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Sweet Little Church Girl

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Magic Wand

I was an older college student, still fairly young, but about 10 years older than the others in my class. One of the friends I made was a cute, fresh looking, angelic-faced hometown girl. She and her sister sang gospel music, and her family was well known in the small college town. We had no classes together but became friends because of mutual friends. I enjoyed talking to her, but I was married and a young father, so nothing developed.

Years later, I found myself living back in the same town, and happened to see my old friend. April? Larry? We had met through a chance encounter. We hurriedly attempted to cover the ten years or so that had lapsed since we last saw each other. She had gotten a job teaching first grade. She was married but with no children. I was still married, my daughter was in high school, and my marriage had disintegrated to a point that I had made my mind up to get out as soon as I got my finances arranged so that none of us would suffer because of a divorce.

As April and I talked, she blurted out, “My husband’s out of town a lot.” After she said it the third time, the sense of what she said finally broke through the excitement and all the talking we were doing. I asked her if she still played the piano. She indicated that she did. I asked if hers had been tuned recently. She said that it hadn’t. I told her that I had taken up piano turning and had done a good bit of it on the side over the last few years. We arranged a time for me to come out and tune her piano while school was out.

I had been interested in her years before, but neither of us had made any kind of move that would have seemed improper, even under the closest scrutiny. For that reason, I didn’t think that anything would come of this trip.

Following April’s directions, I found her house. It was an A-frame cabin with only one bedroom and was situated way off the road and away from view of any nearby houses. I knocked on the door, and she came to the door dressed modestly in a sweater and jeans. Upstairs, there was the cabin’s only bedroom, the only full bath, and a small area not much bigger than a landing. It was on this landing area that the piano sat. She led me to the piano, and I immediately opened my case and began work.

As I tuned the piano, we talked off and on. The tuning job was taking a lot more time because of the conversation. I didn’t mind, and she seemed not to mine either. After tuning the lower octaves, I came back to middle C and began tuning the higher pitched notes. I asked April if she’d like to try tuning one of the strings. She came over and sat beside me on the piano bench and tried her hand at tuning. As with most inexperienced people, she had significant difficulty. Finally when she got the string properly tuned, she turned toward me and quickly kissed me. I put my arms around her and reciprocated with ten years of suppressed passion. I have never considered myself a ladies’ man, but I have been told that I’m a good kisser. I took special delight and made certain that I employed every kissing technique I had ever learned. Our lips seemed to be locked forever.

I don’t know if she was shocked by my returning the kiss or by her action in initiating it, but she promptly got up and moved to the corner of the small space, standing beside the stairs and next to a potted plant. She looked so helpless, frightened and vulnerable. I respected the distance and let her emotions settle by returning to the task of tuning the piano.

After ten minutes or so, April was still standing in the same spot. I turned around and looked at her and said, “You don’t have to stand all the way over there. I’m not going to rape you.” She chuckled and came over again, this time standing just behind my left shoulder. We continued to talk as I worked.

I confessed, “April, I couldn’t let you know, but you can’t imagine how much I wanted to do that 10 years ago.” I then told her about my recent decision to end my marriage. She told me that she had had feelings for me also. When she said that, I turned to my right and got up from the piano bench. I walked straight up to her and put my right arm around her waist, cupping the back of her head with my left hand. For the next several minutes, we shared, long, slow, passionate kisses, with a few tongue kisses thrown in.

Without even thinking, I went to my knees in front of her and began to kiss her nipples through her sweater, then to nibble on them. After two or three minutes of that action, I slipped güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri my right hand up her back beneath the sweater and unhooked her bra. I moved both hands to her front and began to rub gently, touching only the very tip of her nipples. Her huge brown eyes closed, and she moved her face upward. Then I used my finger and thumb to lightly pinch and gently roll her nipple.

Next, I lifted her sweater, exposing her breasts. They were not huge, but they were perfectly proportioned to her body, young, firm, erect. Even her areola was completely proportioned and could not have been more perfectly round. With my lips, tongue, and teeth, I alternately applied suction, then pressure, always flitting the tongue, always gentle with the pressure. Whichever breast did not have my mouth had a hand.

Finally, I glanced to my left at the tall, slender window. Although there were no nearby neighbors, I still felt the need for more privacy. “April, why don’t we move a little farther away from that window?”

Without a word, she took my hand and led me to her bedroom. I stood there as she walked across the bedroom and closed the curtains on the huge bedroom window. That act was not really necessary because there was a huge sheer on the window. When she turned around, she immediately pulled her sweater over her head and slipped the bra straps off her shoulders. I began to unbutton my shirt. To my surprise, she didn’t wait for me to undress her. In what seemed like one continuous motion, she loosed her belt, unsnapped her jeans, and slid both jeans and panties to the floor together. I was still working on the buttons to my shirt by the time she stepped out of her jeans and started coming toward me.

