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Convention Carousing, Part II

The mixer at the beginning of the convention is left behind
Convention Carousing – Continued

After hanging up the phone, and whispering to me that you just decided to check out exactly how good this hotel is by ordering from room service, we head for the elevators. However, I regain the lead, squeezing your hand as I veer away from the nearby bank of elevators, and steer you around and behind the front desk and reception area. 

You bop me with your hip, asking if I am going to have you taking the stairs.

I reach into my pocket, extracting the room key, pulling your wadded up name tag away from it, as I steer you to another elevator bank. I remind you we are headed to the 24 th floor, and that the main hotel is only 6 floors – thus different elevators for the tower accommodations.

The elevator itself is a glass gondola, and as I punch the 24 th floor button, the doors swiftly close, and we move slowly up and are immediately looking out over the large atrium of the lobby. You turn and hold the bar running around the inside at waist height, and I move behind you, reaching around, pressing myself behind you, as we breach the ceiling and are looking over the lights of the city. You whisper that the city is beautiful all lit up, and then turn to face me. 

I tell you that if you want, we can ride up and down all night, shrugging my shoulders, cocking my head slightly to the right, basking in your upraised eyes.

You respond, “If that’s what you like doing…”

This is as close as we have really been, and I don’t miss either that you are pressed against me, or that I can, if I dared, look down the front of your dress. “May I kiss you,” I ask, as we hit about 12 floors up. 

“If you must,” you whisper.

“I must.” 

My lips press lightly against yours, moving slightly, and I feel you hesitate, and then pressing back. I feel your sweet breath, and your hands slithering up from your sides, over my chest, and your elbows gaining a hold on my shoulders as your arms cross behind my neck. I continue to press, my mouth sliding a bit, trying to encompass your full mouth in my kiss.

The elevator slows, and dimly dings as we reach the 24 th . I step back, and your turn once more for a look at the lights, as the door slides open behind us. You reach for my arm, and grappling with yours, turn back, flushed, smiling, “Thanks, just a bit weak...and I don’t think it’s the elevation.” 

Sliding my arm around you, I turn and we move out, and down the corridor to my suite at the end of the short walk.

As I slip the key into the electronic lock, you ask me, “That elevator was pretty nice. Can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the room…” 

Once in my suite, you gasp a little bit as you take in my corner suite, large bowl of fresh fruit and flowers just inside the entry way, marble floors, plush slippers, large-screen tv on the wall currently displaying a large salt-water aquarium scent in high definition, and a balcony overlooking the pool complex below.

While I lay my jacket over the back of the couch, you wander into the bedroom, and I hear you list the features: a 4-poster bed, a raised marble pedestal in the corner in which there is Jacuzzi surrounded by bay windows, another balcony overlooking the beach, and then your voice gets muffled as you check out the closets and bathroom. 

I pour a couple drinks, and with the remote turn on a little soft jazz music, which fills the suite from tiny ceiling-mounted speaker. As you come out, gushing a bit about even the thick plush robes, I can’t help but smile and imagine you in a bit wearing one.

I hand you a drink, and ask if the place is satisfactory, to which you reply, “I think it will do!” Then you sip at your drink, your eyes flashing at mine over the rim.

“One thing you missed though, darling,” I add, “The room only has one balcony – it just wraps around the corner.” And I too drink.

“How did you manage?” you ask, and I reply with a shrug, “Corporate frequency ‘flier’ points? Loyalty and early booking pays, I guess.”

As you turn again to take in the view, I set my drink aside and move close behind you and ask you again to dance. You smile, set your glass down, and turn, and move into my arms.

With the remote still in my hand, I power down the lights, leaving just a couple wall sconces at half light. 

I guide you slowly back towards the door, the smooth floor making lights steps easier, then execute a turn into the middle of the seating area, hemmed in a bit by the L-shaped couch, a couple elegant plush chairs, and a large overstuffed ottoman.

Releasing you with one hand, I swing you out, and as you turn at the full extension of our linked arms, I lift one foot and with it scoot the ottoman back towards the inner angle of the couch, leaving us a bit more room. 

Then, moving a little faster with the music, we come in close, and your smile is open and relaxed, a bit more so than earlier downstairs. After another spin or two, in which the course of moving we each gravitate to opposite sides of the small open area, with the familiar final bars of the song, I reel you back in, lifting our arms up and over as you are pulled in close, and with your back to me, I halt, my arm around the front of your waist, holding you.

