Strange Taste - First Love - Sex Stories

Strange Taste - First Love

... the background. The bathroom was at the far end of the room, beyond the giant-sized bed.

He felt her squeeze his hand, ‘I have to go to the toilet to prepare myself. Will you wait for me?’

She’d looked at him so seriously. Was she that worried he might stray?

He felt an enormous surge of relief flush through him. A sensational burst of happiness, feeling so protective of her. A strong sense of caring he had never felt before. He adored her. She gave him hope.

For the first time, he smiled, ‘Of course, I’ll wait for you. I love you.’

He made her blush. She let go of his hand, pecking him on both cheeks, his lovebird. No-one ever uttered those words to her. Her soul sank at the thought of their parting the morning after. Sheneeded him; she wanted to reciprocate his feelings, but couldn’t bring herself to say the beautiful words, for fear of breaking his heart.

Georgie struggled to control her emotions, stinging inside with guilt. Tonight, she would give of herself to him. Heartbroken, she told him to switch off the light, take off his clothes, lie on the bed, and wait for her to make love to him.

Elated, euphoric, he watched her close the pure-white door. He looked around the room. There was a pine dressing table, a turquoise stool, to one side of the bed, cluttered with lady’s make-up: lipsticks, combs, a clutch of old photos: a woman on her wedding day, sunbathing on a white sandy beach in her scarlet bikini, suckling her babies, holding them over the ...

... font, as they were anointed.

Strange, no photos of her husband?

He decided this should be Georgie’s side of the bed.

The twins were conceived here. She wants to make love to me, here, on their parent’s bed.

He switched off her light. There was a royal blue armchair on his side of the bed. He soon undressed, folding his jacket, shirt, and cords, placing them in a neat pile on the chair. He pulled off his socks and pants, throwing them in soft balls at the chair. Switching off his light, he stretched out on the bed, shut his eyes, and waited, as innocently as a new-born baby — for her.

Georgie crept into the bedroom and took off her t-shirt, jeans and panties, strewing them over the carpet. Then, as naked as the day she was born, she climbed on the bed to kneel beside him.

Their intense mood was interrupted by loud banging on the door, a boy and a girl’s slurred, drunken voices,

‘Let us in!’

‘Come on! You’ve had your five minutes!’

He froze.

Georgie gently stroked his belly, gliding her soft hand downwards into his hairy groin, ‘Ignore them,’ she soothed, ‘They’ll soon go away.’

The din outside ceased.

He groaned as she sheathed him,

‘There,’ she whispered, ‘Now keep still. Forget the world. Think about me.’

She straddled him. He felt the soft insides of her thighs rubbing against his hips. Her fine hair, brushing his hair. Her belly resting lightly on his abdomen as she fed him inside her. He loved her tenderness. She was tactile for him: ...