- Joined
- Jul 17, 2013
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I met this girl just over two weeks ago; due to a very eventful period in my life, I haven't had a chance to file timely.
Note that certain insignificant details have been changed intentionally to protect anonymity. Nothing affecting the girl's sexual market value—her age, height, weight, figure, or experience of show-business and modeling—has been altered, however.
Approach
On a Friday at lunchtime I am driving up a winding, narrow road on a steep hill, lined on both sides with townhouses and apartment complexes. My city is pedestrian-friendly in the business districts, but that certainly does not include this road. To my surprise, I see on the sidewalk, going the same direction as I, a girl of exquisite figure and dressed with class and panache.
Right after I pass her, there is a turn-lane where it would be in principle possible to park (illegally). I miss it. A wave of shame comes over me. A couple hundred yards further down, there is another opportunity (also illegal). I park.
I lock the car and walk back in the opposite direction. Presently, the girl appears over the brow of a hillock. I address her directly.
The body is beyond description, though I become blissfully familiar with it in time. Her wrists are so small I can encircle them with my thumb and index, middle or ring finger, without exerting pressure. Her upper arms contain not a trace of surplus fat and her exposed décolletage harbors no bulk above the alluring roundness of her breasts. The waist will bear minute examination without incident and the hips set my loins on fire. The "inner-thigh gap", I later discover, is a permanent feature of this lady and the legs have a faultless silkiness.
I learn in time that she is 25, 5'9", and weighs all of 120 lbs, and that she has worked as a catwalk model in the past and still does on occasion, as well as acting as a photographic model for openings of fashion boutiques. I am unsurprised.
What does surprise me at this moment is how hard she hooks straight after the opener. I remark that one hardly sees pedestrians here, and she explains that she is visiting the city: she is an singer and dancer in musical theater. As she is at an early stage in her career, we will call her ChorusGirl. I detect a certain depth and fullness in her voice.
After a couple minutes we have reached my car again, and I go for a fast number close. She is walking to the subway station and I do not offer her a lift the rest of the way; I do not want to intimidate her and it is very close anyway, moreover the air has cooled a little since earlier in the week and walking appears pleasant. I sit in my car and spend a few minutes recovering as she disappears into the distance.
Two hours later I text her to save my number. She texts back after an hour, assuring me she has done so.
Twenty-four hours after I met her, around noon Saturday, I give her a call. She is unavailable and I leave a voice message. A half-hour later, I hear my phone, which I have left upstairs recharging, ringing persistently. I sprint up the stairs and catch it on maybe the fifth or sixth ring.
We begin conversation, but my cell reception at home is poor and after a minute or so we are cut off. She calls back immediately. Upon answering I explain the situation and tell her I will call back from a fixed line.
Speaking from my home phone, I build the comfort that I did not have time for on the approach. She tells me that she has little to no time during her visit, on account of rehearsals, but should her schedule open up, she will text me accordingly.
I assume I'm never going to hear from her again. Meanwhile I go on a date with VolleyGirl and have a bit of fun, I suppose, but they're worlds apart. Fortunately this means that my house is spotless in preparation for a possible visit... luck's a funny thing.
Date
Sunday after lunch I feel a bit tired (maybe it's the emotion of hooking three women in five days) and I take an afternoon nap. My phone is on silent.
When I wake up, there is a text message waiting for me from ChorusGirl, already a half-hour pending, telling me that she has finished costuming unexpectedly early and asking if I can meet with her now.
I explain that I was asleep and tell her to meet me at a midtown subway station at 4:45 PM. She agrees. Meanwhile I hurriedly pull on some fine clothes I have set aside for the eventuality, peek briefly at myself in the mirror and head out.
She sees me before I see her. I kiss her on the cheek and escort her to my favorite café. I do not touch her except to guide her through the door.
She drinks an espresso and I have an iced tea. I don't know what happens in the café, or whether it took place partly at our earlier meeting, but we bond very hard. When we leave after about an hour, I suggest she take my arm and instead of slipping it through loosely like most women, she grasps me and pulls me close.
