Tangier Season

I was on top of her, inside her, pumping her shallow and then pumping her deep—but not too deep. I was longer than she could comfortably take, but we’d done this enough for me to have her measure. I gave her exactly what made her moan, pant, and purr the most. I turned and sat on the side of the bunk, pulling her with me, holding her in my lap, skewered on my cock, raising and lowering her on the staff. My lips went to her exposed breasts and taut nipples. Whimpering and sighing, she went lip, relying on my arm around her waist to hold her in place on my lap. I moved the fingers of the free hand between us, search for and finding her clit, and rubbing it.

“Oh, Christ, Gregory!” she cried out as she came alive, writhed on my lap, took over the fuck by rising up and then slamming herself down on my cock, comfort no longer a concern for her, taking my full measure, and then exploded. She collapsed again, sighing and moaning. I took over again and pulled her up and down on the cock with more intense velocity and she exploded again—and then again. And then it was my turn.

The actual sex had taken no more than ten minutes. Unwrapping the package had taken that long and helping her to put herself back together had taken a good twenty minutes.