30-06-2019, 01:59 PM
Her eyes grew bright and glassy with lust. Her lips parted and her breath was warm and sweet on his face as her lips neared hers. They kissed gently, deeply, lips apart, and her tongue, pointed and, he knew, full of cunning when it worked a man's penis or anus or nipples or anything at all, slid sexily in and out of his mouth, fencing with his own.
She turned around to straddle his laps and wound her arms over his shoulders, smiling at him fondly and, leaning forward, kissed his cheek, nuzzled his ear, tongued it, sucked on his lobe. Harry smiled, fondling her breasts.
They broke the kiss and he lifted the T-shirt off her head. He could feel the warmth of her cunt against his belly. He cupped her breasts, marvelling at the perfection of their weight and size and form. He bent forward and gently lapped at one stiff, long nipple with his tongue, making her moan and gasp softly, clenching his head to her chest, arching her back.
He sucked sharply on her breast and she hissed in joy. They broke apart again, his hand between her breasts, her hands cupping his handsome face.
"Harry," she murmured.
"Mm?"
"Tell me about the first time. With Sheila," she murmured.
"You know all about it, babe. I've told you before. So has she."
"Tell me again. It's so sexy to hear about it."
He chuckled softly. "Well, babe, if you think *hearing* about it is sexy, you should have seen how sexy it *felt*!"
He cupped her swollen breasts, feeling them harden in his hands, the nipples quivering with tension. She looked lovely, with the long neck, the gold chain riding high on the nape, slightly raised over her flesh, where her shoulders hollowed sexily.
"Tell me, Harry ... tell me how my lovely brother and sister first committed incest."
Sheila was not quite sixteen when she lost her virginity to the house-servant one hot afternoon. Everyone else was out of the house and she was supposed to be studying for her exams.
Actually, she was fantasizing, and the pages were a blur. It was hot and humid. The ceiling fan barely stirred the torpid air. She unbuttoned her cotton shirt and pulled it open. She was not wearing a bra, and she fanned herself with her notebook, shivering as her nipples popped erect.
A ribbon of sweat trickled through her deep cleavage. She squeezed her breasts gently, rolling the mounds under her palms and tweaked her nipples. Her breasts grew warm and heavy.
Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and pulled off her shorts. Spreading her legs wide, she slid her finger to her crotch and began to masturbate slowly. It felt so good. She rubbed her finger up and down her slit and, sensuously rubbed her moist finger over her puckered aureoles. She closed her eyes. If only she could have a man. A real man, with a real penis, long and thick and dark, like the one's she saw in her biology books and in the erotic magazines and movies she spirited from her Uncle Stanley's cupboard.
A big cock, one she could suck and play with till it was hard. Then he would squeeze it into her cunt and she would feel its heat and hardness in her flesh, filling her cunt, rasping over her gorged clitoris. A black man, yes, one of those, hard-bodied and muscular with an enormous penis ... just like the one she had seen in the movie the other day ...
The memory aroused her and Sheila frantically vibrated her fingertip against her clitoris. Her orgasm neared and she stopped. She had long discovered the intense satisfaction of prolonging orgasms. Slowly, she began masturbating again, arching two fingers into her cunt, rubbing a third against her clitoris.
With a soft moan, Sheila let herself go. Her finger wiggled furiously in her cunt, strumming her gorged clitoris and she gasped as the orgasm hit. Her cunt-juices seeped over her wrist and fingers. Gasping and panting, she wiped her hand on her breasts, and licked her fingers clean.
Somehow, it wasn't good enough. Sighing, she turned back to her books. It was impossible. Soon, her mind was wandering again. Sighing, she got up and, knotting her shirt-tails under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, wandered out of the room and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed silently, promising coolness. Small mercies.
She got herself a drink of water and ice from the freezer. She popped several cubes in her glass and taking three or four in her hand, ran them around her temples, over her face and through her cleavage. It felt very sexy. Her nipples hardened again. Smiling with pleasure, she slid her hand under the open lapels of her shirt and moved the ice cubes over her nipples. They quivered and she felt her cunt suddenly ooze with excitement.
She turned, with her hand still inside her shirt, over her breast, and froze in shock. At the door, watching her quietly stood their new part-time servant, Ramu. Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him and flushed, too shocked even to move her hand out of her shirt. He stood watching her silently, expressionless.
He was a handsome young man in his early twenties, who did the sweeping, mopping, the laundry. He was tall and dark, with a strong, rough-hewn, handsome face. His hair was thick and dark.
He was clean-shaven. His body was muscular with broad shoulders, a cleaved chest, a flat belly and long arms and legs thick with muscle. She had often fantasized about him fucking her.
