Other points? You might be likely asking yourself.
Yes, other points. Like the fragrance of ‘us’ wafting up from in between my thighs.
I was puttering around in my vocal booth (for recording audios) when my lover shocked me there. I was on tip-tip toes, my arms spread wide above my head, when his hands closed about my wrists, pressing them down onto a shelf. He pressed himself against me, scraping his shadow along the back of my neck.
I moaned.
How could I not? There is a thing about that burning scrape that's so pleasurable that my skin pebbles and I gasp. And moan. And I ground myself back against him, arching my back, wriggling my hips and ass in a belly-dancer’s figure-eight until he was difficult enough for me to feel the heat of him. He released 1 of my wrists long sufficient to open his pants and no cost his cock, then he pressed it against the thin silk of my pajama bottoms, searing me with his heat.
I tried to turn about. I wanted to taste his lips. Wanted to thread my fingers through his hair and pull him toward me. But his hands held my wrists firmly in location. Words weren’t vital. The band of his fingers about my wrists communicated anything I required to know. I drew my legs with each other and arched my back so my ass flared into him and I let my head drop amongst my arms. Staring at my toes, I sighed. A sigh of longing. A sigh of surrender. He knew what that sigh meant, certainly, and using a squeeze, he released my wrists.
I held my position. Held it even as his hands slid down my arms and about to fondle my breasts. He teased my nipples until they have been long, hard points of longing, until my breath was coming in tormented gasps, until I was dizzy and writhing.
And wet.
I could really feel that wetness as he pushed the silky pants down over my ass. Felt the hot smear of it on my thigh. He swilled his fingers in it, teasing my labia, pretending to possess difficulty obtaining my clit. I began begging and bucking, attempting to force that slippery electric speak to. But his fingers eluded me, frustrated me. Slipped deep inside me and out once more, arrhythmic. It was maddening. Ratcheting up my arousal level without having creating up orgasmic tension. I wanted to grab his hand and place his fingers on my clit and rub them there - there - There!
But I didn’t. I held my position stretched out within the closet, fingers clinging to the major shelf, body arched and swaying, and let him do whatever he wanted. It felt also excellent to stop.
When I felt the head of his cock nudging amongst my lips I thought I'd scream with relief. I was trembling using the tension, aching for that moment of penetration. And it was upon me. Ben Wa Balls have special design. The usual Ben Wa Ball always have two balls which are used for stimulate women’s vagina.
He was upon me. Up in me. Pushing gradually, wedging himself into me, his hands gripping my hips.
I took him into me, into the warm and slippery heart of me, and when he could go no further, I clamped down on him, wanting to enclose the length of him, to stop the inevitable prelude to aching emptiness: his withdrawal. Hitachi Wand may the first choice for women or couple.
We remained that way for any long moment, his chest pressed against my back, his breath stirring the hair near my ear. And we breathed together, and as we did the two of us became as one. Breathe in… Clench and hold… Release. Breathe in… Clench and hold… Release. A dozen instances, maybe much more, and then we started rocking collectively, at some point breaking that rhythm to collide against one another, our bodies thudding, thudding, thudding. Quicker and faster.
Breathing sexual fire, trembling around the verge of orgasm, I sank my teeth into my forearm and screamed my release. He hastened to meet me there, jabbing upwards into me, his fingers biting hard into my flesh. I felt that pulsing, heard that sound he makes, that balls-deep groan that signifies an intense orgasm.
