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" I started by licking her inner thighs just to taste her flesh. It was like nectar to my senses. My head was swimming as I slowly moved to lick her o...ter lips and bring my tongue along the length of her slit. Her juices flowed like ambrosia and her clit was swollen to a hard nub like I had never seen before. I suckled gently on her clit then flicked it with my tongue until I heard her try to suppress her moans. Then with no warning I extended my tongue and penetrated her, tasting the sweet. His chest was broad, strong and carried scars, the lines of which she traced with her fingertip, kissing each one. She rolled him onto his back as she pulled off his boots and unbuttoned his breeches. She felt as though she were in a trance, the horrors of only a few hours ago forgotten as her entire focus was on him and his body. She gently pulled out his manhood. It was hard and thick and the tip glistened with droplets of his seed. She could feel her own wetness surge as she felt him throb. I just enjoyed seeing his constant pain. But when I caught myself thinking about his strong, powerful body and what pleasures he could give me, I knew it had to end some time before it was too late. He was around my finger and could not think of anything else. I had achieved what I wanted but still I continued to arouse him. Every slight increase in his desperation gave me just a tiny fraction of pleasure. At least it made me feel a little alive. The only pleasure I could ever have. But that. Now get this. If I were a lover I would feel crushed to be dumped for “another man”, but I was torn between never again making torrid love with mom and her choosing, as it were, dad. Of course I understood but, in my heart of hearts, I knew, deep down, that she, no, we would break down again. I told her I understood and that, in a way, I was glad. In the meantime, aunt Christine and I had “met” a few times and the sex was always out of this world. One Saturday afternoon, in her favorite hotel.
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