straddled him, then raised herself while taking him in her hands and directing him until his handsome large knob was where she wanted it. He could wait no longer. He took over and, hands on her waist, with one hard push impaled her on his pulsating member. They were breathless with excitement as she rose up and down on him while tearing off his clothes. She wanted him naked, every inch of his flesh exposed for her to do with as she wanted.
It was no different for him. He disposed of her dress as quickly as possible, had her naked except for bone-coloured stockings with black lacy tops that clung high up on her thighs. Her nipples were hard and erect; her long blonde hair silky and sensuous. Her body, the way she moved on him, seemed to taunt him, as did her blue eyes. He knew that challenge; she wanted him to take her, dissolve her into pools of come. She wanted the entire gamut of sex: ruthless, hard, tender, loving, depraved. Tiffany would endure all things for the sexual oblivion they were seeking together. He quite loved her for that. They had been there many times together, just as he and Amy had once.
Naked and luscious, Tiffany arched her back and rode him. He placed his mouth on her nipples, first one, then the other, and sucked hard. She writhed with the pleasure of exquisite sensations.
He whispered, ‘Tiffany, Tiffany,’ and his heart beat, Amy, Amy.
He was voracious for her and every penetration wasexquisitely deep and tight. He kept the pace of his penetrations even as she came in long and powerful orgasms. Breathlessly she told him in a voice filled with lust and barely above a whisper, ‘You’re wonderful – we’re wonderful. The sex is the best, always better when you have seen her, want her, and use me. You’re having sex with me but beating her out of your system. That’s why you’re so bad.
We’re
so bad, and so good together. We know what we are and are not to each other. Bad doesn’t matter to us, only adds to the lust we share and the joy of sex together. I want your come, Charles, all you want to give me. You will find no rejection here.’
This time they came together in a long and exquisite orgasm where he pulled on her blonde hair and bit hard into her nipple until he drew a droplet of blood. Simultaneously they let go and called out shamelessly in their lust for life.
Amy drove into the garage, a tumbledown building whose uneven stone-tiled roof was hardly visible for the shiny green ivy that had taken it over as it had the rest of the building. A rambling bush and a small tree were growing where one section of the ridge had collapsed. The garage, more a work of art and flora, had been braced from the inside so many times it had about it more the look of an architectural installation than a covered space. This collapsing shack was home to the Lagonda, and was kept immaculately clean. In some ways Amy did pamper her car. Its shelter was heated in winter, had lights, and unbelievably an old carpet on the floor which Doreen,the woman who did, vacuumed once a month. Amy’s friends and neighbours took this extravagance as acceptable eccentricity – the norm for the English though unusual for an American.
After taking the torch from the glove compartment and snapping it on, Amy cut the lights and made her way down the path towards the boat house. The timer switch on the lamps in the library had taken over and the soft warm glow seen through the windows was welcoming. The evenings were drawing in early and she had arrived home at the time of day when dusk was reluctant to give way to night. It lingered, and was unusually beautiful: the blue haze tinged with pink from a setting sun, a pearly translucent mist that hovered, the silhouette of shrubs, and the house, dark and brooding in that light but warm and glowing inside. It seemed a perfect ending to the pleasurable day she had spent with Charles.
On entering the house she went directly to the fireplace and put a match to the well-laid
It was no different for him. He disposed of her dress as quickly as possible, had her naked except for bone-coloured stockings with black lacy tops that clung high up on her thighs. Her nipples were hard and erect; her long blonde hair silky and sensuous. Her body, the way she moved on him, seemed to taunt him, as did her blue eyes. He knew that challenge; she wanted him to take her, dissolve her into pools of come. She wanted the entire gamut of sex: ruthless, hard, tender, loving, depraved. Tiffany would endure all things for the sexual oblivion they were seeking together. He quite loved her for that. They had been there many times together, just as he and Amy had once.
Naked and luscious, Tiffany arched her back and rode him. He placed his mouth on her nipples, first one, then the other, and sucked hard. She writhed with the pleasure of exquisite sensations.
He whispered, ‘Tiffany, Tiffany,’ and his heart beat, Amy, Amy.
He was voracious for her and every penetration wasexquisitely deep and tight. He kept the pace of his penetrations even as she came in long and powerful orgasms. Breathlessly she told him in a voice filled with lust and barely above a whisper, ‘You’re wonderful – we’re wonderful. The sex is the best, always better when you have seen her, want her, and use me. You’re having sex with me but beating her out of your system. That’s why you’re so bad.
We’re
so bad, and so good together. We know what we are and are not to each other. Bad doesn’t matter to us, only adds to the lust we share and the joy of sex together. I want your come, Charles, all you want to give me. You will find no rejection here.’
This time they came together in a long and exquisite orgasm where he pulled on her blonde hair and bit hard into her nipple until he drew a droplet of blood. Simultaneously they let go and called out shamelessly in their lust for life.
Amy drove into the garage, a tumbledown building whose uneven stone-tiled roof was hardly visible for the shiny green ivy that had taken it over as it had the rest of the building. A rambling bush and a small tree were growing where one section of the ridge had collapsed. The garage, more a work of art and flora, had been braced from the inside so many times it had about it more the look of an architectural installation than a covered space. This collapsing shack was home to the Lagonda, and was kept immaculately clean. In some ways Amy did pamper her car. Its shelter was heated in winter, had lights, and unbelievably an old carpet on the floor which Doreen,the woman who did, vacuumed once a month. Amy’s friends and neighbours took this extravagance as acceptable eccentricity – the norm for the English though unusual for an American.
After taking the torch from the glove compartment and snapping it on, Amy cut the lights and made her way down the path towards the boat house. The timer switch on the lamps in the library had taken over and the soft warm glow seen through the windows was welcoming. The evenings were drawing in early and she had arrived home at the time of day when dusk was reluctant to give way to night. It lingered, and was unusually beautiful: the blue haze tinged with pink from a setting sun, a pearly translucent mist that hovered, the silhouette of shrubs, and the house, dark and brooding in that light but warm and glowing inside. It seemed a perfect ending to the pleasurable day she had spent with Charles.
On entering the house she went directly to the fireplace and put a match to the well-laid
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