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  • Writer's pictureRhea Moore

The way intentions change sometimes

"Your hands,” she panted, “are so cold on my breasts.”

She said it mainly because it was true. She was smiling playfully at him and wanted him to keep his hands there, but also because she thought it was one of those lines that could be used in a story if she were going to write this moment down.

"Your breasts are warming me up." he said playfully, pinching her tits.

And that's how it all began.

Her thoughts on the next story she would write. His thoughts on her hot skin and the way her panties seemed to glide off her hips. And then, as he knelt before her, on the way her pussy always seemed to smell so sweet.

She tried to guide him to the soft massage table in the next room, but as he stood up she couldn't resist kissing his drenched lips.

Somehow what was going to be a massage turned into an hour of the both of them tasting each other, lapping each other up. He at one point laying on his back, her puss in his face while her mouth was wrapped around his shaft, tasting at the same time the sweet nectar of their shared passion.

And how important is it to know how it all ended? All that matters is that they fell into a laughing heap of satisfied pleasure and she asked when he would come and play again….

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