Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

My wife and I sat on the living room couch of our home, looking out the picture window. The shades were not drawn. The lights were off.“The window always reminds me of a movie screen,” said V. “Like the drive-in.”“Ooh, I love the drive-in,” I said.“Don’t I know it,” she teased.I leaned over to touch her cheek, turning her lips toward mine. I traced her lower lip with my tongue until I was unable to hold myself back. I gave her a slow, long, wet, sitting-alone-on-the-couch-with-my-wife-on-a-Saturday-night kiss.When our lips parted, I retreated. V regarded my face. She ran a fingertip along my jawline, but did not otherwise speak.“Someone said the world’s a stage,” I said. “But I think the world’s an audience. Everyone’s watching. No one’s performing.”Outside, on the other side of the glass, night had fallen. The streetlights Escort elvankent had flickered on about an hour ago. Lights were on in most of the houses, and dull shadows thrown from the glow of televisions danced on the walls and faces of our neighbors. Cars drove by at safe, reasonable speeds. Cats scampered past, bodies pressed close to the ground, chasing mice and squirrels and birds with lazy perseverance. Someone out of the frame of the window was shooting hoops, the thump and the tinny, hollow ring of the basketball echoing down the nearly empty streets. Headlights briefly splashed across our walls. A car pulled into the driveway across the street. A young man with flowers emerged from the car, slammed the door with his foot, walked up the steps to the front door, and rang the doorbell. “Aw, emek escort he brought her flowers,” exclaimed V. “What a nice young man.”“They’re both eighteen.” The defensiveness in my voice surprised me.“Are you jealous?”“No,” I said. “Are you?” She responded by sliding her hand from my jaw, down to my chin, to my chest. Her fingers spread as she found my nipple and gently tweaked it. She moved down to my belly, and I expected her to make her way to my pants and lay her hand over my rapidly deploying cock. Instead, she playfully stuck a finger inside my shirt and into my belly button and laughed.“Jealous of the young woman answering the door?” As if on cue, the door across the street opened. The pretty girl who answered the door tilted her head and smiled as she reached out for the eryaman escort bayan flowers. “No. I may miss the first blush of dating and sex. All the discovery and excitement. But there’s no way I’d rather be in her place.” She tickled my belly button with her finger, then withdrew it and continued her downward journey.“And why is that?” I asked, my cock responding to her fingers, straining to feel their touch.“Because I am with you.” She slid her hand over my hard length, gave it a squeeze, then, maddeningly, stood up and walked to the far side of the coffee table. “Although, I’ve noticed you never bring me flowers like he does. I’m a little jealous of that.”She canted her hip to the left on the word “that.” She began to sway, and the liquidity of her movements spread out to the rest of her body like waves, down her thighs, up the giddy curves of her waist and tits, eddying through her arms before unfurling to her fingers. Even her clothes followed her motion: her blouse stretching and pulling as her breasts rose up against the material, her short skirt swirling around her legs like an attention-starved cat.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32