Slow She hates slow She loves slow She hates slow It may sound odd, but I can feel the way the fabri
Slow She hates slow She loves slow She hates slow It may sound odd, but I can feel the way the fabric of the skirt brushing along the backs of her legs and ass is swirling inside her. Taking breath. Leaving nipples hard and in a desperate need that knots at the base of her skull. The air against the heat between her legs arching her back. Is there a part of me that wants to sink in? Of course. Two fingers. Deep. Coarse. Without regard. Taking pleasure in her loss of control. Not yet. That must be earned. So the skirt will rest where her back curves to her ass. Where right now she wants both my thumbs pressing down hard while I do something completely at odds with this conservative attire. A stray middle finger may drift along the stockings, stopping short of touching the sensitive skin above them. So close moans are unavoidable. Still, I wait. When she shows me her need in long arching strands, when they fall with each breath she takes, we will begin. -- source link