Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968 - Sex Stories

Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

... kidding.”

“I wish I were. I have all these cravings, but I don’t even know what it is I want.”

I put a hand on her cheek and ran my fingers gently down to her neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure. My hand slid down to her scoop neckline where my fingers found a trace of cleavage. Her moan was too soft to be heard by anyone else, but I found it extremely erotic, and my penis hardened further in her hand. I ventured further south, over the fabric of her peasant dress, and I discovered hard nipples pressing unrestrained against the soft cotton. “Gail?”

“No bra,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be authentic, would it? For a singer from the madrigal period?”

“I guess not…and…further down?”

“I’m as authentic as you are.”

She gave my cock a squeeze and fondled my balls and the sensitive spot behind them, getting perilously close to my asshole. I fondled her unfettered breasts for a moment and then slid my hands down to her bare knees. She was taking long, deep breaths, her eyes closed, as if giving all her concentration to what she was feeling between her legs and between mine. He knees spread apart as if to invite me in. I accepted the invitation, grateful for the darkness.

Her insides of her thighs were warm and soft, and her legs opened wider as my hands slid up toward her crotch. Her pussy was quite hairy, and my fingers brushed and played with her hair before moving on to her warm wet folds. I wondered if her pubic hair was as yellow as the hair on her head, ...

... and not knowing somehow added to the sense of adventure. She was slick with desire, and she gasped when I slid a finger along her virgin folds and found her hard little clitoris.

“I—oh my—I can’t say anything—mmmm—I would probably—probably say something unladylike—ohhhh…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I whispered, leaning into her face and kissing her ear, her cheek, her open mouth. I didn’t think I should try to penetrate her vagina since she was still a virgin, but I did try gently to get her clitoris harder, and I lubricated my fingers with her vaginal fluids so that I would irritate her as little as possible.

Meanwhile, she was fondling my balls with one hand and tugging on my penis with the other, and I worked hard to hold back, hold back, hold back, until I was certain she was about to reach orgasm. I was certain because of the dazed, wondering look in her eyes, the quiet moans from her throat, the warm flow of juices from her gently thrusting pussy.

“Gail…Gail, you know…you know what will happen if you…if you keep doing…what you’re doing….”

“I know. It’s okay…oooohhhh…..please, yes, it’s okay…ohhhhhhhh dear God…!!!!!?

And she came, her copious juices bathing my hand, and I came, what seemed like endless ropes of thick semen shooting from my cock into her hand and onto the concrete at our feet.

We sat there motionless except for our heavy breathing, her hands still holding my slimy, deflating cock, my fingers still immersed in the fragrant juices ...