her agonizingly. Though she appreciated, even cherished the times she brought herself to the ultimate plateau, she could not ignite within herself that spark of animalism, that fire of carnality. Only her lover could do that.
With a heavy sigh, and heavy-lidded eyes, Jolene closed her legs around her hand, and the same time caressing and gently squeezing her left breast. She felt, for a moment, that she had started too early, that she had been performing this ritual of self-teasing and non-satisfaction for far too long… that she couldn’t possibly hold on, hold out. It was a fleeting thought, but it potent, poignant. It was as if the pressure within her had reached the threshold, like she needed to release.
No! She retook the reins of her resolve and tugged tightly at them, steering herself back on course. She couldn’t come. She couldn’t! Not only because it would dampen the desire she had burning within her, but because she had promised him she wouldn’t. She had promised him she’d wait. She’d wait. She had to wait.
She ran her fingers up and down through her scarlet slit, feeling the slickness in her lips, the moisture of her arousal. Her labia was distended, engorged, the effect of blood being channeled to her sex in preparation, in stimulation. She ran a finger over her clit as it protruded angrily, hungrily from beneath its hood, pulsing to the beat of her heart, a hard button, a bundle of nerves, the key to her pleasure. Her tender touch sent electricity shooting through her, ignited her pleasure centers, set her mind on fire.
Gradually she began to part her lips, rhythmically, moving a finger on either side of her vulva in and out, spreading her labia, baring it to the openness before closing it again with a squeeze between her fingers. She could hear the sounds of her sex, sticky and wet, like a hungry mouth smacking its lips in hunger, in starvation. She caressed her swollen pearl, determined to bring herself right up to the point of orgasm, insistent on feeling that near-perfect pleasure, just one step away. She sent two fingers exploring into her sodden canal, feeling the depths of herself, running up and down her front wall to feel its texture, to massage the mottled skin that marked her g-spot.
Her consciousness entered tunnel vision and the room around her narrowed down to her womanhood, her fingers, her pleasure. Her eyes were shut, her body was writhing, her hips were bucking. She was moving frantically, nearing herself to climax when suddenly two powerful fingers squeezed at each of her nipples, sudden and rough that she screamed out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, her eyes springing open. Before her was her lover, smiling cruelly, wickedly at her. She gripped him by the neck with one hand and pulled him toward her, forcing her tongue into his mouth as she began to orgasm. He tightened his grip on her nipples and she massaged her clit ferociously, sending her over the top in a wriggling, convulsing, clenching fury of pleasure, spasms and wetness.
As her pleasure waned, their kiss became more passionate, and she pulled him onto the bed, holding him tightly, her tongue dancing with his, their bodies touching the entire length. He ran his hands over her uncovered body, feeling the curve of her buttocks, feeling the swell of her breasts, the fullness of her lips, the puffiness of her pussy.
“Darling,” she said, continuing to rub her sex, swollen and reddened, the excretion of her climax smeared on her hands, into the tuft of neatly trimmed pubic hair that garnished her pubis, over the insides of her thighs and vulva. She slumped in his arms, the exhaustion of orgasm laying siege to her body as she panted quietly. She ran a hand to her brow and found beaded droplets of sweat, and looking down her chest she saw the space between her breasts shiny, glistening. Her lover followed her gaze and sent his tongue roaming over the sweaty skin, tasting her salt, an image of things to come.
She made
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