What was going on? Why was she allowing this…no more then allowing it! Why was she returning his advances on her in this way? She couldn’t seem to find the answers to these questions as they raced through her head. He just continued to kiss her slowly, tilting his head so that their lips locked together. He slid his hands over her back caressing it softly, but damn, she could swear she felt the desire in his hands as they ran over her lithe body. Slowly his hands made their way to her sides, and he broke the kiss for the first time. He gazed into her eyes still and the heat and desire in them made her want to melt. That feeling between her legs was still there but stronger now. It felt like a little bonfire inside of her, the tickle having grown into an itch. She wanted to touch herself and the thought made her blush even more. She realized her hands were on his chest, running over it not unlike his hands on her. She whimpered to herself and looked up into his eyes. He smiled again. It was filling up her pussy, surrounding my cock, and then began to spill out onto the couch and her skirt, staining the cream and denim materials with the warm sticky goo. I was hot, masturbation sometimes made me a little flustered but this was like sitting—on—a—barbeque—in—a—Florida—July hot. I was roasting even with nothing on. I wanted to try and cool myself down as I retracted my cock, caked in my own cum, from her snatch. Natasha also looked hot; I released her leg and stood up, she was breathing heavily. The only way to fan myself would be to use my hands but personally I didn’t want the last thing my first lay to see of me was me standing naked in her living room, dripping semen on her floor, and flapping my hands around as if trying to swap flies. I knew there was a high chance she wouldn’t interpret it that way, but still. Despite the inconvenience I kept my hands still, I stood awkwardly at the end of the couch. Would there be a silence before Natasha just looks at me.
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