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The Ballet Dancer, Part 2

So you think you can dance?
I had no time to think, not even to react, which may have been all the better for me. As she glided towards me, she let slip the towel, revealing her full, firm breasts, with large, deep red nipples that had stiffened in the shower. I could see as well that she was a natural blond, though she had trimmed her patch into a tasteful landing strip. And then she was on me and through me. The heat of her passion crashed into me, burning my crotch even through the layers of the suit I wore still. The hard nakedness of her breasts and stomach writhed on top of me.

We kissed deeply and hard and she matched my aggression with her own graceful intensity. She sat astride me, pinning to the bed, boring into me with her heat and desire. Her fingers worked the buttons of my shirt and slipped off my tie until she could scratch her nails and dig into the muscles of my chest. She flicked my nipples, sending shivers of delight straight through my engorged cock. How much more could I take?

I flipped her over. If I didn’t get some control of her soon, I would lose control of myself. That would truly scar my ego. I finished pulling off my shirt, buying a few more precious seconds of delay and then launched myself back into a kiss deep in her mouth, transferring the energy of my loins through the working of my lips. I caressed her breast with one hand, firmly and methodically, not like some porno boy slapping at a balloon.

She needed to be played like a Stradivarius not a piñata. I used my other hand on the small of her back to draw her into me. Her moans, her scent, and the feel of her skin mixed an erotic potion that I could scarcely withstand. I’ve never felt such sustained tension, such passionate energy. It was like an orgasm, but I somehow still had control. Or she did.

The musk of her loins and the dampness I could feel seeping a hot invitation through my pants. My lips were being drawn below her breasts to the source. I managed to detour to the buttery skin of her thighs, tracing small circles with my tongue. I lingered not a little, working my way to her core and she moved to open herself to me and present her lips for mine. Soft moans and the tensing in her stomach spoke of her restrained eagerness.

I kissed greedily with my lips and tongue, but not too eagerly, playfully instead. I have always had a certain talent for cunnilingus and knew how and when to approach a clit. Drawing it out, teasing it, and then fulfilling it. It didn’t hurt that I loved the smell and taste of women. Each one delicious in its own way, but none like this. I worked and played my own tongue ballet until she was spent from her own shudders and all of her dancer’s strength was little more than a quiver.

“Did you like that?”

“Hmmm, maybe not so smart,” she breathed in reply.

“Well, you should rest then, from your performance earlier and my performance now,” I suggested smugly.

“I think, no,” she sparked and her hand shot out and wrapped firmly around my stiffened member.

While I was surprised at her recovery and stamina, she switched to a tennis grip and with a squeeze, she used my own racket to flip me on my back. She brought her other hand to the task so that all the blood flowed through the shaft of my desire burning between her hands. My agony of pleasure was fueled by the devilish smile delight that flashed on her face. Licking her own lips, she wiped the smile away and offered a guttural groan of anticipation.

“This is what I had in mind,” she said inspecting me, “The size is good, but I make bigger. You have beautiful cock and body I can make use of.”

Down she went. Whether fast or slow, I couldn’t tell but it seemed like and eternity as she licked the head of my cock and then pushed the tip through her lips to take it in her mouth. With just the crown of my cock in her mouth she worked her tongue around the ridges and teased at the hole on top. Her fingers ringed the base of my shaft and her other hand worked on the stepchildren.

I lost all track of time as she moved to lick her way around my pleasure stick, the tip, then the shaft, then my balls, and around again; all while her hands played my nipples like she was tuning a violin for concert. My body was a super nova of excitement. She kept me on the edge but never too far. She brought the tip of my cock back into her mouth and sucked hard, then while keeping the pressure up, she pulled her head back until I popped out. She did it again, pulling back but not quite letting me pop. Next she nibbled and sucked the crown, the shaft and my balls ‒ a choreography of fellatio that rendered me completely in her power.

When she took me again deep in her mouth, I was lost and could no longer tell what she did and when. He hands played on my nipples, my balls, my shaft and even into my ass. As she inserted her finger my cocked engorged more than I’ve ever known. She worked her mouth and tongue furiously now and I began to realize that she was beginning to tire. I tried to pull her off.

She shook me off, saying over ragged breaths, “I want to drink you,” then she redoubled her effort.

I finally came in a gusting torrent, my hot seed shooting into her mouth and down her throat. She sucked it eagerly until I was left a quivering puddle on the bed. I did then what many men do, although I am ashamed to admit it. I fell asleep.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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