Romanc With Best Friend Hot Wife In Toilet

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My lips pressing and pulling at your shaven pink softness, my tongue in and out of you--you are so wet!-- then massaging your clit.Over and over and over and over and over.Your quietest voice, breathless, "....oh my god, oh my god...."The experience you have dreamed about countless times is now a reality. The sensations between your soft thighs are not a fantasy this time. You raise your eyes to look and my head is really down there.Still finding it hard to breathe, you let your head fall back as you whisper, "Oh fuck...."Your lips swell quickly, your body is ready.Too much excitement has built up over all these months. Your hips grind into the bed, you push against my mouth.You feel it beginning.Your muscles tense, I hear you moaning and whining.My tongue is so fast on you!"Shit!" and you are cumming, spilling onto my face, onto the bed.Your whole body is shaking, and you sound as if you might cry.Your hips jerk with spasms. You squeeze my head with your thighs and push your pussy. ‘What happened,’ I shouted.The blindfold was ripped from my eyes and when my eyes finally adjusted to the light in the room I was absolutely flabbergasted.Standing in front of me was my girlfriend who was supposed to be away on business until next week. She looked at me with a erotic smile and put her finger to her lips signalling me to be quiet. She was wearing a black lace Victoria’s Secret ensemble that I had bought her a few months previous. Her left breast was dangling from her cup and I could see that it was still moist from my previous excursion. My eyes seductively took in her honey coloured skin in from head to toe. I could see that thin strip of pubic hair through her lace panties and my dick began to throb once more. To her right her best friend, Sasha, began to giggle as she wiped a bit of saliva from the corner of her mouth.‘You were right,’she said. ‘He is quite a mouthful.’I was in shock, Sasha and I had never been cool. In fact we both tolerated each other for Eva’s.
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As usual I was bound nude, splayed across the vintage barber chair he'd installed in the spare bedroom. With practiced indifference he whisked away my stubble, one eye on CNBC's ?Morning Call? and the other on my crotch. His thumb pressed firm on my asshole, a pivot for his fingers to tug apart my lips. Though humiliating, the shave itself wasn't unpleasant. It's been weeks since he'd so much as nicked me. But being a born sadist, one final, inevitable cruelty soon draws his rapt attention- five post-shave blasts of witch hazel fired from a spray bottle, right on my ?you know what.? God it burns terribly. Whatever's in that vile concoction, I can tell you it shouldn't come a mile from a woman's privates. A blowtorch would be merciful compared to that shit. My ?morning witching,? he calls it. The bastard.It was thankfully over quickly. For today, at least. On more leisurely mornings (or those where he's nicked me with the razor) he'll sometimes soak a washcloth in the stuff and press.

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