She doesn't know the city and hasn't had any free time, so I walk her through one of its most pleasant districts and into a big park. We walk down to the shore of the lake and begin circling it. About a quarter of the way round, we espy an unoccupied swing-set and take a seat.
The swing-set has an armrest down the middle, positioned at an odd width, allowing for one-and-a-half people on each side; it appears to be designed to seat either two extremely overweight people, or four extremely slender ones! Initially, we sit on either side of the armrest; she pulls close to me and leans over it.
I try to kiss her; she says "Not yet" and snuggles as close in as she possibly can. Soon enough the armrest begins to dig into her sublime body in a perfectly scandalous manner. (Sacrilege!) I comment on the predicament described above, and she tells me that she believes we are "two slender people" and asks me to scoot across to her side. It's tight, even with my arm around her. Real tight. She's half-lying across my chest, happy as can be. A flock of goslings swims past, soon followed by a watchful mother goose. Now the armrest is digging into my hip, but I couldn't care.
A half-hour later she notices my discomfort and we begin walking again. I take her to the spot where photographers come to capture the city skyline. She tells me of her experience in catwalk modeling. A turtle pokes its head up above the water's surface, and the setting sun streams between the tall buildings in the distance, lighting us in fiery color as we press close together. We kiss, several times. She's still a little hesitant, but she acknowledges this verbally of her own accord.
It's the gentlest pull in the world. As we start walking again, I ask:
It's 7:30 PM. A thought occurs to me. We didn't eat anything in the café, and she mentioned that she's always hungry (singing and dancing puts out a lot of calories). Things are going to get nasty if they drag on too long, unless we eat a proper dinner.
About an hour and a half later, I pay, then say just two words:
We walk arm-in-arm to my house; she takes her shoes off without my asking; I get her a glass of water. She stands in my kitchen, pulls me close and asks, in a whisper:
This is about 9:30 PM. A few minutes later she says, "This is silly" and removes the bra entirely. Her nipples are now poking delicately into the material of her top.
We make out extensively. After she goes to the bathroom, she comes back with her skirt zipped back up; I unzip it again and she takes it off altogether.
I pull back the covers of the bed and we get inside. She takes off her top; her panties stay on. I remove my white jeans and she unbuttons my shirt. She likes playing with the hair on my chest.
Nonchalantly, I ask what particular aspect is unfamiliar. Her answer implies that when she's been traveling in an unknown city, she's never known a man to pull over, get out of his car, meet her on the sidewalk, number-close her, ask her on a date, then take her home and escalate with her. I see the headline in my mind's eye:
SHOCKER: RED-BLOODED MALES FACING EXTINCTION IN MAJOR U.S. CITIES
My hand slides down her panties from the rear; I grab her ass (it sticks out in an incredibly inviting way). I rub her pussy through the material, now from the rear, then from the front. We make out, talk, get physical.
I try to remove her panties.
If I can get those off, I'm home and dry. Or wet
(I know what my tipping-point is too. Moaning. If she starts moaning, I'm barely going to be able to contain myself.)
I go downstairs to get her more water and some cherries for us. She eats the cherries greedily and we stare at each other, unable or unwilling to avert our gaze.
The routine of making out, talking, getting physical again continues for hours. At one point I have my hand down her panties from the front, fingers barely slipping into her vulva. She's panting hard, staring at me longingly but she grabs my wrist, pulls HARD.
She starts looking at me out of the corner of her eye as I press her down on the bed, coyly.
It's a half-hour past her midnight deadline already. She assures me that she'll take responsibility for the time. I'm not going to kick her out; I'll just get her back when she needs to go.
Another round of escalation proceeds over the coming hours. I eventually get her to leave her legs apart, relaxed, not trying to close again; her panties are still on, but I rub her until she's panting, gasping, staring up at me. We are kissing passionately.
I'm just thinking I can tip her over the edge when she grabs my wrist again and pulls upward with incredible force for such a slight figure.
At around 3:15 AM I take a break, get myself some water, more for her too, and some strawberries and peaches for us to share. She has to go.
