Sex Du Juor: the Paring Lot

I catch my breath; I gulp and slurp down speedily and hastily sharp intakes of active, cracking, and headlong breaths. He necks and snogs and canoodles and pecks me all the more faster and delightfully and enjoyably, beating and knocking seven bells of bliss and delectation out of my pussy below with his lengthy, hulking, spectacular, and strenuous fingers—and as he does and accomplishes all this, he is inclining and tilting and slanting himself over me in the passenger's seat, bright-eyed and bush-tailed.

Stian; the passion and endearment of my life; the guy and chap and dude of my dreams; I love him so very much...don't you yourself?

For a little and ephemeral while and whim, he stoops and inclines himself down so that he can inurn and embed in his tongue deep into my pussy and cunt down there. Yeah. He does it steadily and by gradual and measured but definite degrees at first, then, as he presses on and on, he boosts and steps us his rapidity and quickness, lapping and licking his tongue into me all the hell lot faster and faster. Yeah. It is all sugary and honey-like indeed.

Arghhhh...arghhhh! My reasoning and thoughts are so muddled up and Greek-fazed and muddy and mucky and boggy and skanky and quaggy as the blurred and lusterless and smoky waters...Yeah. So, so fuzzy and quite, moderately obfuscated at the same time...

Stian is fucking and licking me good real time. How come he is a professional and virtuoso and maestro at sex? Warm-up and practice makes proficient and versed, doesn't it? It certainly and without a doubt and assuredly does! Yeah...it awfully and honestly and actually does.

The delectation...the contentment and enjoyment. I revel and savor in this. If every moment and instant and second in our life was certainly and solely like this...life itself would be so goddamn foolproof and blameless and impeccable. Yes. It would be all that and so much more what's more. I gasp and catch my breath once more. When will all this sweetness and sugar of mine that I am relishing and enjoying right now end and nip in the bud? When exactly? For the two shakes and trice—or moment in other clashing but homogeneous words, I am taking joy and finding satisfaction in this. Aren't you yourself?

In a snap tick and two-shakes twinkling, Stain warps and buckles and stoops and incurvates my seat or stall down. I for the nonce and forthwith arch and wind and flex down along with it. Yes. My elongated and extensive and far-reaching and lengthy light brown hair cascades and plummets down while I topple and go head over heels downwards too. Goodness. Stian discontinues and cuts short the seat from further winding and snaking down. I am happy and cheerful that he did accomplish just that, because, to be ethical and decent and upright with you, I was starting to become by any feasible fair means cowed and unnerved and petrified. Yeah...I sure indeed was...

Stian sets and cements his eyes on mine, breathing in and out all the hell brisk and sprightly and rapid. Goodness! Is he going to canoodle and neck and kiss me? Or will he fuck and screw and shag-bonk me up straight away without any hold-back or slow-back? Will he indeed?

He hurls and flings himself down so that he can smooch and buss and canoodle and neck and peck me like crazed and frantically loony. I love it! I adulate it so much! Don't you yourself? With his lips colliding and sweeping and scrubbing and stroking over mine, he presses and forces down himself against me, shoving and ramming and wedging his hand into my sugary, as-of-now wringing wet and soaked and drenched pussy. Yes. It is quaking and shuddering and having a bad time from the chilled and shaky cold and icy sogginess itself, and if his heated and piping hot toasty cum or spermatozoon or reproductive cell will not be spewed or splashed or let flow into it so as to dissolve and melt and unfreeze the sodden and waterlogged ice damping and moistening my punani itself, then sweet dear elderly Vagina is going to mewl and howl out her eyes for good. Certainly!

I groan and bewail and bemoan as Stian punches and bashes and swats his fingers deep and more deeper into my pussy, magnifying and heightening and enhancing up his speed as he does so until I am all swelling and escalating and snowballing remedilessly with elevating and aggrandizing and building up bliss and enjoyment. I make it to the big O right that particular moment, unclosing and setting off ajar my mouth in sheer fun and relish and delight. Damn him! He made me come all too quickly and unexpectedly and without notice. Screw him for it!

