work so far. This was the sort of reaction she was looking for.
She shimmied against his groin, causing him to moan and groan like a man in mortal pain. Inch by inch, she let the breeches slide down her legs, until she had to reach down, slipping her sandals off and pulling the pants free from her legs.
“Oh shit, a man can’t take too much of this,” he complained, staring at her matching G-string. A tiny triangle of black silk, with shiny beads sewn into the material to make it shimmer and call a man to his doom.
Once again he was reminded of one of the important answers to life. Christiana definitely shaved. The lips of her pussy pouted, free and clear of any hair. A light sprinkling of hair dusted her mons, just enough to tempt and tease a man dying from unexplored lust.
Christiana held still above him for a moment, letting him take in as much as he could. Men were, after all, visual creatures.
When she feared for his sanity—she did not want a drooling moron for a lover—she bent down and kissed him once more. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, she tasted her Edward. He was so familiar, even though they had not kissed much. It was as if she had always known his taste, his scent. She wasn’t surprised but it was comforting, sweet.
Deciding she couldn’t wait much longer, sitting happily over his cock, she started to wiggle her G-string down her thighs. As she flipped the scrap of material off the edge of the bed, she twisted her arms back, intending to unclasp her demi-bra.
“No!” he cried out. “Leave the bra on! It’s kind of a turn-on. It sparkles like your eyes.”
Rolling her eyes at the strange notions of men, Christiana nevertheless left the bra on. Rubbing her dripping pussy over the long length of his cock, she felt her own mouth start to drool. For years she had fantasized about this moment. She could barely believe that she was finally here.
The moon shone in through the window, bathing them in Her light. Her lover, the man of her fantasies and dreams, lay before her, ready and eager to do her bidding. Sure, she knew as soon as she removed the handcuffs he would exact his revenge, but how sweet that would also be. Her mouth watered at all the things he might do to her, might make her do to him .
Running her swollen, dripping pussy lips over and over his cock, she unconsciously set up a rhythm. She didn’t mean to set up the thrusting, grinding pace but it was more instinctual than that. But Edward immediately caught on and began to thrust his hips in synch to her rhythm.
“Now, Christi! I need you now!”
Eagerly agreeing, she changed her angle and thrust herself down on his dripping cock. Her own juices had coated him—something she was grateful for, even though that hadn’t been her intention.
She felt her hymen tear, a most unusual feeling, and then he was simply there . It wasn’t unpleasant but it was too uncomfortable to be precisely pleasant . She felt full, and the feeling was weird, almost shocking.
She panted, realizing that Edward was panting, too.
“I told you I should have helped you with this. I could have made it easier. Stroke your clit, darling. Give yourself some pleasure to counteract the pain.”
“It’s not exactly pain, Edward.” But even as she spoke, she began to stroke herself, surprised at how much it eased the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m just a bit full at the moment.”
“A bit?” he teased. “Sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
With that, he began to thrust in and out of her with a slow, steady rhythm.
The friction of his cock made tingles with the friction of her finger stroking her clit. Soon, she felt herself relaxing around his cock, even thrusting in tangent with him, eager to feel him deeper.
She opened her eyes, unaware of when she had closed them, to find Edward staring at her, his eyes burning in the darkness. He had turned the cuffs slightly, so he gripped them with an iron grip, using them as leverage to thrust his
She shimmied against his groin, causing him to moan and groan like a man in mortal pain. Inch by inch, she let the breeches slide down her legs, until she had to reach down, slipping her sandals off and pulling the pants free from her legs.
“Oh shit, a man can’t take too much of this,” he complained, staring at her matching G-string. A tiny triangle of black silk, with shiny beads sewn into the material to make it shimmer and call a man to his doom.
Once again he was reminded of one of the important answers to life. Christiana definitely shaved. The lips of her pussy pouted, free and clear of any hair. A light sprinkling of hair dusted her mons, just enough to tempt and tease a man dying from unexplored lust.
Christiana held still above him for a moment, letting him take in as much as he could. Men were, after all, visual creatures.
When she feared for his sanity—she did not want a drooling moron for a lover—she bent down and kissed him once more. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, she tasted her Edward. He was so familiar, even though they had not kissed much. It was as if she had always known his taste, his scent. She wasn’t surprised but it was comforting, sweet.
Deciding she couldn’t wait much longer, sitting happily over his cock, she started to wiggle her G-string down her thighs. As she flipped the scrap of material off the edge of the bed, she twisted her arms back, intending to unclasp her demi-bra.
“No!” he cried out. “Leave the bra on! It’s kind of a turn-on. It sparkles like your eyes.”
Rolling her eyes at the strange notions of men, Christiana nevertheless left the bra on. Rubbing her dripping pussy over the long length of his cock, she felt her own mouth start to drool. For years she had fantasized about this moment. She could barely believe that she was finally here.
The moon shone in through the window, bathing them in Her light. Her lover, the man of her fantasies and dreams, lay before her, ready and eager to do her bidding. Sure, she knew as soon as she removed the handcuffs he would exact his revenge, but how sweet that would also be. Her mouth watered at all the things he might do to her, might make her do to him .
Running her swollen, dripping pussy lips over and over his cock, she unconsciously set up a rhythm. She didn’t mean to set up the thrusting, grinding pace but it was more instinctual than that. But Edward immediately caught on and began to thrust his hips in synch to her rhythm.
“Now, Christi! I need you now!”
Eagerly agreeing, she changed her angle and thrust herself down on his dripping cock. Her own juices had coated him—something she was grateful for, even though that hadn’t been her intention.
She felt her hymen tear, a most unusual feeling, and then he was simply there . It wasn’t unpleasant but it was too uncomfortable to be precisely pleasant . She felt full, and the feeling was weird, almost shocking.
She panted, realizing that Edward was panting, too.
“I told you I should have helped you with this. I could have made it easier. Stroke your clit, darling. Give yourself some pleasure to counteract the pain.”
“It’s not exactly pain, Edward.” But even as she spoke, she began to stroke herself, surprised at how much it eased the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m just a bit full at the moment.”
“A bit?” he teased. “Sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
With that, he began to thrust in and out of her with a slow, steady rhythm.
The friction of his cock made tingles with the friction of her finger stroking her clit. Soon, she felt herself relaxing around his cock, even thrusting in tangent with him, eager to feel him deeper.
She opened her eyes, unaware of when she had closed them, to find Edward staring at her, his eyes burning in the darkness. He had turned the cuffs slightly, so he gripped them with an iron grip, using them as leverage to thrust his
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