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It is the peek he needs, the peek he seeks—the release he desires and the sensation he craves. He strokes more, bringing the tip to a tingling, frustrating head. His free hand is back on his balls, but this time it is loose, more relaxed. His hips jerk—groin thrusting. His hand is a steady movement over his length, up and down.And then he’s there.Marshall freezes. His hand is frozen in place. His breathing has stopped. With eyes glazing over, his body stiffens. He exhales as he pulls his hand down along his shaft one final time. The first blast of cum shoots out and with a flick of his wrist, driving his hand upward another more potent shot is fired. It plasters his belly. The man’s hips buck up high into the air to aid the next release.But it’s not over. His hand is moving again, as if on its own volition, erratic and unsteady. Another shot—this one the most impressive thus far. It hits his cheek and the pillow beneath his head. Then two more that seem to lose their velocity and. After what seemed likean age we separated he stroked my cheek then ran his fingers through myhair. "You are gorgeous" he breathed.All I could do was smile up at him, we slowly parted, I checked my makeup, picked up my car keys, smiled softly at his and said "See you thisafternoon and in answer to you question when Ann asked how I looked sodifferent I told he I was using new moisturiser cream, we'll talk later" Ifinished off with a questioning voice. "We sure will" he answered "we havea lot to go over, so you have a good day and enjoy yourself." As I passedhim I stopped, slid my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, thencarried on out the door. "Oh by the way you had better clean the lipstickoff your mouth and -there's a spare set of house keys on the table.With that I walked out to my car, I felt exhilarated, I was trembling, myinsides were churning and I felt like I was walking on air, those kisseshad just sent my recently acquired female hormones surging around my body,it was.
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’ ‘Kiss who?’ ‘Georgia, I guess? I mean, are we talking in general or are we still talking about Georgia?’ ‘So, you want to have sex with Georgia?’ ‘Whoa, baby,’ I said, slipping my hand over hers and squeezing it. For whatever reason, the conversation felt as if it was taking a turn into the land of the weird. ‘I’m not going to have sex with your friend.’ ‘I know,’ she said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze back. She stared out the window at scenery that didn’t deserve a stare, just rolling hills of farmland waiting for a spring planting. We rode in silence for several miles. To me, it felt like a comfortable little silence that happens between two partners who have spent years together. We didn’t need to fill every moment together with words. ‘How far out in the woods is her cabin?’ I asked after a couple more miles. ‘Pretty far I guess. She said we’d have to take a dirt road about a mile off a secondary road.’ ‘Excited to see her?’ ‘Sure,’ she said without enthusiasm. She.

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