Ramu stood still, as if carved of stone. The ice melted in her hand and stained her shirt. She slid her hand out, her heart pounding in her chest, her lips open, gasping softly, her eyes wide, her head roaring with terror and fear, a deep clench in her gut. He had seen her. It was too late. She was found out.
She turned around to straddle his laps and wound her arms over his shoulders, smiling at him fondly and, leaning forward, kissed his cheek, nuzzled his ear, tongued it, sucked on his lobe. Harry smiled, fondling her breasts.
They broke the kiss and he lifted the T-shirt off her head. He could feel the warmth of her cunt against his belly. He cupped her breasts, marvelling at the perfection of their weight and size and form. He bent forward and gently lapped at one stiff, long nipple with his tongue, making her moan and gasp softly, clenching his head to her chest, arching her back.
He sucked sharply on her breast and she hissed in joy. They broke apart again, his hand between her breasts, her hands cupping his handsome face.
"Harry," she murmured.
"Mm?"
"Tell me about the first time. With Sheila," she murmured.
"You know all about it, babe. I've told you before. So has she."
"Tell me again. It's so sexy to hear about it."
He chuckled softly. "Well, babe, if you think *hearing* about it is sexy, you should have seen how sexy it *felt*!"
He cupped her swollen breasts, feeling them harden in his hands, the nipples quivering with tension. She looked lovely, with the long neck, the gold chain riding high on the nape, slightly raised over her flesh, where her shoulders hollowed sexily.
"Tell me, Harry ... tell me how my lovely brother and sister first committed incest."
Sheila was not quite sixteen when she lost her virginity to the house-servant one hot afternoon. Everyone else was out of the house and she was supposed to be studying for her exams.
Actually, she was fantasizing, and the pages were a blur. It was hot and humid. The ceiling fan barely stirred the torpid air. She unbuttoned her cotton shirt and pulled it open. She was not wearing a bra, and she fanned herself with her notebook, shivering as her nipples popped erect.
A ribbon of sweat trickled through her deep cleavage. She squeezed her breasts gently, rolling the mounds under her palms and tweaked her nipples. Her breasts grew warm and heavy.
Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and pulled off her shorts. Spreading her legs wide, she slid her finger to her crotch and began to masturbate slowly. It felt so good. She rubbed her finger up and down her slit and, sensuously rubbed her moist finger over her puckered aureoles. She closed her eyes. If only she could have a man. A real man, with a real penis, long and thick and dark, like the one's she saw in her biology books and in the erotic magazines and movies she spirited from her Uncle Stanley's cupboard.
A big cock, one she could suck and play with till it was hard. Then he would squeeze it into her cunt and she would feel its heat and hardness in her flesh, filling her cunt, rasping over her gorged clitoris. A black man, yes, one of those, hard-bodied and muscular with an enormous penis ... just like the one she had seen in the movie the other day ...
The memory aroused her and Sheila frantically vibrated her fingertip against her clitoris. Her orgasm neared and she stopped. She had long discovered the intense satisfaction of prolonging orgasms. Slowly, she began masturbating again, arching two fingers into her cunt, rubbing a third against her clitoris.
With a soft moan, Sheila let herself go. Her finger wiggled furiously in her cunt, strumming her gorged clitoris and she gasped as the orgasm hit. Her cunt-juices seeped over her wrist and fingers. Gasping and panting, she wiped her hand on her breasts, and licked her fingers clean.
Somehow, it wasn't good enough. Sighing, she turned back to her books. It was impossible. Soon, her mind was wandering again. Sighing, she got up and, knotting her shirt-tails under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, wandered out of the room and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed silently, promising coolness. Small mercies.
She got herself a drink of water and ice from the freezer. She popped several cubes in her glass and taking three or four in her hand, ran them around her temples, over her face and through her cleavage. It felt very sexy. Her nipples hardened again. Smiling with pleasure, she slid her hand under the open lapels of her shirt and moved the ice cubes over her nipples. They quivered and she felt her cunt suddenly ooze with excitement.
She turned, with her hand still inside her shirt, over her breast, and froze in shock. At the door, watching her quietly stood their new part-time servant, Ramu. Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him and flushed, too shocked even to move her hand out of her shirt. He stood watching her silently, expressionless.
He was a handsome young man in his early twenties, who did the sweeping, mopping, the laundry. He was tall and dark, with a strong, rough-hewn, handsome face. His hair was thick and dark.
He was clean-shaven. His body was muscular with broad shoulders, a cleaved chest, a flat belly and long arms and legs thick with muscle. She had often fantasized about him fucking her.
Ramu stood still, as if carved of stone. The ice melted in her hand and stained her shirt. She slid her hand out, her heart pounding in her chest, her lips open, gasping softly, her eyes wide, her head roaring with terror and fear, a deep clench in her gut. He had seen her. It was too late. She was found out.
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