Ron Taylor: Two hot families

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Ron Taylor Two hot families
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    Two hot families
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    Эротика, Секс / на английском языке
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Ron Taylor

Two hot families

I took off my dress and lay down on the bed wearing just bra and panties. I looked around. This room would be my home for the next year – maybe longer, if Daddy thought I was making acceptable progress at the school. It wasn't bad – a little bare right now, for I'd just moved in last evening. My roommate wasn't here yet, either. Once she arrived and we set about decorating to fit our particular tastes and styles, it would be a lot more homey. If a boarding school room can ever really be like home. Whatever home is like.

On an impulse, I got up from the bed and hurried to my desk, where I'd already hidden my stash. Possession wasn't encouraged at this school, but there was no automatic expulsion penalty, so I didn't feel too paranoid. I unzipped the leather pouch and took out one of the joints I'd rolled yesterday afternoon on the plane ride down. The first toke reminded me of how good this special Colombian really was, and I savored it all the way down my tubes. The air started growing pungent with the smell of burning grass and I sniffed appreciatively between hits on the stick.

"Mmmmmm, okayyy," I drawled lazily, sipping the reefer.

I smoked it fast and I swallowed the roach. The little residue in that would get into my bloodstream sooner or later, too, and I could count on a delayed buzz.

"I think I can feel it now," I said aloud, rubbing my bare stomach until it tingled from the outside in as well as the inside out. My hand was itchy, too, and I pressed it against my abdomen, just above the waistband of my low-riding panties. I stood there a moment, shivering, allowing the good stoned feelings to ride up and down my body. It seemed to hit the back of my head and the tips of my toes about the same instant, and I felt good. Very good.

I lifted my hand and gave it something to scratch. One finger extended itself lazily and began to strum across the soft nylon cup of my bra, tickling until my left nipple was visibly erected punching out the clingy wisp of fabric that encased my cunt. I closed fingers upon the nubby erection and squeezed it till it throbbed. So did I. All over. My nipples are very sensitive. I can almost come from having them played with, if they're played with right.

"HI, there," I told the stubby prominence, tweaking it with my thumb and index finger. I squirmed where I stood, and the nip pushed out a little further, fat and squiggly, eager to thrust itself into the pinching grip I had on it.

My other hand came up of its own will and cupped the other tit. The nipple here was only a little behind in the race; one good squeeze and it was fully as stiff and punchy as the left one. It was all hard and eager, hot against the palm that covered it, pressed it down, made it stand up that much faster. Why not? I thought. There's nothing on the radio and I don't feel like watching TV. Releasing my breasts, I reached behind myself and unhooked the clasp in the middle of my back. The cups fell forward, sliding off my tits, and the straps eased down my shoulders. I let the bra swirl to the floor, immediately cupping my hands over my now bare tits.

They were warm and damp with a faint sheen of perspiration, almost like oil. I worked it into the small conical titties, working my hands in circles on them until the flesh was hot and the nipples even harder and my knees beginning to sag where I stood, ass up against the edge of the desk.

I went to the bed again, pulling down my panties as I walked, and I stepped out of them just before turning round to look at myself in the makeup table mirror. It was made for close-up work, but I was far enough from it that I had a good, overall, up and down look at Barbara Gifford in virtually all her naked glory.

For fifteen, I'm not built badly. At least, that's what people like to tell me. Five-foot-five, 105 pounds, wavy hair that's almost classic platinum blonde. My tits are on the small side just right for fashion modeling shaped like, small cones and set high up on my chest. When I stand erect the nipples stick straight out. They're large nipples, considering the size of my boobs, like big pink smears spilling over the tips of the two cones, and the teats extend almost an inch when they're fully excited. Which they were right now, and my hands on them certainly weren't helping matters any.

My legs are long and smooth, firm from ankles to wherever you want to get, climbing my legs. I don't have much of an ass, in terms of fleshiness, but it sticks out nicely, thanks to the natural curvature of my spine, and there's enough wiggle to draw attention when I wear my favorite French jeans. All in all, it's a good body and a young body and a firm body and a tight body, and I wouldn't send it back to the factory for readjustments even if I could.

I flopped onto the bed, parting my legs as I landed, and then I rolled over so that I was lying on my back instead of my belly. My legs were still spread, and I lifted the knees slowly, keeping them wide apart I looked down my belly, past the twin peaks of pinkness, and sighted in on my fluffy bush.

My beaver is almost white – it's that blonde – and it only grows on the swell of my pubes. There are just a few stay wisps and curls flanking my slit, and no hair at all around my asshole or in my crotch itself. Natural blondes don't have a lot of body hair, and I'm as natural a blonde as you're ever going to run into.

I cupped my titties and made them jiggle a bit, the nips wobbling around as if they were trying to evade the quick flicks and pinches of my fingers.

Each time I closed fingers on my paps, little spurts of pleasure shot through me and my uplifted knees wavered from side to side. Down there, where my body was sliced open between the legs, I could feel a growing heat and arousal. I made my thighs squeeze together, and there was a pleasant sticky feeling around the lips of my cunt.

"Do it now," I suggested to myself, and one hand began to crawl down my body. Over the flat, firm stomach, taking time out en route to do a little finger work on my navel, and then covering the final stretch in one quick darting lunge, as my ass began to bounce on the bed.

My fingers skimmed through the puffy hedge of hair and down, onto the bare crease of my pussy. I surrounded it one finger on each side of the slash and I worked my fingers up and down quickly, rubbing and squeezing and pinching off the opening until it misted over with a watery leakage of girl cum.

I could feel the stuff seeping from my cunt, and I rubbed again, harder, drawing more of it from me. A gasp caught in my throat, like a piece of hastily swallowed food, and I didn't know whether to gulp it down or let it out. My fingers slid over, onto my cunt, and I couldn't hold the urge back another second. I let it go, a long, quivery-throated sigh that seemed to be coming, not from my upper mouth, but from the one down below, the one that was even then being parted widely by my nervous, trembly, but oh, God, so eager fingers.

There was a squish sound, my hand squashing and toying with the ever-sloppier lips of my cunt, and then I was split, the tight clingy inner labia pulled open, room air flowing into my pussy. And along with that air, the tip of my middle finger. While thumb and index held me open, I stuck my middle finger inside, scratching about as if I'd never been there before.

The entry way was tight, and I moaned aloud as I started to make penetration. "Oooooooohhhhh." Again that strange husky sound, not at all like my normal voice tones, and again I could fantasize that it was my pussy whimpering and not my mouth. Relishing the way the cry seemed to echo off the walk of the room and bounce back into my ears time and again, I let my finger push a little deeper.

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