She was more than a vision. She had shoulder length black hair, huge almond-shaped eyes, a perfect face, and a body that was curvaceous but did not have one ounce of excess weight. She walked straight over to me, totally naked, and undid my belt, unzipped my pants, unhooked them, and slid pants and shorts to my ankles. Then she knelt down in front of me and took me into her mouth. I still had shoes and socks on, and standing there with my shirt still on and with my pants and shorts around my ankles, I felt like a total fool. A lucky one, but a total one!

Once undressed, I followed her as she again took my hand and led me to her bed. She looked up with eyes that looked deceptively innocent and asked, “I’m not going to get pregnant am I?” I assured her (honestly) that I had had a vasectomy. As she sat down on it, the sloshing sound informed me that it was a waterbed. With no further foreplay, she rolled back and put her legs into the air. I stared down at her black bush and at my first look at her vaginal lips. While the color of her lips was light, the lips themselves were larger than what I had seen on my wife. I also saw her clit. I looked back up at her breasts and then into her eyes and stated, “Oh, no! I’m going to take my time with YOU. Slide over.”

She slid over, and I lay beside her again kissing her and playing with her breasts. Then I maneuvered down the waterbed and put my face right on top of her inviting pussy. I parted her lips and applied my tongue to her clit, using the same darting motion I had earlier used on her nipples. Then I slipped one finger insider her, feeling more wetness than I had ever known a woman to have. Her hands went to the back of my head as if to ensure that I maintained proper pressure. With suction and tongue action, I pleasured her clit while my finger found her G-spot and stimulated it. After only minutes, I felt her shiver with climax.

I was so concerned about performance, that it was difficult to obtain a full erection. I had to hold my penis and stuff it inside her, but once inside, I rose to full erection. Her breasts were so tight and firm that they rocked little as I pounded away at her. I looked down at her young and beautiful body and looked down at me entering her and at our hairs entangling. Her juices were flowing so freely now, that both her pubic hairs and mine were becoming soaked.

When I finally climaxed, I pushed into her with all my might. What she did then was something she did every time I climaxed in her. She raised her hands about six inches above and to the side of her shoulders and spread her fingers as wide as she could get them. And while I was ejaculating, she held her hands thusly, and her eyelids blinked, barely opening, then closing immediately. güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri They parted enough, however, for me to see that her eyes literally had rolled back into her head.

When we finished, I collapsed to my left and lay beside her with my left arm under her neck. She put her head on my shoulder. She made no attempt to get up and run to the bathroom but lay there with the fascinating ability to hold my juices insider. For hours, as I later learned! Her first words to me were, “It just feels so right, doesn’t it?” I had to admit that it did. I knew it was wrong. I had a wife at home. I had just enjoyed her perfect body in the bed she shared with her husband, and my juices were still inside her. Yet, nothing that I knew to be wrong could keep me from feeling that it WAS right.

I don’t even remember finishing work on the piano, but I know that I did. The next day, I called and asked her if she hated me for what had happened. She laughed and asked why. She agreed to meet me in a town 30 miles away. We had lunch, and then as we rode around in my car, I told her that I had already gotten a motel room. We went there and repeated the previous day’s activity.

The following day, we met again in a spot that had plenty of danger in it if we didn’t control ourselves. We didn’t, and we ended up having sex on the floor of my office. Anyone could have walked in, and only one closed door provided even enough privacy for us to cover ourselves should that happen. We didn’t care. Our lust had taken full control of us.

I was in graduate school, and she also enrolled. We would go to the university every Friday night for a class, spend the night, and then have another class Saturday morning. By using that technique, we satisfied residency requirements for our two programs. Every Friday night was an all out sex party for the two of us. One night, however, I had trouble climaxing, although my erection stayed with me. We started out missionary style. Then I raised her legs into the air and moved beneath her hips on my left side penetrating her that way. I still couldn’t climax. Finally, I had her get on her knees at the edge of the bed, and I stood on the floor penetrating her from that position. By leaning over slightly, I could watch her perfect breasts swing like the pendulum of a clock. It was a tremendous turnon, but I still could not climax.

Finally, she slowly slumped forward. To my surprise, I was able to maintain insertion. April would always give a little “Uh,” whenever I would thrust, but that night, her voice got so weak from my repeated thrusts that she fell silent. There she lay, totally naked, butt exposed, and my dick still in her pussy thrusting away. Maybe it was that she was too exhausted to make her little “Uh” sound. Maybe it was that she was totally at my disposal, having nowhere to go and being somewhat helpless, but I found it to be highly erotic. We had never used that position before and I so enjoyed pushing her firm little butt with every thrust into her wet pussy. Finally, I felt the peak of passion rising, and I exploded inside her.