I hold the door again for her to get in the car. As we drive, she remarks:
She beats all the other girls hands-down.
At this point we exchange about a hundred text messages. Among these, on the Tuesday, the following exchange takes place:
I check what she likes for breakfast, and she gives a detailed answer, adding that she's "not picky at all". Splendid!
First Night as Lovers
The show is magnificent, and afterward I'm waiting outside when she emerges rolling a suitcase.
I like this girl's attitude.
I grab her case from her, she goes off and hugs a few people for a minute or two, then I put it in the trunk of my car, hold the door for her and off we go. We stop at a late-night café and I take the best care of her I've ever taken of anyone, making sure she gets fed timely, gets water without ice how she likes it, etc. She's quiet for a bit as she winds down after the show, but there is never a hint of awkwardness, just a warm glow. I mention to her that I recognized her in one of the scenes by her ass; she giggles, perks up and it's like the previous Sunday again.
We leave for home, I park, she enters the house with me and sprints up the stairs to the bedroom at the double.
The clothes come off quickly this time. She's in a short dress, and once I've gotten her good and aroused with my hands and face, I slip off the panties. A string is protruding from her labia. I look up at her inquiringly.
ChorusGirl: (intoned in a sing-song voice) It's lady-time!
While the feminine item is still inside and doing its job, I give her a long, drawn-out cunnilingus and after maybe 30 minutes of merciless teasing, she grasps my head between her thighs like she's never gonna give it back and convulses continuously for about a minute. Then she goes to the bathroom and removes the obstruction, and the real fun begins.
We have sex almost non-stop from midnight until 4:10 AM. I never even knew what passion was before I met this girl.
I actually didn't know sex like that was possible. It's embarrassing to admit, but now I get it. Now I know what people mean when they use phrases like "screw her senseless" or "fuck her till she can't walk". I've been in several serious relationships and an 11-year marriage and yet I have never actually known what it is to desire each other so strongly you literally can't keep your hands off each other, you're tearing into each other's bodies.
She's the most affectionate person I've ever met. We're never just "touching"; she's pressed up against me as hard as possible, exerting pressure like a cat. ALL the fucking time. Even when she's asleep. She's obviously ambitious and successful, and she's no "party girl" at all... she hardly touches alcohol and completely eschews loud venues, not just for the sake of her voice.
And she fucks like no one I've ever seen. I actually lose count of how many climaxes she had when it gets to about a dozen, which is within the first hour. My estimate is 30 or 40... (I wasn't sure that was even possible, so I PMed this to a couple of the super-experienced guys to verify). Like, at peak excitement she's literally going into spasms and gasping in that halting way every 90 seconds or so. Throughout, she's pushing up against me with that super-flexy runway-model body of hers into the most extraordinary contortions; she takes it in a wide assortment of positions, moving me if need be, not holding back in the least. Toward the end I'm near collapsing from exhaustion and have become temporarily limp; she gives me head with all she's got, until I'm aching to please her again.
This sounds like I'm exaggerating but I'm not actually even doing it justice. I realize that what I had thought of in the past as "passion" or "love" was simply a shoddy imitation of the real thing. It's like waking up from a dream, becoming a different person.
We sleep till about 11 AM. The wreckage of my bedroom is something to behold. Fluids, love juices, and of course copious menstrual blood over the sheets; a lone towel I put down to make her feel comfortable lies useless on the floor (she doesn't care). When I wake up in the morning, I still have some under my fingernails. I have never been happier in my entire life.
I give her breakfast (as per prior order) and drop her to where she needs to be.
Second Night as Lovers
Sunday night is her final show. A different one this time; she is featured more prominently. I wait for her outside again, congratulate her when she emerges, and she goes off and says her goodbyes. This takes very little time.
We go straight to my home this time; I make her some sandwiches. We hold each other tightly for an hour or so, then go upstairs.
It is even better than before.
Unsure initially whether we even have time for sex, I playfully draw a finger gently across her labia, through her panties. She stops moving, stares right at me, and makes this tiny, barely audible, sharp intake of breath.
