Written by blewboy

7 Jul 2009

For more go to http://threebeautifulflings.blogspot.com

"Hello you," Roz beamed, throwing the rest of her unpacking on the bed, striding across the immaculate room for a hug as I came through the door with my bag. She nestled against me and smiled to herself as my arms encompassed her. I could smell her perfume and shampoo; the warm smell of Roz. She pressed her pelvis against mine. I looked over her shoulder and could see a pink and white striped paper bag on the bed with the shiny nose of a vibrator peeking out. I was in for a show...

As she kneels in front of me I sigh happily and place my hands on her shoulders. This was how she greeted me last time. As she fumbles with my buttons and zip I think of what her students would say. She teaches drama to 'little madams' at a leading girls' school. We often laugh at how thrilled and scandalised her girls would be if they found out about her champagne-fuelled bedroom sessions at hotels and guesthouses across Kent, Surrey and Hampshire. I take my shirt off and ruffle her hair as she's pulling down the waistband of my underpants. I get a great view of her cleavage from here. I pop free.

She takes me in her hand, glances up at me and opens her mouth. That first peeling back of my foreskin and the heat of her mouth is heavenly. I've been semi rigid for an hour or more as I drove here, thinking about what I'd like to do with her, so her deft mouth and hand co-ordination (she's so good at this) quickly bring me to a fever pitch. I tense my stomach, legs locked, hands on her shoulders as every nerve signal seems to be directed towards the wonderful rush at the end of my cock. I groan and gasp as she takes my semen into her mouth, swallowing it without a flinch before smiling sweetly up at me with those languid eyes. "How's that? Better now?" I adore her.

The Christmas present

Saw a sign at a Kent farm: Cherries For Sale. It made me think of Susan, a divorced and devoted mother from one of those little villages on the Weald. We'd never fucked but wanted to so things were getting lustful. We'd snogged - struggling for air with our intensity - and ground our hips but there was never a right time for 'the first time'. My lunch-time visits to her home (bulging in my suit trousers) were always tinged with the danger of her teenage children popping home from school. Then it all happened with a flourish one damp January afternoon when she arrived at my house clutching a CD, a box of cherries and a bottle of wine...

Read more at http://threebeautifulflings.blogspot.com