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The wonderful thing about long-time lovers is the knowledge of when everything is perfect, when to linger, when to move to the next course. We are such lovers. In sync with each other – often knowing in advance the reaction of the other before a touch, a kiss or a caress.

Time and space beyond the walls of our suite does not exist. We are centered on each other and the pleasure we can bring to our lover.

We are naked as the day we lay in our mothers’ arms after the miracle of birth. Each time we make love is a new beginning, a new awakening, a new sunrise. There is a rising of the sun and a glow in the sky -the rising of our lust and the glow of skin and eyes.

I turn to you as we stand bathed in the warmth of the fire and bend to pick you up as I did on our wedding night. You wrap your arms about my neck and nuzzle your lips to my ear. We walk slowly to the steamy bathroom and the bubble-laden Jacuzzi. I lower you gently to the foamy, scented waters. You sink until just your head and shoulders are exposed. You lie back against the slopping sides and relax.

I return to the room to turn up the CD so we can hear the music above the jets. Meanwhile you have poured two glasses of the rich, red Merlot.

Upon returning I too step into the foaming tub and kneel before you. I take your face in my hands and kiss your eyes, your nose, your cheeks and finally your pouting lips, tangy with the taste of wine. I drink you in. My tongue invades your mouth past lips yearning for attention. You kept a little wine and pass it to me – all the sweeter for pooling in the living cup.

We break our kiss, you hand me my wine and I slide down with my back against the tub. We sit facing each other, your legs between mine. Your feet resting on the bottom of the tub just below my testicles. Testicles heavy with semen, extended with the heat of their surroundings and the ecstasy of the moment.

You slowly stroke my sack with a manicured scarlet-red toe. My already stiff cock twitches. It is unfair, but who said love is fair. You smile, knowing what you are doing to me. You tease. I love it.

I take a sip of wine then set it down. From beneath the bubbling waters I find your right leg. I massage it seductively, tracing circles on your calf, down the back of your leg to the foot – a foot that is ticklish beyond belief. I am careful not to spoil the moment by torturing you with wicked fingers, not yet anyway.

Your legs are smooth – this morning you shaved and anointed them with lotion. In the water they are like satin with nerves attuned to every pendik escort little caress. The left leg receives the same treatment as the right. Your head is resting on a rolled towel at the edge of the tub. Your body is floating in the churning, scent-laden froth. Your heels now rest lightly on my shoulders and your breasts poke like two snow-covered peaks from the bath.

We rest with eyes closed – your ass resting on my slightly bent knees. You are suspended by neck, butt and heel – floating in a sea of spume, with steaming water swirling about you and hands and fingers tracing unknown patterns on your body. Time stands still.

The timer shuts off.

We are wrested from our trance. The wine, the water, the heat have taken their toll. Our passion is still there, unseen and hidden but like our bodies, just below the surface. The music is more noticeable without the roar of the water jets.

You raise your head, lowering your legs as I spread my knees. You sit up and turn, all in one motion. You slide across the slippery tub and snuggle between my legs, resting your back against my chest.

I hand you your wine and take up mine. I raise my glass and toast you.

“I raise my glass to the woman of my life. You are the essence of my being, the mother of our children, and partner in all my endeavours – the lover in my bed. You bring joy to my days and eroticism to my nights. You are my partner, my soul mate, and my lover. I drink to you, the woman of true beauty.”

You blush, if that is possible, in this heat and push even closer to me. My hard shaft is pressed into the crack of your ass. You glide about to the rhythm of the music–a Strauss Waltz. My arms encircle you. My hands cup each heat-soaked breast. They are heavy and light at once. Just below the surface they seem suspended. The oily water adds slickness to your skin. My fingers circle effortlessly around and around each breast.

Your eyes are closed, your head rests on my shoulder and you begin to slip lower into the water. This forces my manhood up your back bringing you alert. Your hands sink to my thighs and massage them with a growing insistence.

We lie caressing breast and thigh. Fingers exploring. I have discovered your hardened nipples, while you have widened your search to my inner thighs. You use your fingernails to lightly scrap upwards, ever upwards. You let your body again float suspended just below the surface. Your attention is half focused on the stimulation your nipples are receiving and the direction your hands are moving.

