As I stood admiring, your ass lifted until only your head remained down, your knees were planted on the lounger and your ass rocked ever-so-gently before me.“Want this, Michael?”Your hands reached back, spread your thighs, exposing swollen lips coated in your glossy juices. A red fingernail traced every delicate curve of your mound, even pushing some of your natural lubricant up between your cheeks. That caused you to shiver and whimper.Back between your lips, the finger found your deep damp center. One of us moaned. Maybe both.Your motions brought that single finger from out of sight to your clit, then back in, repeatedly. Steady rhythm brought steady pumping of your hips. Steady pumping of your hips told me your next orgasm bubbled inside.“Finish me.” It damn sure wasn’t a request.With that, you turned, stepped over the lounger and ordered me to sit.“Put your butt right here on the end and lay back.”You moved beside my head and swung your leg over me, planting a foot on either side. He had been hired more for his brawn than his experience. That he was smart and good natured was unexpected. And so young, only nineteen, he was as innocent of his beauty, as of his strength. Fresh and clean, he had soft, long blond hair and eyes the same indefinable color of the sea that surrounded them.She had no clear memory of when she had last felt this ache, this yearning. It intoxicated and terrified her. Ten years married, with two small children, she was thirteen years older than this boy.The terror was the discovery that she could even have these feelings. For years she had felt nothing, not the tiniest spark of lust, want or need. It had seemed like everything female about her had withered and died so long ago that the memories were dim and hazy. Memories so tenuous, that she wondered if she had ever really felt them or if it had been a dream.Her husband had tried to be her lover, but it seemed the more he pushed for her response the more conscious she was of the deadness.
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