It felt so good to be sucking on a cock. I thought of myself, on my knees, dressed in panties and stockings, sucking on a stranger's cock. I felt so...naughty and slutty and I wanted the feeling to last forever as my lips slid up and down his hard, pulsing shaft. I don't know if I was any good at sucking cock but from the moans I was hearing I figured I must be doing okay. After a few minutes he told me to stand up and we hugged and kissed again. He led me to the bed and we lay down in a 69. The Paris cooking school, but not Danielle, was beginning to fade from my memory. Life was finally returning to normal until Claire took me by the arm and guided me to the kitchen. "Hank, I need to talk with you privately. It's an emergency. Tonight isn't the best time. Can we meet for lunch this week?" Of course," I said wondering what could be so urgent. "How about tomorrow at La Porte Verte, say twelve-thirty?" That will work, and lunch is on me."I smiled at her and said, "Of course not.. Gently, we move in unison. The wind blows on my partially exposed buttocks, as I move my body in towards his, I move my hands up his t-shirt, feeling every blemish, every rib and feature. Our speed quickens, we kiss and kiss and kiss. I try to slow down, but he is having none of it. He instructs me to move faster, faster, faster. I am out of breath as I reach the plateau. I want to stay at that plateau forever. Faster and faster, his legs around me stiffen, his body muscles clench, his buttocks. She looked at his hands, they seemed firm.It turned out that he was looking for a book called ‘Poetry of Sex’ by Sophie Hannah. Samantha wondered why he wanted such a controversial book, most people just wanted to find boring, old fiction but then she discovered that he was a poet himself and had set himself the task of writing several poems to do with the sensual side of things. He was also looking for inspiration. Inspiration, Samantha thought. Curious to know what he meant by it, she.
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