With my entire body wet with perspiration, I slid my well-lubricated but shrinking penis out of her. I began to crawl toward the head of the bed and called out in mock distress, “Medic!” She laughed, pulled her overly fucked body out of bed and went to relieve herself and to get water.

The next morning as we started the long and depressing drive back home, she burst out laughing. I looked at her in surprise and asked her why. Still laughing, she said, “When we got breakfast this morning, the seats were cushioned. When I got to my class and slipped into my desk, my pussy made contact with the hard seat, and I was so sore from last night, I must have jumped a foot high.”

The image was more than I could handle. I burst out laughing with her. “Well,” I replied, “I did happen to notice the time that I first got inside you and also the time you pulled yourself out of bed to go to the bathroom and to get water. I was inside you nonstop for an hour and ten minutes. After all these months, I finally wore it out.” We laughed again, but although her breasts and thighs were fair game as we traveled up the road, I was not allowed to touch her sore spot.

I got her a gift subscription to a Panty of the Month Club. Once a month, she would come to my office and—as if an afterthought—she’d say, “Oh, I almost forgot.” Then she’d pull her skirt up and show me her güvenilir bahis şirketleri newest panty. Most of them were stylish and sexy but not slutty. One was a hideous granny-style green pair that was a bonus for St. Patrick’s Day. That one was a “free bonus,” and it was a good thing. I’d have hated to think that I paid for it.

One time, however, she lifted her skit above her thigh-top hose and showed me her panties. When she lowered her skirt, I said, “Wait a minute. Was that a two-toned lace, or was I seeing you through the lace?” I came around to her side of the desk and told her to lift her dress again. She complied, and three inches from my face, saw lacy panties and wasseeing her black bush underneath the lace. “I’ve got to have some of that,” and once again, we engaged in sex in a risky location.

Over the next year and a half, we were together at least three times a week and sometimes up to five times. I was getting ready to make the break at home, but suddenly she began having reservations about getting out of her marriage and began to find excuses to postpone what we had dreamed of.

I felt betrayed, although we continued the affair. Out of nowhere, however, I got a call from a woman I had also known years before. She and I had both respected our marriages, and even though we had feelings, we refused to let things develop between us. We had even lost contact with each other, but somehow she had managed to locate me, in spite of several moves I had made in the meantime. She had gotten divorced. I’m not sure what she expected from the call, but we ended up meeting, and the meeting led to a motel room. I justified it by knowing that I was divorcing, my wife and I had not had relations in months, and April was hedging on me with regard to leaving her husband.

One night while away on business, I went to my old friend’s home, and she and I made out on her couch. She had added a few pounds since I first met her, but she was still a fine looking woman and knew what to do with a man. My heart still belonged to April, however, and the next morning, I wanted to see her. I called to make sure she was alone and went by her cabin. She spread a quilt in the living room floor, and we made out there. I should have felt guilty about being with two different women only about twelve hours apart, but somehow I didn’t. As usual, April and I totally satisfied each other and totally exhausted each other.

I went by the office for a couple of hours and then went home early. With the traveling and the sex with two voracious partners in less than twelve hours, I was exhausted. I could not remember the last time my wife had wanted me. As luck would have it, when I got home, my wife asked me to come up with her for a minute. I followed her to what had become “her” bedroom. She sat down on the bed and told me that she wanted to have sex. I couldn’t believe my ears. First of all, even when things were good between us, she never asked for it, and things had not been good for two or three years. Second, I usually was good for only one performance a night. “Damn the timing,” I thought.

Nevertheless, I decided to give it the old college try. She lay back across the bed in a light blue dress. I lifted the dress and took her panties off. I looked down at where her legs ended. She always had great legs, and although her hair was a brown with just a hint of red tint, her bush was black as coal. After enjoying a view I rarely had anymore, I was about to lie beside her and start kissing her when she said, “Don’t worry about making me enjoy it, I just want you to get inside me.” Instead of kissing her, I put my face directly down her legs and into her pussy. She had lingering hang-ups over sex from her youth and always felt guilty and dirty if she enjoyed herself. Still, I brought her to a climax. I knew that when I left April, I had not washed myself off and that her juices had dried on me. My anger over my wife’s previous coldness and her timing that day overrode my sense of decency, and with April’s dried juices on my penis, I slipped the head into my wife’s waiting chamber. Once lubricated, I began to pump her as I had pumped April a couple of hours before and the other one the night before. Even though, I’ve always been a one-shot kind of guy, I was amazed that the details of the moment roused my passion more than usual, and for the third time in less than 24 hours, I left the juices of my passion inside a willing vagina.

Most affairs do not end well, and neither did this one. My wife and I divorced. April stayed with her husband, only to divorce a year or so later. I’ve moved on with my life but still have fond memories of my sweet little church girl who could have fucked both horns off a billy goat and then repeated that one word she so often said to me, “More.”

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