From that moment I'm sunk. I can't hear and see that without turning into a raging beast. Frankly, I never thought I had it in me. She brings it out.
Oh, and her period has cleared up already.
I start kissing her through her panties and deliberately don't remove them for about 15 minutes, to get her tormented to the point of ecstasy. As for me, I'm experiencing for the first time in my life continuous stimulation of all five senses: I look up at her sublime face gasping, hear her moans, feel her silken thighs grip me tight, taste her sex through the fabric of her underwear, and the smell... the smell is something so exquisite I can't even describe it.
The panties come off and I give her the first one of the night. Then we move on to the entrée.
With her, every orgasm is like a cry for more and I just can't deny her. I only come because I know she has to leave, and that with great reluctance. Otherwise I end up just taking a short break when I'm exhausted, then recover my strength and start again.
I let go sooner... "only" just over 2 hours this time, because she has an early departure the next morning. All the same, it's gone 3 AM when I drop her back to where she's staying in town.
She's insatiable. Like a lioness in heat.
And that's just the sex. She's an incredibly articulate, self-sufficient, and wise lady too. And loving... beyond anything I've ever experienced.
We've been closely in touch ever since. I've never experienced such a strong connection with anyone.
I'm a changed man in every sense.
-Marty
Note that certain insignificant details have been changed intentionally to protect anonymity. Nothing affecting the girl's sexual market value—her age, height, weight, figure, or experience of show-business and modeling—has been altered, however.
Approach
On a Friday at lunchtime I am driving up a winding, narrow road on a steep hill, lined on both sides with townhouses and apartment complexes. My city is pedestrian-friendly in the business districts, but that certainly does not include this road. To my surprise, I see on the sidewalk, going the same direction as I, a girl of exquisite figure and dressed with class and panache.
Right after I pass her, there is a turn-lane where it would be in principle possible to park (illegally). I miss it. A wave of shame comes over me. A couple hundred yards further down, there is another opportunity (also illegal). I park.
I lock the car and walk back in the opposite direction. Presently, the girl appears over the brow of a hillock. I address her directly.
Marty: I just saw you walking here as I drove past, and you have this incredibly elegant look about you. I couldn't resist stopping to say hello.
The body is beyond description, though I become blissfully familiar with it in time. Her wrists are so small I can encircle them with my thumb and index, middle or ring finger, without exerting pressure. Her upper arms contain not a trace of surplus fat and her exposed décolletage harbors no bulk above the alluring roundness of her breasts. The waist will bear minute examination without incident and the hips set my loins on fire. The "inner-thigh gap", I later discover, is a permanent feature of this lady and the legs have a faultless silkiness.
I learn in time that she is 25, 5'9", and weighs all of 120 lbs, and that she has worked as a catwalk model in the past and still does on occasion, as well as acting as a photographic model for openings of fashion boutiques. I am unsurprised.
What does surprise me at this moment is how hard she hooks straight after the opener. I remark that one hardly sees pedestrians here, and she explains that she is visiting the city: she is an singer and dancer in musical theater. As she is at an early stage in her career, we will call her ChorusGirl. I detect a certain depth and fullness in her voice.
After a couple minutes we have reached my car again, and I go for a fast number close. She is walking to the subway station and I do not offer her a lift the rest of the way; I do not want to intimidate her and it is very close anyway, moreover the air has cooled a little since earlier in the week and walking appears pleasant. I sit in my car and spend a few minutes recovering as she disappears into the distance.
Two hours later I text her to save my number. She texts back after an hour, assuring me she has done so.
Twenty-four hours after I met her, around noon Saturday, I give her a call. She is unavailable and I leave a voice message. A half-hour later, I hear my phone, which I have left upstairs recharging, ringing persistently. I sprint up the stairs and catch it on maybe the fifth or sixth ring.
We begin conversation, but my cell reception at home is poor and after a minute or so we are cut off. She calls back immediately. Upon answering I explain the situation and tell her I will call back from a fixed line.
