San Tropez golden boy with lacquered hair
This young man. This tasty young man with sweet pink lips that remind me that once, long ago, I liked kissing. And his kisses send me into a tailspin, and I find myself clutching onto his collar to steady myself. He requested that I “dress sexy” for him. My kind of request. I know — from our car tete a tete — that he likes blue. I choose a blue sheer camisole and matching panties with a darker blue lace trim. I pair this with my 7″ stiletto heels.
When I open the door, he is surprised. he steps over the threshold and pulls me into his arms. His hot mouth and hands rove my body and I gasp for air. My breath is caught in my chest. He release me to admire me and I can breathe again.
He is glossy — his hair a black lacquer, almost brylcreem shiny — his eyes bright — his mouth wet. His golden skin is like a prefect year-round tan. He’s shiny new, right out the packaging. I’m ready to play with him — god, even his breath smells new. I step into his arms and I see something else, something wild and dark in his eyes. New and yet old too. Very nice. I sit him on my battle-worn leather couch and start gyrating my hips; I’m dancing for him. A lap dance. he doesn’t let me finish
…
My legs on his shoulders.
His fingers deep inside me.
His thick sex filling me, and, later, his hot cum in my throat.
…
Hours later, I’m still reeling from the feeling of his cock in me, coupled with his hands on my hips, rolling me around on top of him. He’s made this whole thing shiny and new, from deep kisses to deep penetration. It’s all glossy like his lips, like his eyes, like his hair.