You reach the maltepe escort apex of my crotch. The laden testicles hanging in heat stretched sacs with my erection straining for the surface. You do not touch either. Instead you tease me by tangling your fingers in my pubic hair. You scrap lightly up my belly on either side of the granite-hard pillar. It jerks in anticipation of attention. Attention you are not willing to bestow just yet.

I continue to fondle your right gland while my left hand moves easily over your torso, but with a clear destination in mind. You know, but how long will it take? I find the first semi-orifice – your navel. It is a depression in the midst of a soft pillow of wanton flesh. After all these years you still have a beautiful figure – not the hard slimness of youth but the softer curves of maturity.

Continuing on their journey my fingers move ever closer to the centre of your sexual being–your pussy, your cunt, your tunnel of love. I slide across your skin with just my fingertips. Not lightly, but not hard – with enough pressure to find inner nerves as well as those on the surface. I cup my palm and slide it up and down, back and forth on the fleshy mound protecting your pelvic bone. You push upwards into my hand. You sigh, close your eyes and push harder.

You want more. You want to give more. You want hard, pounding sex. You are ready but this is our night, our time, and our space, there is no hurry, there is no rush. The journey is the end, the end will be when. . . .?

My fingers spread and caress your thighs – wide and inviting. My palm still fondles your mons. My fingers have moved so now they are on either side of your shaved pussy. I shaved you last night. All that is left is a thin tuft of orange/red curls at the top of the puckered lips. The rest is as bald as a baby.

Your pussy is swollen. The inner lips pink with the heat of the bath and your rising excitement. They are wet, but more from your secretions than the oily water. You sigh and moan. Up the mountain of ecstasy you float. The air getting thinner, your breath more shallow, your heart is beginning to race as you seek the release at the pinnacle. The clouds obscure the summit, so you don’t know exactly when IT might happen. Is it just seconds or hours away?

With a finger on either side of your extended lips, I gently press them together and slide my fingers from bottom to top, and down again, and up again. The oily water mixed with your juices makes

it effortless, but not sensation-less. The sensation is exquisite – kartal escort so you tell me. After a couple of minutes of this you are begging for release, a release that is not to cum just yet.

As my fingers slide to the top of your hungry lips they close together on a ‘bud’, which has grown and appeared like the first crocus of spring. On moment invisible, the next it is in full bloom. Your budding clit, within the hooded folds is as hard as your nipples.

Meanwhile, you have been busy too. You have reached down and cupped my heavy sac in one hand, weighing my balls, judging their state of arousal. Do they match your own? Could be!

Your other hand has grasped my shaft and with the oily water you are masturbating me slowly, from the base with the hairy forest of curls up, up to the swollen head. When your hand reaches the top you open your palm and lightly rub it over the head, paying particular attention to the sensitive opening and the skin on the underside where the head and shaft meet. I try to move back, but my butt is hard against the side of the tub. There is not escape and you know it. The more I tease you the more I get in return.

Is this not a “win-win” situation? Who will break first? Who will demand release first?

The stimulation is getting the better of both of us. A volcano is building within me and I know from experience you are on the edge and the point of no return is only a step away. Shall we leap now? Or shall we slow down, back away from the edge and regain some composure?

My maleness says, “Forward, forward, thrust on.”

Your passion is looking only for instant release, “Now, now, God, please now.”

I take my hands from your breast and pussy. I hold you tight and bring your floating body back down to mine. I can’t believe I just did this. I must be out of my mind. I could have release now and again soon after, but I have chosen to have “blue balls” for the time being. You grip my arms that surround you and hold us tighter. You are shaking slightly, but after a minute you turn your head and offer me your lips. I bend and we kiss and hold each other. Minutes pass and the water begins to cool.

The appetizer is consumed. These plates ‘licked clean”. As with a true appetizer our hunger is far from sated. We have tasted and we are hungrier still.

I float you away, and stand carefully, as my head is spinning from the passion and the heat of the bath. I grip the handrail and reach for the thick terry robe. I wrap my self in its warmth, turn and reach for your hand to help you from the water. Your skin is pink and puffy. We were not long enough to wrinkle, but just long enough to . . .

You step out and I wrap you in your robe. We embrace and pat each other dry.

I lead you from the bathroom to the entrée.

End of Part II . . .

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