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Sunlight. Breath. Dust. Skin. Heat. Tan. Breath. Silk. Flesh. Mesh. Breath. Fingers. Woman.
This my eyes see through the gap between the door and its frame. My brain only making sense of the slices in retrospect. Carnal interpolations that arouse my primitive senses. Alerting my mind and marshals my body to respond. I retrace my movements, stepping backwards, and into the crouching position I assumed to climb the stairs moments before.
Taught nut brown skin. Undulating hips. A woman. On all fours, chest to the floor, skirt rigged to her waist. G-string stretched between her thighs. Facing toward the window and away from the door. Forefinger reaching back between her legs. Reminding me of something. Can’t think what. Her back arching upwards. The curve of a cello. Spreading herself. An uncontainable cornucopia. Lower legs running along the oak panelled floor towards me. Leading me into the scene. At least that’s what it feels like to me.
Feet facing upwards. Her pussy hyper glossy. Popping pink against the golden sunlight in the wood clad room. Finger rolls around and crashes over her swell. Toes curl. Finger exploring, conducting the thrill. Thick burnt umber hair sprawled over the floor. That hair. Folds part in the wake of her forefinger. I know that hair. Trembling, moaning. The hair, the finger. Sounds of fear and persecution that here, and now, are evidence of pleasure. Lower leg, head, and breast fold inwards, contracting in pleasure.
Squatting. My hand impulsively on my hardness. A creaking bağcılar escort stair. A sound that shocks me. That shocks her. What am I doing. Paralysed like a fox caught in the hen coop. Her body snaps still. Head tilts between her legs behind branches of hair. Through the gap, she sees me. Upside down. And I see her. Her. It’s her. Mrs Marie. The piano teacher. My teacher.
My foolish heart pounds. Stuck idiotically in place. Her panting breath. Eyes on me. Mrs Marie blows the hair from in front of her face. Nothing left to veil my shame. And me stuttering I… I… I… She puts a finger to her lips. Plump pink lips thinning into a smile. Her body softening. Eyes still on me. Finger restarting its movement. Circles transitioning into a figure of 8, around the banks of her pussy and to the tight entrance of her arsehole. Shifting her legs further apart. Each lap draws more wetness to her holes.
I’m on my feet. I only realise now that my body has responded. Standing in the doorway. At the threshold. Eyes still on me. Her lip bit. My trousers pulled loose, dropping to the ground. She takes her hand from her pussy. Breasts spilling to the floor. Openings parting. And I. I clumsily take what I can.
My dick swollen beyond comfort. Held against her wetness. She lets her pussy lips absorb my length, like a tree re-taken by the jungle. Pulling away. Nudging back and forth, and back again to meet the tip of my cock. A string of I don’t know what. Her juices, bahçelievler escort my precum. A thread, like an expanding bridge between her and me. And I’m caught in an inevitably failed hesitation, wrestling with my impulse. The danger. The power in the danger. Her primal scent, making indiscreet promises. The prospect of conquest.
But I’m in her Garden of Eden. Mrs Marie is Eve and the Apple all together. And it’s all too late. I don’t care if the apple is poisoned, I need to taste it. Her mouth moans O as my cock crashes into her. The inevitability. She knew all along how this would go. Stupid me. But I don’t care. Not now at least. My hands hold her by the haunches. Pulling her cheeks apart to see. Pinks of lacquered skin, stretching, folding, throbbing, meeting, slapping. Ing, ing, ing, ing.
Until it stops. Until she stretches forward. Taking herself from me. My aching dick springing upwards in its ejection. Her hair flicked from across her face. A wry smile.
See sawing her body. Her arse motioning forwards, backwards, and around. Like a wand. Like the head of a preying snake. Showing me what I have indulged in. And it’s still here, right in front of me. It’s what I could still have. But she, my teacher, is letting me know that she has me. That she can effortlessly open me up, scooping the meat from my bone. She eyes my weakness. Not cruelly. Because her look is tender too. She’s willing to give, to tend to my weakness. And that’s şirinevler escort all she wants me to accept. Her authority. And I do.
Love and lust muddle my feelings. Reduce me to a simple contraption. A man. And that’s fine. She understands that too. Pressing herself against the beat of my taut dick. Meat, veins, skin. Bound together. Hardened by a hidden drive. Her body extends backwards.
Against all the speed and impulses that have led us to now. Against the dust and dopamine. Our hearts hold still. Each throb felt and responded to. Like a conversation in morse code. Her contracting arsehole coaxing the head of my penis inwards. And it’s hard not to want more, not to take it all right now at once. But this is more than a means to an end. We’re creating something here. And this composition depends on timing and commitment. Without each other it will deteriorate into the coarseness of I fucked her, or I fucked him. We need each other.
My hands rest on her hips. And widening her legs she allows for more. With a fresh inch her breath is taken. Her fingers are moving in and out at speed. My teacher’s fingers. The excitement of that sight hardens me more. Her hand slides from her pussy to my cock. Shadowing its reciprocating movement, encircling it to produce a lubricated tunnel through which to travel. Her head whips upwards, reaching skywards. A hand twisting around to my arse, clamping me to her. Plunging me deeper. A surge that expands my exhilaration. Stretching Mrs Marie to her limits. A wild call that hits out hard, dying in a Uuhhh… that stutters and fades.
There is nothing like the feeling of being wanted. Needed.
A creak of unoiled hinges. And bang. Fixed in motion like hunted animals. Ridiculously contorted. Listening. The heavy weight of something shutting, forcing air through the house. A shut door. The front door. And footsteps.