Asian Lilly
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Asian Lilly by AeroCommander1
They were so different people said. But, she liked it that
way. She was a tiny Eurasian woman, mixed Asian with a White
Russian grandfather’s coloring showing through.
He was all foreigner to her, and her family. They scolded
her for her liaisons with him, but she couldn’t help it at
all. She loved they way he was, and the way he felt. She was
just past twenty and he was almost her father’s age. She
loved his experience. He had paid handsomely many times
with a broken heart for his experience.
After a quiet dinner and cognac she would walk home with
him, under the stars, to make more stars explode into the
night.
In public he was all the gentlemanly, worldly protector
of her. When she went home with him she turned him into her
slave. She would strip off his shirt and tie and run her delicate
hands around his broad shoulders and chest. She pulled
on the hairs there on his chest like the violin strings to
his heart. She would tease him, remaining fully clothed,
covered and unavailable to his hungering eyes while she
had her way.
She’d run a finger between his pectorals and down his taut
belly to his navel, lingering there, and then, with his
trousers still binding him tightly, she would continue
down with her nail.
Inside, she would tickle at the top of
the root of his penis, teasing the pubic hairs that protected
him from his boxers, torturing him, just so. While her finger
played its games, she would blow careful hot breath on the
skin of his chest and belly. Between the two teases she could
watch the cloth of his crotch grow stretched and strained.
She would imagine his growing anticipation and agony at
not having her then, she’d build upon it.
Then she would go for some ice.
Returning with a cupful of small cubes, she would carefully
unzip his pants not to tear the delicate skin on the helm
of the part of him that she always hungered for. His penis
was just right for her, not so big that she would gag on it
if he grabbed the back of her head in the midst of his ecstatic
agony, and not so small that she was left unfulfilled. She
could worship at him for hours with a searching tongue and
never let him go except to occasionally spit if his orgasms
came too close together and she started to drown on his cum.
But to begin, she took the ice cubes in her mouth and sipped
a cool glass of vodka. The alcohol of the vodka made her mouth
taste tart, which she loved, and tingled on the skin of his
cock like a cool breeze at the fall of night. Her icy cocktail
mouth would take him deep into her, and she could feel his
hot skin begin to melt the cubes as she ran her tongue into
the crannies, bulges and bumps of him.
She could tell he
loved the feeling. Looking up into his china-blue eyes
she would see they were rolled backwards, as though searching
for archangels somewhere in the ceiling. She would notice
his buttocks go taut, and know that soon she would have a
new ingredient for her cocktail. She’d make him beg. Promising
to stop, NOW, she’d force him to make promises she knew he
couldn’t keep. She would grin with joy as she felt his cock
begin to pulse in its place in her mouth, and then, like magic,
spew forth the essence of a new life into the depths of her
throat. Almost as though vicariously, she’d feel the trickle
at the back of her throat as first the partly thick congealed
cum, and then the more liquid, thinner hotter cum dribbled
down her throat. With that feeling she’d smile. His moan,
and the words , ” I love you, ” would cross his lips, naturally.
Leaving her blouse still on her to hide her breasts, she’d
throw him to the floor on his back. She’d put one shoe on his
chest, to keep him down, and start to shimmy her angelic
body from the confines of her skirt. His eyes would gobble
at her like those of a starved man before a tasty meal. With
the constricting skirt away, up, just in her panties, she
would kneel on his chest, and dig the heels of her shoes into
his ribs for purchase. His skin would go slightly bruised
at this, but he’d grown used to it and she loved the feeling
of control; like her feet in the stirrups of a pony.
She’d lightly take the crotch of her panties and move them
aside from her own essence, working her knees up onto his
shoulders, and digging in with her heels. His mouth would
find her, and his tongue would begin to work the magic that
she so loved. He used his mouth like the most gentle, hungry
knowing lesbian she’d ever known in her college years.
Often he’d joked, “If I’d been born a woman, I would have
definitely been a Les.” He could tease her and make her hips
buck like no previous man ever had. Her thought, in him,
she had found her sex match; perfect. She would tear at the
back of his head as her ecstasy built, digging into his neck
with her nails, but not until he bled; just short of it. Her
body would rock as though the waves of the ocean, perfect
rhythm. She’d feel it build in her, the heat and the overwhelming
eyes rolled into her sockets orgasm building and building.
She’d cum, and then again in a series of short, quick thigh
breaking multiples; all the while pulling with both hands
at the back of his neck.
Then, spent for the moment, she’d force him away.
This was their ritual, and then they would go to bed for some
really good sex.