Speaking from my home phone, I build the comfort that I did not have time for on the approach. She tells me that she has little to no time during her visit, on account of rehearsals, but should her schedule open up, she will text me accordingly.
ChorusGirl: I don't want you to think I'm normally like this... it's just I have no free time while I'm here.
I assume I'm never going to hear from her again. Meanwhile I go on a date with VolleyGirl and have a bit of fun, I suppose, but they're worlds apart. Fortunately this means that my house is spotless in preparation for a possible visit... luck's a funny thing.
Date
Sunday after lunch I feel a bit tired (maybe it's the emotion of hooking three women in five days) and I take an afternoon nap. My phone is on silent.
When I wake up, there is a text message waiting for me from ChorusGirl, already a half-hour pending, telling me that she has finished costuming unexpectedly early and asking if I can meet with her now.
I explain that I was asleep and tell her to meet me at a midtown subway station at 4:45 PM. She agrees. Meanwhile I hurriedly pull on some fine clothes I have set aside for the eventuality, peek briefly at myself in the mirror and head out.
She sees me before I see her. I kiss her on the cheek and escort her to my favorite café. I do not touch her except to guide her through the door.
She drinks an espresso and I have an iced tea. I don't know what happens in the café, or whether it took place partly at our earlier meeting, but we bond very hard. When we leave after about an hour, I suggest she take my arm and instead of slipping it through loosely like most women, she grasps me and pulls me close.
She doesn't know the city and hasn't had any free time, so I walk her through one of its most pleasant districts and into a big park. We walk down to the shore of the lake and begin circling it. About a quarter of the way round, we espy an unoccupied swing-set and take a seat.
The swing-set has an armrest down the middle, positioned at an odd width, allowing for one-and-a-half people on each side; it appears to be designed to seat either two extremely overweight people, or four extremely slender ones! Initially, we sit on either side of the armrest; she pulls close to me and leans over it.
I try to kiss her; she says "Not yet" and snuggles as close in as she possibly can. Soon enough the armrest begins to dig into her sublime body in a perfectly scandalous manner. (Sacrilege!) I comment on the predicament described above, and she tells me that she believes we are "two slender people" and asks me to scoot across to her side. It's tight, even with my arm around her. Real tight. She's half-lying across my chest, happy as can be. A flock of goslings swims past, soon followed by a watchful mother goose. Now the armrest is digging into my hip, but I couldn't care.
A half-hour later she notices my discomfort and we begin walking again. I take her to the spot where photographers come to capture the city skyline. She tells me of her experience in catwalk modeling. A turtle pokes its head up above the water's surface, and the setting sun streams between the tall buildings in the distance, lighting us in fiery color as we press close together. We kiss, several times. She's still a little hesitant, but she acknowledges this verbally of her own accord.
It's the gentlest pull in the world. As we start walking again, I ask:
Marty: That movie we discussed earlier, in the café... do you want to see it?
ChorusGirl: I don't know. Do you want to see it?
Marty: Yes.
ChorusGirl: Then I want to see it too. Let's see it.
It's 7:30 PM. A thought occurs to me. We didn't eat anything in the café, and she mentioned that she's always hungry (singing and dancing puts out a lot of calories). Things are going to get nasty if they drag on too long, unless we eat a proper dinner.
Marty: Are you hungry?
ChorusGirl: A little bit.
About an hour and a half later, I pay, then say just two words:
Marty: Let's go.
ChorusGirl: Okay.
We walk arm-in-arm to my house; she takes her shoes off without my asking; I get her a glass of water. She stands in my kitchen, pulls me close and asks, in a whisper:
ChorusGirl: So what are we going to do?
Marty: Let's go somewhere even more private.
ChorusGirl: Come sit with me.
Marty: I want to kiss you, properly, right now.
This is about 9:30 PM. A few minutes later she says, "This is silly" and removes the bra entirely. Her nipples are now poking delicately into the material of her top.
We make out extensively. After she goes to the bathroom, she comes back with her skirt zipped back up; I unzip it again and she takes it off altogether.
