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Almost always for these sessions there is music, food and drink. Tonight it begins with a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, and Champagne and soft strawberries, about two days past ripe. Squishy.

We set up by the fireplace, on a beanbag built for two. The strawberries are in a bowl, bathing in Champagne. Champagne flutes sit next to us, each with one strawberry. She sits between my legs, spoon-style, her back against my chest. There is a large mirror on the ceiling. We can watch. We lean back. She begins with a sip of champagne, and then slowly strokes her breasts, her nipples, her tummy, her legs. Her hands find the golden triangle, and she begins to moisten. I reach around her and gently stroke her breasts, making slow circles, and occasionally brushing her nipples, now beginning to stand out. I take two strawberries from the bowl and repeat the circles, adding pressure as I do, the berries changing the tactile sensation. Soon they begin to break up, leaving traces of the sweet red flesh on her sweet pink flesh. I will clean them up later with my mouth. Small sounds escape her lips and her breathing quickens.

My palms, damp with wine and berry, gently caress her sides, her abdomen, her belly. I keep up my end of the effort even as her sighs become moans and her breathing comes faster. Her fingers work in concert, and head to toe she sways to the music. She is breathing faster now. As her orgasm approaches, I become secondary to the effort, but still I whisper sweetness in her ears.

“You are so beautiful, ” I tell her.

“God, you turn me on when you are coming, ” I tell her.

“I can feel your heart, ” I tell her.

Her moans are loud now; her breath is fast and faster. Her left hand reaches up and behind her and she grabs the back of my head, pulling it close to her ear.

“Bite my earlobe!” She commands. “HARDER!” Louder.

Suddenly her whole body shudders. She pulls hard on my head and turns her face to mine. She kisses me hard. She bites my lower lip, hard. I can feel her whole body trembling. It seems like forever. Then, just as suddenly, she relaxes. She sighs deeply, contentedly. She lets go of my head. She turns halfway around to me, takes my face in her hands and kisses me deeply, then gently. A short deep breath, and she goes slack.

She rests a minute or two and catches her breath. Another sip of Champagne. I take one. I take another. Then she turns over and kisses my nipples. That’s my switch. I gently hold the back of her head, letting her know I want her to continue. My erection is pressing against her breasts. She presses them together around my hard member, eases up, and presses again, undulating up and down as she does, all the while alternately kissing, licking and biting my nipples. I moan quietly; I can feel my temperature rise, my breath begin to shorten, and the muscles in my legs begin to tighten.

She senses it too, and eases up. I tighten my sphincter muscle hard and count to ten; she rings the head of my penis with her thumb and forefinger and counts along. Stopping my orgasm once allows me to go on, allows me to relax as she now takes the head—just the head—of my cock between her lips. She laps circles around the head while her hand encircles the base just above my balls and squeezes, hard.

She moves down slowly to my scrotum, taking my balls gently into her mouth while gently stroking the length of my erect shaft. I’m beginning to lose it. She can tell. She moves back up to the tip of my cock, licks it lightly, then harder, wetter. She takes a strawberry, bites into it, chews it a little, then takes me fully into her mouth. What a sensation. It’s a different feeling with the mashed-up berry in her mouth. The pressures are different; the sensations are tuzla escort incredible. She reaches up to my right nipple, finds it and squeezes.

All this is too much, and I completely lose myself in a jolting orgasm. She doesn’t miss a beat. She sucks my hot milk, sucks it dry. I spasm and spasm, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve times, each time the contraction seems slower and harder, until there is nothing left. My thighs finally relax, and so does she. She kisses the underside of my shaft, from the scrotum to the tip, licks it once more, and comes to me to give me a deep, soulful kiss. I can taste myself and the strawberry. This kiss is the longest, deepest one yet. It communicates. So does she. She whispers to me, tells me that she loves me. I can tell. She tells me that she can feel me loving her back. She’s right. We pour more Champagne. We sip. We talk. We embrace. We’re just getting started.

A little while—a full glass of Champagne—later, she tells me she’s ready for more. She turns around and places herself in position for mutual oral stimulation—sixty-nine, and she positions herself on top. I love this. I can’t get fully hard, having just come so completely, but she does get a rise out of me, enough so that she has something to work with while I raise my head to her pink nether-lips. She lowers her hips to meet my tongue. At her request, I go slowly, and trace little circles around her vulva, licking the outer lips, the insides of her thighs, and occasionally penetrating the outer flesh to moisten her inner lips. Slowly her hips begin to rotate as the feelings inside her intensify. I quicken the pace of the tongue circles, and begin to glance against the little bead at the top of her vagina. It rolls around softly as my tongue traces small circles. She is now getting wet, and her secretions and my saliva create a delicious chemistry that starts her moaning again. As her hips begin to rotate faster, I take hold of her buttocks and pull her down to my mouth.