From my pocket I pull the remote one more time, and with a couple touches to the buttons, I douse the lights throughout, including the television, and just leave the sconce lights on low.

Breathing a bit quickly, you lean back against me, still with my arm holding you close to my front, and with the change in effects from the lights, you find yourself facing a tall mirror on the wall, a couple feet wide, with a bit of a heavy baroque gilded frame. It stops about 8” from the floor, but is also about 6’ in height. 

The light is enough to see your reflection, softly, and my broadly smiling visage over your right shoulder.

I lean close to your ear, my breath and whispers the first to caress you, telling you that it is very plain to me why you were intercepted on your way into the ball room a bit earlier. 

My left hand has not left off holding yours, my arm warm against your tummy, and as my lips graze your neck, my right hand slips the remote back into my pocket, the music set softer and slower, and my right hand moves to lightly mold itself against your right elbow, lightly caressing your toned, soft upper arm.

My eyes find yours in the mirror, and addressing your stunning reflection, I add that the colors of your dress fit in perfectly even here, and your eyes move to take in what I have noted - the gilt frame of the mirror, the tones of the wall paper, and the furnishings behind and around us. “You are just what this suite needs. And what I want, very much.”

I squeeze your hand, releasing it, and my hand moves then to your left hip. Then, my right gently slides down the length of you right arm, catching momentarily your fingers, before moving also to lightly hold you by your hips. 

My eyes are raised as high as I can to maintain contact with your, as I lower my head and continue to lightly nibble and kiss at your bare shoulder, whispering that, “you are the crowning glory that makes this suite now complete” And at the same time another part of my consciousness is wondering if you like the feel of me pressed close behind you, my hands anxious to press us closer, to roam and discover, for your gentle shoulders to be rid of those delicate staps... 

You are returning my gaze, and not following my reflection’s gaze as I take your full length in visually.

“Don’t go away,” I whisper, and then I lean away from you for a moment, reaching out of view in the mirror, returning with a long stemmed red rose, plucked from the overflowing vase on the narrow marble-topped table against the wall.

Pressed close again, my right hand still lightly on your hip, moving slightly, my thumb enjoying the flare from your waist down your hip, I bring the rose around in front of you, held upright in my left hand. Angling it towards you, I smile as I gently bring it to caress your chin, playing it along your jaw line, and back.

I manipulate the rose so that is briefly tickling your cheeks, making your nose wrinkle in such an endearingly cute way, then letting you take in the aroma, the heavy sweet scent, dropping tickling your lips, causing you to lightly use your teeth to ward off the tickle. You moan slightly as I draw it back to your chin, then down your neck, across your tight bodice, playing the blossoms gently over your slightly engorging nipples, playing quickly back and forth between them, my eyes darting to watch yours, hoping to see you looking pleased or entranced.

Your eyes are not watching the rose, but are straight ahead, watching the reflection in the mirror, and taking in the visual display, while your body transmits the anticipated touch as it comes to your mind. Dropping my arm and retracting a bit to the left side to be out of the visual line, the rose teasingly caresses the under-swell of your bodice, skirting away then, and in serpentine fashion, criss-crosses your tummy, down over and past your navel area.

My kisses and caressing of your neck and ear and shoulder have continued as I comment on how soft and velvety the rose petals must be to feel against your bare skin. I let the stem roll in my fingers, so that the rose falls outward from your body, returning to touch your left thigh, just above the knee, and then drawing it slowly upward until it ducks under the hem of your dress. I let the soft petals rest there for a brief moment, my hand moving across your body to allow my right hand to take it, and moving the rose blossom to your right thigh with my left hand moving to your hip.

My right hand guides the rose then in a reversal of the direction it took on its way down your body, it glides and lightly traces up the front of your dress, where the first petal separates and falls. My hand brings the rose then directly back to before you, still in front of your nose, so you can see how perfectly beautiful and richly scented it remains. 

I then swing my arm to the right, softly tossing the rose to land on the ottoman, and my right hand returns to your hip. You are smiling, looking very radiant, outshining the dimmed lamps.

My hands momentarily smooth the dress under my palms, anxious to move and enjoy the firmness of your hips, the tapering inward slope above to your waist, and again the flaring to your hips and back again narrowing along towards where your thighs begin… 

I kiss the back of your head, and then upward. My eyes leave your reflection for the first time in the last minute or so, languidly and openly gazing downward, my eyes wondering about the delicate piece of jewelry that I have to this point avoided studying, and I now see that it is a delicate representation of a woman’s shoe. No, it is a glass slipper. From Cinderella. Or from memories of dance competition? So much I want to learn...later.

