slam of a neighboring door. We cuddled closer to each other as our drowsiness disappeared, her hardened nipples matching my thickening penis. We alternated bathroom visits, ending up standing next to each other at the sink, brushing teeth, studying each other in the mirror.

“Get your camera,” she told me as we stood at the foot of the bed. “We need a picture of this.” I set the camera up on the desk, aimed it as best I could, and set the timer. We embraced, staring at the mirror at our naked bodies, when the flash went off. Then again, after checking the aim, a second photo, and a third. Surely one would capture illegal bahis the mood.

And then we were back in bed. My mouth memorized her scent and taste, the way her labia opened for my tongue, the way she moaned and gasped and shuddered from my licks and my sucks and my touch. Later, her mouth returned the favor, making love to my penis with lazy, engulfing descents on my shaft. Her body slid atop mine and my rigid shaft slid inside her vagina, capturing my erection in her warmth, my hands alternately cupping her breasts and cupping her face. Eventually we shifted back to missionary, our familiar joining embrace, and we rocked in our love dance.

And when my tempo quickened, when her slickness flowed and our murmurs of pleasure became breathy pants, when my cock stiffened to its ultimate and her mouth could only repeat the encouraging drumbeat of “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”, I buried myself inside her one final time and rejoiced in the intensity of my release. This time she surprised me with something new, as her silken heaven clutched around my root and her loving squeezes welcomed each liquid pulse. She had told me two years earlier in an email that she had been exercising her kegels, and now I was feeling the delightful results.

Two hours later I was boarding a plane flight, and she was midway through her drive back to her family. Her email later told me, “All the way home I felt you leaking.” I hardened when I read that.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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