Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.
We look out upon an amazing expanse of stars, hardly diffused by the full moon even one candlepower.
How?
How can this be, as we’re in the city, right on the lakefront of one of the most lit-up cities in North America?
Two words: power blackout.
Yes, the hotel’s emergency generators instantly kicked into action. So the hallways are safely illuminated. I know because we checked the hallway.
But this room faces south. Lake Ontario. Which means there’s nothing to see out there.
Save for the stars.
“Wow.”
Mai says this as she rolls her fingers and thumb around the head of my cock, playing with the foreskin and the glans, scraping kindly at my peehole.
“It’s just a penis, Lady. It doesn’t belong in a museum, and it doesn’t rate your incredulity.”
Mai is all laughter.
Well, laughter and a tightening of her thighs.
A gesture that pincers my dick.
You see, we’re standing at the broad expanse of a window. I’m standing behind Mai. Mai is standing on a very short stool. A ‘foot-stool’. Its legs are gorgeously carved walnut, while the actual ‘top’ is velour. Larkspur velour. Soft. And yet the padding it covers is firm.
She stands on it to make up the difference in our height.
So I can take her from behind more easily.
After all, I believe, on occasion, in marathon-fucks.
I have a very, very special place in my heart for ‘quickies’, and I love everything in between the two...but once in a while, I need to engage in something ridiculously drawn-out and monumental.
Which is why we’re here, at the window, gazing out into the sky, with my erection between her legs, and Mai fiddling around with it.
Casual-like.
“I love your cock,” she murmurs. “It is most definitely worthy of being in a museum. But only when I’m finished with it.”
“Not any time soon, I hope.”
Here’s the thing about Mai: she’s a temptress, yes. She’s a voracious virago, a hellion under the sheets, a true dream in bed.
But...but...
But there are these other aspects to her. Ones that are just as commanding, just as riveting as the other stuff.
Like when she turns her head and smiles at me.
It’s nothing ‘playful’. Or ‘manipulative’. Or even ‘sexy’.
It’s simply Mai turning to me and looking into my eyes and smiling at me.
While she has her quiet way with my cock.
“Not any time soon, no,” she finally says, going for my mouth, leading with her tongue and going for my mouth, joining us here, to combine with all the other points-of-contact.
These points-of-contact include the upper-ridge of my cock against her under-carriage, my abs with her lower back, my chest with her upper back, my thighs pressing against her hamstrings, a knee against the back of hers, the inside of one of my feet propped up on the outside of one of hers, my arms at her ribcage...
...because my fingers are going to work on her nipples.
Her much-ballyhooed, posts-drive-through-them nipples.
Tugging them out to outrageous extents, twisting them, tweaking them...loving them in the forceful ways Mai demands.
“Good,” I say, lowering my head for a nibble at her neck.
She shivers and faces forward once again. “What can you tell me about them?” she asks.
“What,” I begin to ask. “Your tits?” With this, I continue going to town on them, stretching out her nipples, her abundance of areolae...pushing the boundaries of comfort until she’s approaching ‘exquisite pain’.
Which she notes with a curling-in of her shoulders, a gesture that at once has her embracing my actions...while mutely warding them off. “No!” she giggles, a little frustration in her voice. “The stars...!”
How?
How can this be, as we’re in the city, right on the lakefront of one of the most lit-up cities in North America?
Two words: power blackout.
Yes, the hotel’s emergency generators instantly kicked into action. So the hallways are safely illuminated. I know because we checked the hallway.
But this room faces south. Lake Ontario. Which means there’s nothing to see out there.
Save for the stars.
“Wow.”
Mai says this as she rolls her fingers and thumb around the head of my cock, playing with the foreskin and the glans, scraping kindly at my peehole.
“It’s just a penis, Lady. It doesn’t belong in a museum, and it doesn’t rate your incredulity.”
Mai is all laughter.
Well, laughter and a tightening of her thighs.
A gesture that pincers my dick.
You see, we’re standing at the broad expanse of a window. I’m standing behind Mai. Mai is standing on a very short stool. A ‘foot-stool’. Its legs are gorgeously carved walnut, while the actual ‘top’ is velour. Larkspur velour. Soft. And yet the padding it covers is firm.
She stands on it to make up the difference in our height.
So I can take her from behind more easily.
After all, I believe, on occasion, in marathon-fucks.
I have a very, very special place in my heart for ‘quickies’, and I love everything in between the two...but once in a while, I need to engage in something ridiculously drawn-out and monumental.
Which is why we’re here, at the window, gazing out into the sky, with my erection between her legs, and Mai fiddling around with it.
Casual-like.
“I love your cock,” she murmurs. “It is most definitely worthy of being in a museum. But only when I’m finished with it.”
“Not any time soon, I hope.”
Here’s the thing about Mai: she’s a temptress, yes. She’s a voracious virago, a hellion under the sheets, a true dream in bed.
But...but...
But there are these other aspects to her. Ones that are just as commanding, just as riveting as the other stuff.
Like when she turns her head and smiles at me.
It’s nothing ‘playful’. Or ‘manipulative’. Or even ‘sexy’.
It’s simply Mai turning to me and looking into my eyes and smiling at me.
While she has her quiet way with my cock.
“Not any time soon, no,” she finally says, going for my mouth, leading with her tongue and going for my mouth, joining us here, to combine with all the other points-of-contact.
These points-of-contact include the upper-ridge of my cock against her under-carriage, my abs with her lower back, my chest with her upper back, my thighs pressing against her hamstrings, a knee against the back of hers, the inside of one of my feet propped up on the outside of one of hers, my arms at her ribcage...
...because my fingers are going to work on her nipples.
Her much-ballyhooed, posts-drive-through-them nipples.
Tugging them out to outrageous extents, twisting them, tweaking them...loving them in the forceful ways Mai demands.
“Good,” I say, lowering my head for a nibble at her neck.
She shivers and faces forward once again. “What can you tell me about them?” she asks.
“What,” I begin to ask. “Your tits?” With this, I continue going to town on them, stretching out her nipples, her abundance of areolae...pushing the boundaries of comfort until she’s approaching ‘exquisite pain’.
Which she notes with a curling-in of her shoulders, a gesture that at once has her embracing my actions...while mutely warding them off. “No!” she giggles, a little frustration in her voice. “The stars...!”