Your eyes have left the mirror, your head turned to catch my gaze, your lips pursed and smiling, and answered by my whispered words revealing what I am thinking, about how beautiful you must be, flawless, perfect, taut and firm underneath this elegant but simple dress.... 

Your hand moves for the first time since I released it, coming up to touch my cheek as you whisper me back, with a chuckle, “You are such a man.”

I smile back, my head turning first to continue the smile towards the mirror, before I duck again and nibble my way along your soft shoulder. My teeth lift and coax the thin strap, with slightly animated grunting from my throat, towards and over the edge of your shoulder, my lips bussing your smooth and wonderfully scented skin of your shoulder as I let it drop...

I look forward again, and you smile back into the mirror, your left hand having dropped to just beneath your right breast, where you hold it against your body. I shake my head lightly, playfully shrugging as there has been no discernable movement or shift of the fit of the dress. I note only your wry smile, the slight cocked angle of your head to the right, and the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. 

My nose nestles in your hair, inhaling deeply, my eyes again in yours from over your head. My left hand leaves your hip only for a brief moment, to touch and lift your hair away from the left side of your neck and shoulders, draping it behind you.

I chuckle to myself as I realized your cocking of your head to the right was in invite or just accommodating and anticipating my direction. And with another smile towards your reflection, I kiss your soft nape, and then move out along your shoulder, my eyes free to fall into the gentle but pronounced cleavage so tantalizing inches below. 

My hands finally leave your hips, and move to capture and hold your hands, caressing and enveloping them, but just briefly. Letting go, my fingers trace lightly up your inner forearms, and when I reach your inner elbow, I tickle and rub only lightly with the pads of my fingers, so soft... then, before the tickling gets irritating or requires a reaction to quiet things, my hands drop back down and again intertwine with yours. 

Meanwhile, my lips continue to graze outward along the line of your left shoulder, between tongue, lips and teeth I am able to grip the strap, and move it to your shoulder’s end… 

I laugh lightly as I make the briefest attempt to look exultant, before I let it go, whispering “Voila” as it falls, and gently lands limply against your left arm. 

You giggle, and my exultant and anticipated look disappears. 

Dashed! My hands are holding yours, so you are not holding it up. I have relented in my avid press against you from behind, but it stays. I lean and whisper, kissing your neck once again, “I felt the straps, so I am pretty sure I have not been dancing with a vision in body paint.”

You playfully respond, “Mmmm, it was a dress when I put it on earlier….” 

I then realize as I take a lingering look down again that it is so tight over your bosom, and your curves there so ample as to continue to hold it up.... 

"Mmmmm," I whisper, and my hands release your hands, which you slide behind you now, touching at the outside of my thighs, and as your fingers get ahold of my wool trousers, I feel you pulling me gently against you.

My hands move from holding your hands by your hips to your mid-section, hands flat on you, fingers splayed widely, and my wrists start to move upward, my hands dragging purposefully along....my thumb moves outward, and they are the first to graze the bottom swells of your magnificent swells that excite me so.... 

At this point, oh so close, so temptingly close, another thought hits me… Feeling that you are passively teasing me back with the tight dress, I reach beside us to the end table, and remove a rose, then another - two long stemmed crimson red roses in full bloom. I shake the water from their stems, and with one, I caress your recently bared upper shoulder and neck, guiding myself as I watch your reflection in the mirror. 

You whisper, perhaps a little strained this time, “An ambidextrous man – my luck runs deep.” I smirk, interpreting that to mean I am getting to you. 

The other, reaching my hand around your other side, I drag over a hip, up across your tummy, to the valley in the center of your chest. I continue upward, caressing your neck, watching in the mirror as you lift your chin, giving me free rein to caress your neck with the aromatic and soft petals. The first I allow to linger along your jaw line, and then drop the blossoms of both down and over your jutting breasts, sweeping in slight circles before settling lightly with the opening of the blossoms over the slightly more pronounced tips of your breasts. 

I roll the stems of the flowers in my fingers, to rotate the open mouths of the roses and the soft edges of the petals around your nipples, reversing, and again, for just a few seconds.

My desire to tease or wait any longer is depleted, and I toss both to join the first on the ottoman. Taking the straps dangling along your elbows, I give them a gentle tug, not realizing my throat has released a simple “gotta.” 

