The staccato rhythm of my pussy slurps began to release endorphins and for a while I thought I’d found my Nirvana. The rush gave me stamina and boundless energy, but when the five-minute timer dinged, I lost all concentration. I glanced down at my husband and saw his red face. Like Muhammad Ali, my wandering mind began to rhyme as I pumped and bobbed. “I watch as your eyes, stare between my thighs, as my pussy free-falls, and is impaled.” flowed out smooth as silk from the recesses of my mind. I pumped for what seemed ages, then, “I moan lusty cries, and watch your dick rise, just aching to be jerked and flailed.” completed the verse. I ran it over and over, but my concentration was done. In desperation, I slowed my pedaling to a crawl and recited my poem out loud. Doug looked up in wonderment as I lifted myself up off The Devil’s Dick and climbed down from the bike. I couldn’t hope to concentrate with him looking ripe for a stroke or another heart attack, so I grabbed the. The terrible shame of it is that as I know now, I was getting plenty of chances to do that and a great deal more but I was too young and inexperienced to know. Ah, the waste, the waste! Then came the day when I had to leave the groceries in the kitchen. The lady of the house would be out but the back door would be open. It was. I did. And crept up to the bedroom, trembling, shaking with - fear .. anticipation, and... Her drawers were a gold mine -- panties, stockings, suspender belts, roll-ons, bras, all neatly pressed and folded. I was too nervous to do much more than look but my cock had to come out and i had to smell them, had to touch the brassiere to my aching prick, rub the bulging head of it inside the sweet scented cup so that when she put it on her nipple would be there - right where my cock had been ... But more than that. There, on the floor beside the bed, just lying there, her simple white cotton pants - her DIRTY white cotton pants. I was trembling when I.
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