“Wait, ” she says, “Turn over.”

We roll over, never completely disengaging, but her mouth loses its grip on my semi-erect cock. She takes it in her hands to try to reestablish her hold, but I stop her.

“No, ” I say. “Let me take over now.”

I swing my hips around, slide down, and approach her with my torso between her knees. A few licks of her inner thighs to re-establish a rhythm, and then my tongue finds her sweet little button—a tiny marble floating in oil—again. This time, while I trace those gentle circles, I insert my thumb into her vagina, pressing my thumbnail against the front wall. She flinches, then says, “Again. Do it again.” My tongue and my thumb work together to create a combination of sensations I know she loves. My thumb works up and down, against the top wall, then against the bottom.

“Deeper. Please. Deeper, ” she says. “Give me your middle finger the other place.”

I withdraw my thumb, insert my middle finger for moisture, then replace my thumb. I slowly—very slowly—insert the tip of my middle finger into her rectum. Her muscles almost instantly relax, and literally pull my finger deeper. “More. Deeper, ” she says. Slowly, my finger is drawn in, up to the first joint, then a little farther. I begin to move the finger and the thumb in gentle strokes as if I was trying to pinch them together. On each return stroke, the base of my thumbnail massages the front wall of her vagina, and each time she moans louder. “Faster circles please, ” she says. I increase my rhythm, and she begins to pump her hips up and down with each stroke. Again and again she calls out my name.

“More! Faster! Oooh! Oooh! NOW! NOW! Stop! STOP!”

I freeze. She seizes up, her hips rising to my mouth. ucuz escort I take all of her into my mouth. I summon as much saliva as I can into my mouth and lay my tongue firmly against her outer lips.

“Oooooh! Shit! Fuck! Oooooh! Ooooooooh! Ooooooooooooooooh.”

She tightens up against me. She holds this position for about fifteen seconds. Then her hips fall hard to the cushion of the beanbag. She reaches down and takes my head, holds it tight against her. Her breathing slows, but the breaths are still hard. She is moist with perspiration. She relaxes her grip on my head. I gently lick the inside of her thighs. Salty. Sweet. Yum.

“Kiss me,” she says.

I crawl up to her. I kiss her. Gently. Then harder. She returns the hard kiss. She holds me tight.

“I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“And I love you,” I whisper to her, repeating her name, over and over.

Her breathing begins to slow. She kisses me on the forehead. She takes some Champagne and a couple of strawberries. “Let’s watch a movie.”

With a remote I had set nearby, I turn on the DVD player. An overhead projector shoots an image onto a wall behind us. We turn the beanbag around, pour more Champagne and hold each other gently. Our movie choices run the gamut. It depends on our mood. Sometimes we want romance—Casablanca, Roman

Holiday, Somewhere in Time—sometimes we want drama—Wait Until Dark, Play Misty for Me, Chinatown, sometimes we’re in the mood for industry-produced porn.

Tonight we’re in the mood for — us! Did I mention the video camera on the mantel? When we fuck this way we usually tape the session. The image on the screen is a mirror image of what we’ve been doing for the past hour and a half. We watch her pleasure herself, her hands expertly stroking her clit, her nipples, her face, back to her clit, and we watch her settle into a remarkable rhythm, the ecstasy obvious in her eyes, in the glisten of light perspiration on her lovely tanned skin. We watch ourselves with brandy and white chocolate, and we can almost taste the sweetness. We can feel the motion and the sweat.

She takes two strawberries, mashes them between her thumbs and forefingers, and begins to massage my nipples with what remains of the fruit. I take two more and return the favor. As the images on the screen move easily into a masterful performance of oral sex, we can feel the heat rise in our bodies. On the screen, as I come, she is joyously sucking on my throbbing cock like a straw, to get every last drop. We hear her enjoying herself, and we her hear say that she can’t wait for me to return the favor. We watch me do so, sliding expertly from the sixty-nine position (with me on top this time) to a position perpendicular to her, with my head buried in her fragrant vulva, my head moving imperceptibly, my hands doing the same as I bury my fingers into her vagina and anus while my tongue draws lazy circles around her clit. (She is now rubbing mashed strawberries all over my cock with her palms.) We watch her explode noisily, holding my head tight to her vagina until the orgasm is over.