I pull back the covers of the bed and we get inside. She takes off her top; her panties stay on. I remove my white jeans and she unbuttons my shirt. She likes playing with the hair on my chest.
ChorusGirl: If we had sex, it'd be a little random for me right now... this is a bit of an unfamiliar situation.
Nonchalantly, I ask what particular aspect is unfamiliar. Her answer implies that when she's been traveling in an unknown city, she's never known a man to pull over, get out of his car, meet her on the sidewalk, number-close her, ask her on a date, then take her home and escalate with her. I see the headline in my mind's eye:
SHOCKER: RED-BLOODED MALES FACING EXTINCTION IN MAJOR U.S. CITIES
My hand slides down her panties from the rear; I grab her ass (it sticks out in an incredibly inviting way). I rub her pussy through the material, now from the rear, then from the front. We make out, talk, get physical.
I try to remove her panties.
ChorusGirl: Those stay on. Everybody has her boundary; that's mine.
If I can get those off, I'm home and dry. Or wet (I know what my tipping-point is too. Moaning. If she starts moaning, I'm barely going to be able to contain myself.)
I go downstairs to get her more water and some cherries for us. She eats the cherries greedily and we stare at each other, unable or unwilling to avert our gaze.
The routine of making out, talking, getting physical again continues for hours. At one point I have my hand down her panties from the front, fingers barely slipping into her vulva. She's panting hard, staring at me longingly but she grabs my wrist, pulls HARD.
Marty: (whispered) Please!
ChorusGirl: (with a reproachful facial expression that's irresistible) Don't make me tell you something twice, or I'll feel less safe.
She starts looking at me out of the corner of her eye as I press her down on the bed, coyly.
Marty: If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to get obsessed with you.
ChorusGirl: I'm not sorry!
It's a half-hour past her midnight deadline already. She assures me that she'll take responsibility for the time. I'm not going to kick her out; I'll just get her back when she needs to go.
Another round of escalation proceeds over the coming hours. I eventually get her to leave her legs apart, relaxed, not trying to close again; her panties are still on, but I rub her until she's panting, gasping, staring up at me. We are kissing passionately.
I'm just thinking I can tip her over the edge when she grabs my wrist again and pulls upward with incredible force for such a slight figure.
Marty: But you were enjoying it.
ChorusGirl: (still gasping) I know.
Marty: Just let it happen.
ChorusGirl: Don't tell me what to do.
At around 3:15 AM I take a break, get myself some water, more for her too, and some strawberries and peaches for us to share. She has to go.
I hold the door again for her to get in the car. As we drive, she remarks:
ChorusGirl: Tomorrow, we will both be a little sleepy, but we'll be very pleased with ourselves.
Marty: We did the right thing, spending all the time we possibly could together.
ChorusGirl: We did.
She beats all the other girls hands-down.
At this point we exchange about a hundred text messages. Among these, on the Tuesday, the following exchange takes place:
And then the clincher, on the Wednesday:
"Yeah, I guess that works with me, toots," I think to myself
I check what she likes for breakfast, and she gives a detailed answer, adding that she's "not picky at all". Splendid!First Night as Lovers
The show is magnificent, and afterward I'm waiting outside when she emerges rolling a suitcase.
I like this girl's attitude.
I grab her case from her, she goes off and hugs a few people for a minute or two, then I put it in the trunk of my car, hold the door for her and off we go. We stop at a late-night café and I take the best care of her I've ever taken of anyone, making sure she gets fed timely, gets water without ice how she likes it, etc. She's quiet for a bit as she winds down after the show, but there is never a hint of awkwardness, just a warm glow. I mention to her that I recognized her in one of the scenes by her ass; she giggles, perks up and it's like the previous Sunday again.
We leave for home, I park, she enters the house with me and sprints up the stairs to the bedroom at the double.
The clothes come off quickly this time. She's in a short dress, and once I've gotten her good and aroused with my hands and face, I slip off the panties. A string is protruding from her labia. I look up at her inquiringly.
ChorusGirl: (intoned in a sing-song voice) It's lady-time!