Softly laughing, “you poor man,” you spin in my arms, facing me, stretching to kiss me, softly, lightly, teasingly, “it must have been awhile,” and then you kiss me again, breathing into my mouth, and then continuing, “from the way you touch me, I would have thought you very practiced.” Then taking my face in your hands, your aim me roughly at the mirror behind you and say, “Look.” Then, kissing me once more, your tongue darting to slip lightly against my upper lip, you spin around again, and taking my hands in yours and pressing them to your chest, you giggle, “that is what zippers are for..... 

How lame of me (though I am enjoying every second), and with my hands held delightedly under yours, I stoop behind you with my lips, flick my tongue to flip the tiny tab upward, and grasp it with my lips, and gently but insistently tug downward, bringing my teeth back to the fight to help when it sticks… 

Once unfastened, I stand quickly, but our hands in place have prevented any slippage or further revelations... 

"Now?" I hear you murmur to me.

"Yes, NOW!" I command.

You release your hands from clasping mine, and slightly wistfully I pull mine away from the delight of cupping you, and with hardly a whisper, the dress falls, sudden as an avalanche at first...slowing at it slithers over your hips, which with a slight wiggle, it slips free, silently creating but a limp shimmering puddle at your feet...

You are looking into the mirror to gauge my immediate reaction...my jaw is slack, my eyes fixed, and there is no way of you discerning how dry and parched my throat suddenly becomes. No words will come out... 

My hands raise, palms facing you, hovering close by, anxious, wanting everything and so much! You move not at all to cover yourself or twist in any way – that kind of confidence strikes me only later as I recall each second and touch! No, your only movement is to press your hips back firmly against me, and you whisper sweetly towards my reflection,"you like?"

My momentarily fixed catatonic state is broken..."oh yes, yes, you are...amazing.” A pause. “Breath-taking.” You came down among us naked beneath that dress!

For a brief second I look to reach for two more roses, but quickly relinquish the impulse to tease you further with flower petals roaming your body. My instinct is confirmed when your hands move to cup your breasts, your delicate fingers and small palms no match, but the sexiness enhanced by the shimmering reflection of your nails, as you groan, “touch me.” 

My mind is still wishing to see the roses brush over your taut nipples, and to feel you arch into them, to see your hips swaying, while reaching behind us to grasp and pull me hard against you…wanting to extend the play and the anticipation, as perhaps I have dreamed of this scene before somewhere… 

I cannot resist! My hands move quickly, but controlled, splayed open, eager to cup and heft what is really just you, as I watch myself in the mirror, and realize I am pressing forward with my body as hard as you are pressing back against me. 

My left hand touches you first, your skin warm and soft, smooth and firm, your nipple between my index and middle finger as I mold my hand to you, lifting, pressing, before my thumb moves to join my index finger in closing on your nipple, my other three fingers sliding and dropping to lift and encompass the lower half of your awesome breast. 

My right hand, a bit of tease still left, rotates and the light blonde hair on my wrist is the first to make contact with your aching right nipple, as my arm moves to rub against you, pulling up and in against your breast, until my wrist suddenly rotates, and my right hand rushes to join his twin, delighted and hungry for your sweet jutting flesh. 

Perhaps 3 or 4 minutes have passed since we stopped dancing, but I feel like I have been starving for this for this a month. Perhaps an hour has passed since I claimed you from the posse downstairs? I understand suddenly and so completely the paradox of how time might pass in heaven. 

My hands are each ardent in their play, individually caressing, bringing my fingers together in a pincer movement on your nipple, then my hand flattening, my palm only caressing, circling, lightly pressing and rubbing...my fingers splaying, and my palm moving to allow the knotted nipple slide tightly between, and then be lightly squeezed between two open fingers, moving in opposing scissoring action – this can never become tiresome or less than mind-dazzlingly, overwhelmingly non-stop pleasurable. 

And then to multiply it by whatever it is in me that is so entranced by watching us in the mirror, your head back against my chest, your hands behind us, where I can only feel how you are massaging my ass, pulling as you rotate your hips against me. To feel such a carnal motion is one thing; to watch it as I am now is exponentially more.

I lean forward, whispering more to you about how gorgeous and beautiful you are, your lines, the color of your nipples, your unblemished skin, the hints of tan lines, their teasing power heightening my pleasure as my fingertips play across, from tanned skin, to private, special paler skin, exposed perhaps neither to the sun, or other men’s hungry eyes. A very sexy thing, to see my hands moving across that boundary from the sun-kissed swells to the sublime....