As we watch, our hands are on each other’s bodies, searching for pleasure points and finding them. My left hand is on her right nipple, two fingers of my left hand are in her. She is gently massaging my nipples with her fingertips and whispering enticing obscenities in my ear. She rolls over on her side and her left hand finds my cock, fully hard now and ready for another jolt from her magnificent body. She inserts two fingers into my anus and I flinch, just for a second, and then relax. Suddenly I’m on fire. I turn to sit sideways to the fireplace and lift her onto my lap, facing me. She hikes up ümraniye escort and glides my cock into her, lowering herself slowly—oh, so slowly—down until she has taken me fully. She sits there, not moving—at least not obviously, but grinds her hips ever so slowly in small circles. She wraps her arms around me and crushes my chest to her breasts, and begins to kiss me, slowly at first, nibbling on my lower lip, then my upper lip; she forces her tongue (well not really forces) into my mouth, but only a little bit. We kiss, and kiss and kiss and kiss, our bodies swaying ever so gently to the rhythm of the music in the room, and the sensation of our coming together begins to rise, slowly, from our entwined thighs. We can feel the muscles contract and release almost in harmony as the well of pleasure begins to bubble. We feel the stirring in our loins, and it moves up our bodies to our bellies, to our abdomens, to our chests, around us through our arms, up into our necks and then into our heads. Our kisses become furious now as the tension in our bodies begins to grow and move, almost shifting back and forth through our skin. Her hips start grinding harder now, and she is talking, mostly to herself, but so that I can hear, to be sure.

“Oh, oh, oooooooh, Fuck. Oh Fuck. Fuck me! FUCK ME! O0000000HHH, FUUUCCCCCKKKK MMMEEEE!!, ” she whispers, breathlessly, insistently.

I squeeze her tight to me and begin to tighten my sphincter muscle, then let up and tighten again, so that my cock is moving back and forth against the front wall of her cunt. She is pulling me in rhythm, heightening the sensation and grinding her clit against the base of my cock.

“Oooooooh!” she screams. “Aaaahhhhhhhhhh! Fuck. FUCK. FUCK!.” She is about to explode.

So am I.

“I’m coming, ” I say.

“Louder, ” she says. Loudly.

“I’m coming!” I say, raising my voice.

“LOUDER!” she demands.

“I’M COMING!” I shout. “I’M COMING! I’M COMING! I’M…UNGGGGHHHHH…”

I explode. Long, slow but extremely hard spasms rock my middle. With each spasm I literally feel my ass come off the floor, lifting her up with my thighs. This is too much for her to bear any longer, and she screams.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

She pulls me as tight as her arms will allow, and I return the enormous hug. She grabs my cheeks, hard, and pulls my mouth to hers, jamming her tongue as far into my mouth as it will go. I take it and suck at it as hard as I can. My lips are crushed against hers, and she is not letting me go. Her hips are shaking almost as if in a seizure. I pull my head away from hers.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“SHUT UP! OH! FUCK! KISS ME! HARD!”

I kiss her again. Her tongue comes into me again. Her hips are grinding hard against mine, and her arms are crushing. I hold her head and kiss, as if holding on for dear life. We are coming together, in waves, rising from our asses, squeezing hard as our now singular sex organ—the “cockunt”—throb together, up our spines as our bodies feel for all the world like one single body—two melted into one—the sensations, the jolts, the electric thrills coming together, and our heads buzzing as if electrically charged. The thunderous shaking continues, lasts five, six, seven minutes. Then, slowly, the sizzling begins to subside. Breathing starts to slow. Heartbeats, just moments ago thundering in our chests, are now returning to a manageable level. She begins to giggle, first lightly, quietly, and then louder, more robustly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Look. Up there.” She points to the TV screen.

The people on the wall—us—are licking up the residue of sex, the brandy, the chocolate, the juices. She looks at my chest. There is strawberry mess everywhere. It is on her breasts, her nipples, her belly. And mine.

“May I?”

“Be my guest.”

I lick. “MMMMM. Strawberries and sex. My favorite.”

“Now,” she says with a chuckle. “Let’s watch a movie.”

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