While the feminine item is still inside and doing its job, I give her a long, drawn-out cunnilingus and after maybe 30 minutes of merciless teasing, she grasps my head between her thighs like she's never gonna give it back and convulses continuously for about a minute. Then she goes to the bathroom and removes the obstruction, and the real fun begins.
We have sex almost non-stop from midnight until 4:10 AM. I never even knew what passion was before I met this girl.
I actually didn't know sex like that was possible. It's embarrassing to admit, but now I get it. Now I know what people mean when they use phrases like "screw her senseless" or "fuck her till she can't walk". I've been in several serious relationships and an 11-year marriage and yet I have never actually known what it is to desire each other so strongly you literally can't keep your hands off each other, you're tearing into each other's bodies.
She's the most affectionate person I've ever met. We're never just "touching"; she's pressed up against me as hard as possible, exerting pressure like a cat. ALL the fucking time. Even when she's asleep. She's obviously ambitious and successful, and she's no "party girl" at all... she hardly touches alcohol and completely eschews loud venues, not just for the sake of her voice.
And she fucks like no one I've ever seen. I actually lose count of how many climaxes she had when it gets to about a dozen, which is within the first hour. My estimate is 30 or 40... (I wasn't sure that was even possible, so I PMed this to a couple of the super-experienced guys to verify). Like, at peak excitement she's literally going into spasms and gasping in that halting way every 90 seconds or so. Throughout, she's pushing up against me with that super-flexy runway-model body of hers into the most extraordinary contortions; she takes it in a wide assortment of positions, moving me if need be, not holding back in the least. Toward the end I'm near collapsing from exhaustion and have become temporarily limp; she gives me head with all she's got, until I'm aching to please her again.
This sounds like I'm exaggerating but I'm not actually even doing it justice. I realize that what I had thought of in the past as "passion" or "love" was simply a shoddy imitation of the real thing. It's like waking up from a dream, becoming a different person.
We sleep till about 11 AM. The wreckage of my bedroom is something to behold. Fluids, love juices, and of course copious menstrual blood over the sheets; a lone towel I put down to make her feel comfortable lies useless on the floor (she doesn't care). When I wake up in the morning, I still have some under my fingernails. I have never been happier in my entire life.
I give her breakfast (as per prior order) and drop her to where she needs to be.
Second Night as Lovers
Sunday night is her final show. A different one this time; she is featured more prominently. I wait for her outside again, congratulate her when she emerges, and she goes off and says her goodbyes. This takes very little time.
We go straight to my home this time; I make her some sandwiches. We hold each other tightly for an hour or so, then go upstairs.
It is even better than before.
Unsure initially whether we even have time for sex, I playfully draw a finger gently across her labia, through her panties. She stops moving, stares right at me, and makes this tiny, barely audible, sharp intake of breath.
From that moment I'm sunk. I can't hear and see that without turning into a raging beast. Frankly, I never thought I had it in me. She brings it out.
Oh, and her period has cleared up already.
I start kissing her through her panties and deliberately don't remove them for about 15 minutes, to get her tormented to the point of ecstasy. As for me, I'm experiencing for the first time in my life continuous stimulation of all five senses: I look up at her sublime face gasping, hear her moans, feel her silken thighs grip me tight, taste her sex through the fabric of her underwear, and the smell... the smell is something so exquisite I can't even describe it.
The panties come off and I give her the first one of the night. Then we move on to the entrée.
With her, every orgasm is like a cry for more and I just can't deny her. I only come because I know she has to leave, and that with great reluctance. Otherwise I end up just taking a short break when I'm exhausted, then recover my strength and start again.
I let go sooner... "only" just over 2 hours this time, because she has an early departure the next morning. All the same, it's gone 3 AM when I drop her back to where she's staying in town.
She's insatiable. Like a lioness in heat.
And that's just the sex. She's an incredibly articulate, self-sufficient, and wise lady too. And loving... beyond anything I've ever experienced.
We've been closely in touch ever since. I've never experienced such a strong connection with anyone.
I'm a changed man in every sense.
-Marty
