They play a game.

The room is warm, sunlight dappled, comforting.

Frangipani scent on the breeze.

The bed is firm, cool, welcoming.

Final rays of dusk spread through bamboo curtains into their chamber.

They strip.

Not yet aroused.

His cock flaccid, drooping, tempting.

Her pussy firm, closed, enticing.

She knows the game.

She lies down on her tummy, spreading her curvy soft legs and her rounded buttocks above her sticky camel-toe lips.

He knows the game.

He lies down on top of her with muscular legs between legs, folding his tender, spongy prick into her waiting, smiling kitten.

Sniffing the nape of her neck.

Inhaling the jasmine of her perfumed lust.

She sighs, feeling his cock still gentle and enfolded in her moist mound.

He licks, nuzzling her curly tresses with lips and nose. 

And she moans, trembling with spreading tingles of devotion.

And he grows.

Taking his time, fingers drifting over silky skin, dappled with goosebumps of delight.

Tongue tip touching and nostrils smelling.

And he grows.

And he groans as she whimpers into the downy, satiny pillow below.

And he thrusts. Once. Once again.

And she cries.

And he grows. Larger and deeper he goes.

Biting her nape and shoulder as she bites the flesh of her hand.

Grasping and twisting her tiny tits as she squeals with elated fulfillment.

And he thrusts. Again and again.

Fucking now with full grown, full blown cock of rapture. 

Tight inside her weeping, dripping, grasping puss. 

And he cums.

His darling feels the spurts and she screams, begging, mewling, feeling all the length and girth of his desire.

Complete.

Both are complete and the game is complete. 

Ending as it always does.

With two winners.