While I could delight in this for seemingly forever, there is more to enjoy, and to welcome to our shared delight. My right hand reluctantly squeezes your right breast, closing on, and slowly pulling off the end of your knotted tip, then sliding down your soft tummy, my hand turning from cupping downward, as if diving, tips leading South, until I bring my hand to slide over, again molding over and cupping you. Less restrained, my hand moves between your legs, the heel of my hand pressing firmly, while my fingers offer light warmth, my hand smoothing itself over your mons, slowly, 3 or 4 times. 

One of your hands moves from holding me, and to cover my hand with your own, pressing, urging me. Twenty minutes ago I did not know; now there is no doubt and no turning back. My gentlemanly restraint and training is slipping, and I am feeling a rogue emerge.

Your hand, it’s signal passed, snakes up your body, and around behind my neck, clinging and holding there. In the mirror, my hands rule, and your eyes are on fire. 

My middle finger presses into your humid furrow, finding it slick, and in perpetual motion. While my left hand is moving on your breast, squeezing, kneading it a bit now, fingers moving irrepressibly forward to stroke and flick on the nipple...my right hand is lightly rubbing and pressing into your pelvis, the heel of my hand back and forth over the edge of your pubic bone and over the soft area just above your mound, and all of you pressed and moving so sexily against me, as my body yearns to press into you.... 

My hand playing with your pussy. I like that, my hand in you pussy. My middle finger curls upward and in toward my palm, but stops when it finds your clit. Bingo. Lightly at first, first the soft tip, then curling more, a bit of harder flat nail petting you. Then the soft pad again, circling, pressing over the tip, more circling, reversing direction, then the finger extends, and the soft length rubs lightly up and down, my index and ring finger pressing your lips open, exposing your wet slick pink gash to more air…and more caressing. 

Your right hand then moves between us, one yanking at my belt, and then fumbling for a clasp or snap. I smile, again, watching one another in the glass, and you laugh, at my difficulty moments before with your dress, and in anticipation of further intimate first touches.

Slipping from your heated core, eliciting a groan and your hips bucking at the air, I bring my right hand up, slowly across the expanse of soft warm skin of your belly, and cup and play and pull again for a moment at your right breast, neglected and aching, but alive at my touch now... 

Your other hand leaves its wrap around my neck, as my hand having left your nexus allows you to stand again freely, and both hands work quickly now to deftly release my trousers, and they too fall, and are kicked away....I sway and bob, and your hand gropes for me, and I can feel and hear a release of air from your chest, the breath you were holding as you were reaching with anticipation, now forced out as you feel my swollen and hot, hard shaft in your small eager hand. 

You rub it, and it seems to distract you from the spiraling pleasure that my hands and the vision in front of you, watching in the mirror, were busily building. I sense your shift in concentration, and while I welcome your touch, I want you to be carried away in the sensations and visions of your body and mind and pleasure being the center of my attentions, and all that matters in the wide world at this time. I whisper that I want you to see something, and I remorsefully slide your hand off of me... 

"Watch," and I bend my knees, and force or slide my hard shaft of sinew between your legs, the plum-shaped head forcing you to widen your stance a bit, and sliding and caressing your most sensitive area as I slide and thrust and pull the corona of my cock myself through...my hands in front of you press you back, tightly, against me. 

"Look" I say again, and we both watch as the purplish head of my lance appears in the reflection before us from between your legs, popping through as I bend my knees and press tighter. "Now, touch it, play with it, as if it were your own..." I hiss. 

You spread you legs a little wider, and leaning back now against my chest, one hand moving to your thigh, fingernails gripping and making marks in your skin, your other hand slides over my protruding head, your palm making small circles on the head, before your fingers curl and you lift and press me against your enflamed underside, while caressing my swollen head... Your left hand leaves gripping at your own thigh, and again, you raise and curl your arm around my neck, clinging and holding yourself up. (I love it, as the posture lifts and points your breasts even more dramatically.) I can feel your concentration again riveted on our reflections and the sensations that are again building in you.

My hands continue to caress, lift, touch, fiddle and fondle you, but I too am nearing an impasse. My toes are starting to tighten, my ass to tense, and I know I could lose myself to your touch and dance on me at any time. My throat is constricted, and I eek out, "Baby, I..."

