We had to wait about another four weeks until we managed to
get together again. My son was away on
his annual vacation with his dad when Guy came to see me in Ireland.
By then, some pressure-cooked horniness had built up on both sides. I went to the airport prepared with two
champagne glasses, chocolates, and the sparkling chilling in a wine
cooler. This friendly welcome surprised
even a daredevil like him. We climbed in
the back of my van in the multistory car park.
I had chosen a badly illuminated spot to have some privacy from prying
eyes.
“Wow, lady, this is something else!” he remarked between sips
in the back seat.
“This is what the Irish call Cead Mile Faĩlte.” I mumbled fiddling with his pants, “the land of
the thousand welcomes.”
“You cheeky monkey!” But he liked it – I could tell.
“I thought you might be hungry when you arrive.” I shoved another yummy piece of chocolate in
his mouth, licking my fingers seductively.
Then I started to suck on him. He
was moaning with pleasure, but inexplicably, he was nervous, looking over his
shoulders from time to time. We managed
to consume the champagne and most of the sweets, but not to consummate our love
making since I was too afraid of being caught, as well. We drove home, knowing a long weekend of
relaxation, seduction, and pleasuring each other lay ahead of us.
We tried out most of the rooms, including the kitchen counter
and even the patio outside hoping my elderly neighbor Margaret ─ or her
bachelor son – wouldn’t peep over the hedge to say hello. There was little sleep at night and lots of
action during the day – me always wet and Guy ever ready. Ah, the titillation of the flesh…
No comments:
Post a Comment