Jasmine Sex Dance(1)

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"Fuck, fuck, fuck, that felt unreal!" she smiled as her hands covered mine, her fingers intertwining with mine inside her wet nest. As I knelt behind her, I pushed her forward, bending her over the washer. I'm sure the vibrations of the motor further stimulated her as my tongue poked into her pussy. I sucked at her juices as she yelled and called me names. I had never heard her talk like that, but it turned me the fuck on!I tongued and ate her pussy until she squirted again, then I stood and shoved my cock deep into her from behind. As I aggressively pushed past her tight opening, she squealed out as my initial thrust slammed the back wall of her pussy. She grabbed the edge of the washing machine, cursed loudly, and held on as I pounded her hard. My cock slammed into her depths as hard and fast as I could deliver. Her cunt was so hot I thought my cock would combust. I wove my cum soaked fingers into her long hair, pulling it until her back and neck arched. Then, I called her. . my Lord," she panted. "This lady begs you to allow her release."He sat back on his heels, his face, one of mock anger."My lady begs release? After thirty-one years what is the rush?" There is none I guess, except you are driving me crazy."His lips started to tremble as he fought back a smile. Once in control of his emotions again, he continued. "I want to savour every moment with you. Make special memories like last time."She felt his thumb and index finger massage the inner petals at the entrance to her territory. She gasped and started to wriggle."Stay still! Or I'll stop."Her attention was now split between keeping still and the delicious feeling growing in her sex. What sweet torture.He pushed two fingers into her silky, wet entrance, slowly moving them in and out. In the silence of the room, only her breathing and the squelchy sound of her wet pussy being prepared by his fingers could be heard."God, you are wet," he whispered."That is all your doing, my Lord." He added a third.
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This was one such time. It was midday on a Wednesday when his neighbours were at work. As always, the couple who lived downstairs had left for work early dressed in the uniforms of their professions, which were, respectively, psychiatric nurse and supermarket security guard. The street was quiet. No motorised vehicle would venture down a suburban residential road where it was at risk of being car-jacked, so the only sounds anyone could hear other than the occasional clip-clop of a horse-drawn wagon was the stream of percussive electronic music emanating from the windows of Psychlone's small flat. So when the front door knocker was rudely hammered in the hallway below him, Psychlone could scarcely pretend that he wasn't home.Before he unlatched and unbolted the front door he checked who might be outside through its eyehole. He'd heard plenty of stories about the door being opened by the unwary only to permit a torrent of thieves and mobsters who'd trash the premises and maim anyone.

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