Your head turns, and while our hands continue, your offer me your mouth, and craning together, we kiss, as best we can reach, lips only brushing. Your breath is sweet, your panting is ragged, and your lips open, and your tongue is darting, enticing me to slide mine into your mouth and to suck and close my lips over yours...

This is too good. I release you, pressing you away so my cock bobs free, glistening from our combined wetness, spin you, and hold you close so we can kiss and press close together...my tongue tentatively licking at the corners of your mouth, opening you, then wriggling and tangling with yours, my teeth nipping at your lower lip, my tongue running along the inside of your lower lips, grazing lightly over your teeth... my hands now cupping and lifting you by your soft but firm derierre, pressing you to me, your hands behind my neck, your body arched and pressed, inch-by-inch, to me and mine. 

I break away, and checking the mirror, to make sure we are still centered, I kiss my way to your breasts, and with nudging movements of my head, encourage you to take in the profile you project, while watching my mouth move ravenously over your tight erect nips. I hear you sigh, and then I move lower, my kisses again teasing and my tongue flicking across your tummy... 

You like watching; are your eyes darting to watch? Can you, even now? You understand perhaps at a new level the sensual and erotic power it has for me, or men in general? 

Kneeling, while I keep descending and moving with my kisses, I reach, clawing, finally gaining a hold, and I pull the ottoman back in front of the mirror, then pushing it where I want it. As I kiss closer to your juncture, my tongue flicking and gliding, my head reversing so that my lips can plant following kisses along the path my tongue has blazed ahead, I coax your body down, to settle on the soft ottoman, quickly arranging you to where you can keep your heels on the floor, giving you traction, while your body lies nearly sideways across the mirror’s face, so you can see yourself, your face and breasts, while feeling me between your legs. 

The bed is just a matter of a few steps and a couple seconds away, but as I am already greedily hoping for more, I aim to remain here, this time… 

As you cry out for more contact, I quickly grab all the pillows, stuffing a couple behind your upper back, allowing for a semi-recline, before quickly jumping to my knees between yours, my hands gripping at your knees, sliding under your thighs, tempted to throw your legs over my back, but instead, keeping your legs to where you can get some gain with your heels on the floor. I want to feel you press back as you might feel to do. 

You are calling to me, telling me what you need, urging me onward, even thrilling me with the language that now comes from your need and private sexy mind I mean to explore, later.

Unconsciously dripping from my tip onto the floor, the cool marble feeling good on my heated knees, I dip and lave you from stem to nubbin. Then I circle your clit with a flat, fat thick tongue, finally pressing over you, before relenting and pursing my lips to suck lightly. I catch your eyes in my blue ones, that and my wavy blonde hair all that you can see if you glance down the length of your sexy smooth undulating body. The delighted smile is evident in my eyes. I know you see and understand.

As my tongue slide, slithers, wriggles, darts, flicks, and circles, my hands caresses your legs, moving up to your hips, loving the way all pretense of coolness is gone in the motion and strength on display via your hips. My eyes though are watching you. 

This is the perfect venue. Your darting eyes, watching me, or flicking away to catch your reflection, as your hair falls back, your breasts jounce with your motion and mine against you, your face beautifully flushed, your nostrils flaring, even a touch of perspiration dotting your forehead or along the sides of your elegant nose. 

I am inspired by the words being formed or mouthed by your lips, and the way your tongue darts to wet them as they are dry from your ragged breathing. I love to see you tense and concentrate, your upper teeth bared and pressing down on your lower lips, which is drawn up over your lower teeth. So sexy, that look. 

Best of all, you are humping and grinding against my flitting and probing tongue, and my view as I drive that carnal dance and follow your reactions to my pussy ravishing is of your face framed by your awesomely sexy breasts, where your hands alternate between cupping, holding, playing with them, or pulling at your hair or the edge of the ottoman as your pleasure spirals with the tireless, eager persistence of my tongue and lips as I watch and settle on what seems to be your favorite kind and motion of touch. Cum, baby, cum sweet baby, oh yes, cum for me now, so we can keep the night alive and full of more fantastic moments!

Lest my written word restrain your imagination or desire(s), I leave it to you the reader to imagination where this goes. Carry on as you may, and then let me know where your sexy mind took us?

It is Tuesday night, and we have this place potentially thru Sunday night…I hope the sweet sexy lady will want to stay. I am glad to continue…

What convention?

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