I whimpered and keened as his tongue laved my left nipple. My other nipple peaked with anticipation waiting in turn.
I looked at the juncture that joined us together and my thoughts were in a jumble. There was something poetic about it. I could feel him pulsing inside me, taking me with him on a journey of wantonness. His prick, felt heavy and full inside my vagina. Each stroke as he languidly and slowly moved inside me, was making me want to scream, keen. My arms moved restlessly over his back, torso.
I felt hot and out of my depth. He surrounded me. His breath coming in short circuit with every move he made. His manly scent and woodsy musky cologne surrounded me in a cocoon of heat and restlessness. I wanted him so bad. I always did.
I met him in half strides as he pistoned inside me. His slick back felt good to the touch. Rubbing off my body in a perfumed state, dribs of sweat slinked from him. I wanted to mewl like a cat getting scratched.
His hands fondled my other breast pinching the nipple alternatively. I heard myself scream. I couldn't help myself. Feeling him laving one nipple while pinching the other coupled with him moving inside me had me going nuts. I wrapped my arms more tightly around his hips; caging him in my precipice of heaven. I heard him grunt with the effort of holding himself back as he grinded his dick in my g-spot.
I never pictured ravishment to be this exciting nor soul searing. Michael, the stable boy of my father's estate, was a man who knew the baser windings of carnality.
I was no virgin. Being a widow of about three years, I had to devise ways to getting pleasure at any turn. But so far, Michael was the best of them all.
With his dark skin, well muscular lean body, he was magnificent. He had the most riveting dark eyes that crinkled permanently with a sensuality that beckoned to my wantonness. And a mouth that bespoke wanting to be kissed all the time. Who was I to deny myself the pleasure?
I could feel myself on the ledge of an orgasm. Each time, he was inside me, he worked me like he couldn't get enough. And I loved it especially after my sedate marital bed for three years. My sweet departed husband was not an adventurer. Being brought up in a controlling religious household, ensured he only practiced missionary style while we both were under the sheet and in dark. So when he died, I was set free sexually. And didn't I just love it!
Kneeling, he turned me on to my stomach spreading my legs wider as he covered my back with his and surged inside me in one fluid movement. I let out a gasp full of wonder and lust. I could see his lust reflecting mine.
Looking straight into my eyes, he wound his hand around me and brought it to my clit. He rubbed it with tandem to his movements inside me.