of the bottles of hand cream I now had a place to put, and massaged the scent into my arms and neck. Then boldly, I stroked lower, rubbing my breasts with the rose scented balm that soothed my skin. Our eyes met in the mirror. I followed his gaze to my own reflection that revealed nipples peaked and pebbled, showing wantonly through the fine veil of my nightgown.
“Come here,” he called me to join him. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat stroking his shaft as I slowly obeyed, carefully setting the bottle of cream on the rosewood surface. I went to him, stopping between his thighs. He lifted my hand and kissed my palm, then bit it lightly. I felt my sex flex and squeeze, desire tightening my belly and lower regions.
“Wrap your hand around him,” Ambrose held my hand to his manhood and for the first time, I investigated him. He had taken to leaving a lamp burning when we conducted out intimacies. I looked with interest at his organ. Outside—silken steel, soft over hard—a paradox in nature. Ambrose shifted my hand under his, teaching me to stroke him …up and down…up and down.
A white liquid seeped from the slit in the end of his ruby flesh. The bed was bathed in candlelight and I avidly perused his body.
“What do you call this,” I squeezed his manhood to let him know what I questioned.
“Cock, rod, dick, pecker, hard-on…” he groaned under my ministrations, moving my hand lower. “And these are my balls, sack, nuts…”
I explored him, gently running a finger along the seam of his sack—two nuggets were inside. His cock grew as I rubbed him and gently squeezed.
“Taste me,” he ordered. I could not believe what he proposed. Put my mouth on that plum-like head leaking fluid? I tried to back away.
But, he was inflexible. He put his hand on the back of my neck and brought my mouth, my lips to his engorged flesh. I touched the head with the tip of my tongue and felt him shudder wildly. For a moment Ambrose lost his control.
The thought of ruling Ambrose Quince for even a moment brought my lips round his member, sucking on him as he did upon my nipples. He strained upward, arching into my mouth to give me more. I found that I like the taste of it; he called the fluid that came forth, his seed.
I watched Ambrose as I took him with my mouth. For the first time since my father died, I was in control. This man, who had taken-over my life, now surrendered his will to me. It was a heady aphrodisiac. I took more of him, sliding his flesh tentatively back, working my tongue along the bottom, then the side. When I breathed in, he slid deeper and I swallowed, tickling the head of his cock with the back of my throat.
“Damn, Lucy,” he groaned. I had made Ambrose Quince whimper. I swallowed again, watching him writhe with pleasure. I grasped his hips and shifted my position, sinking to my knees on the floor.
He held my head to him, as though afraid that I would stop his torment. I could not. The feel of his flesh in my mouth excited all of me. I pressed against his thighs, pushing against his cock, wanting him farther, deeper, trying to breathe around his flesh and take more.
My mouth watered, filling with saliva as his flavor burst upon me. It was my turn to be voracious. I hollowed my cheeks, making a hot tunnel and was rewarded by the feel of gooseflesh rise on his thighs. One hand stroked him there, and I reached down and pulled his legs father apart.
I buried my face in his flesh and took him into my throat as I pressed nose against groin. I should have choked, strangled; instead, I urged him deeper—licking, massaging, swallowing.
I loved this feeling of power. I withdrew and he collapsed, lying back on the bed and groaning as his cock waved mournfully in the air. I smiled, and splayed his legs apart to delicately tongue and lick his balls. When I rolled one nugget gently in my mouth, I tasted his musk—his essence—and wanted more. I let my tongue travel down.
Ambrose gasped and froze as
“Come here,” he called me to join him. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat stroking his shaft as I slowly obeyed, carefully setting the bottle of cream on the rosewood surface. I went to him, stopping between his thighs. He lifted my hand and kissed my palm, then bit it lightly. I felt my sex flex and squeeze, desire tightening my belly and lower regions.
“Wrap your hand around him,” Ambrose held my hand to his manhood and for the first time, I investigated him. He had taken to leaving a lamp burning when we conducted out intimacies. I looked with interest at his organ. Outside—silken steel, soft over hard—a paradox in nature. Ambrose shifted my hand under his, teaching me to stroke him …up and down…up and down.
A white liquid seeped from the slit in the end of his ruby flesh. The bed was bathed in candlelight and I avidly perused his body.
“What do you call this,” I squeezed his manhood to let him know what I questioned.
“Cock, rod, dick, pecker, hard-on…” he groaned under my ministrations, moving my hand lower. “And these are my balls, sack, nuts…”
I explored him, gently running a finger along the seam of his sack—two nuggets were inside. His cock grew as I rubbed him and gently squeezed.
“Taste me,” he ordered. I could not believe what he proposed. Put my mouth on that plum-like head leaking fluid? I tried to back away.
But, he was inflexible. He put his hand on the back of my neck and brought my mouth, my lips to his engorged flesh. I touched the head with the tip of my tongue and felt him shudder wildly. For a moment Ambrose lost his control.
The thought of ruling Ambrose Quince for even a moment brought my lips round his member, sucking on him as he did upon my nipples. He strained upward, arching into my mouth to give me more. I found that I like the taste of it; he called the fluid that came forth, his seed.
I watched Ambrose as I took him with my mouth. For the first time since my father died, I was in control. This man, who had taken-over my life, now surrendered his will to me. It was a heady aphrodisiac. I took more of him, sliding his flesh tentatively back, working my tongue along the bottom, then the side. When I breathed in, he slid deeper and I swallowed, tickling the head of his cock with the back of my throat.
“Damn, Lucy,” he groaned. I had made Ambrose Quince whimper. I swallowed again, watching him writhe with pleasure. I grasped his hips and shifted my position, sinking to my knees on the floor.
He held my head to him, as though afraid that I would stop his torment. I could not. The feel of his flesh in my mouth excited all of me. I pressed against his thighs, pushing against his cock, wanting him farther, deeper, trying to breathe around his flesh and take more.
My mouth watered, filling with saliva as his flavor burst upon me. It was my turn to be voracious. I hollowed my cheeks, making a hot tunnel and was rewarded by the feel of gooseflesh rise on his thighs. One hand stroked him there, and I reached down and pulled his legs father apart.
I buried my face in his flesh and took him into my throat as I pressed nose against groin. I should have choked, strangled; instead, I urged him deeper—licking, massaging, swallowing.
I loved this feeling of power. I withdrew and he collapsed, lying back on the bed and groaning as his cock waved mournfully in the air. I smiled, and splayed his legs apart to delicately tongue and lick his balls. When I rolled one nugget gently in my mouth, I tasted his musk—his essence—and wanted more. I let my tongue travel down.
Ambrose gasped and froze as
Similar Books