With my mouth still unclosed and ajar and stretched out, Stian shifts and moves his so close to mine that he kisses and snogs me terribly and exceedingly ferocious and uncontrollable and tigerish. I land at another big O as he does that, leaving me with not much any tip-off or pointer or hint as concerns what next it is that I can precisely do. Damn him once more!

By the time and tick that he takes off his mouth away from mine, I am all sugar and ice cream and milk and yoghurt and honey. Arghhhh! Sex is way too far sweetened and enjoyable, isn't it?

We are finished and ended. With the pussy fingering matter and concern that is! And? Stian adjusts and amends the positioning and posture and bearing of his seat so that it tumbles and trips and keels over downwards. Then with that executed, he enjoins and bids and adjures me to undo and untie and unstrap the belt laced and tied up on to his pants so I can take in my hands and furthermore trifle and amuse myself with his knob and John Dong kept in the dark and drawn a veil over inside there.

My, my! I find out and learn and realize and see that he is dressed in the most seductive and arousing and voluptuous style and fashion of underwear. Yes. His assets and the tips and head of his hips and buttocks are looking so very come-hither and slinky and kissable and beddable. If they were foodstuffs and nosh and aliment, I would have by now devoured and gobbled and polished them all off. Arghhhh! Stian is looking so voluptuous and titillating and arousing right this instant and moment. Is he in reality and truthfully mine? Mine alone? All of him in his entirety?

First, I lick and sweep and dust my puzzled, fascinated, and tickled-to-fancy tongue over his bulky, inviting, and irresistible-looking thighs. He moans and sighs out raucously as I do that. Damn him for it! Won't he just enjoy and take pleasure and joy in this noiselessly and in hushed tones. He is a man after all, isn't he, and not some psychological, emotive, and tear-jerking woman just like me? Even with the rolling and booming and thundering of his rumbustious and boisterous sighs and moans and whines, I keep on at raking and sweeping and brushing his legs and thighs with my tongue, cheering and tickling him roseate to the very core and crux as I do so.

Then I land and get as far as his jumbo and gargantuan John Dong is. Yes. It is at present moment prickled-up and standing firm and risen up straight too. And it is showing or exhibiting no any manifestations or gesticulations of plummeting and tripping down frail and decrepit and anaemic anytime sooner from now. No, it is categorically not.

Without seizing or laying hold of it with my hands, I take and eat it up in its entirety and fullness in my merry and ecstatic mouth, bashing and clipping it hard but good-humoredly in the farther borders and peripheries and extremities of my mouth. Yeah. All so sweetened and icky! I love it...I am in love with its sweating, in-perspiration like smell...I hold dear and dote on its redolence and bouquet and stench. Don't you?

"Yeah, Ragnhild, my baby! Keep doing it; press on with it," this Stian asserts and asseverates to me, looking and seaming all joyous and elated and on cloud nine. And am I stoked and rapt and floating on air just like he is? You can be most certain and positive and dauntless about it!

Why are men's penises and John Thomases so saccharine and sugary and honeyed? Not that I have tasted and chewed and scoffed avariciously all dicks and phalluses and winkles and joysticks that go vertical and prickled-up and rigid and firm in this entire world of ours. I have not. And I will not ever do such kind of a thing, will I? Hell-way no!

Stian Elberd has the most sweetest and enjoyable cock organ and vagina and ass pecker in the entire world. Do you differ in opinion and dispute with me? Well, if you were in my shoes and feet, you would obviously and undeniably know what it is that I am talking and shooting the breeze about here. You sure and come hell or high water would.

While I lick and slap and plash and gurgle every inch of Stian's massive and wonderful erection, I lay down and establish my hands deep into his sexual provoking and flirtatious underwear so that I can brace and hold on to a bit and chunk lot of his arse and butt behind there. Yeah. It is all so sweetened and honeyed and pleasurable and enjoyable to grasp and cling on to. Do you dare take issue with me on this or cross swords against me in other words?

Goodness! This sex and rumpy-pumpy is steadily but assuredly and unfalteringly killing me. It verily and surely and without a doubt is doing all that indeed. Arghhhh! I love it! I dote on this! I think the world of this—don't you?

It is funny and weird. But it is veritable and factual on the other hand. Before, I was not like this. What has Stian and matrimony life done to me? What exactly? Back then, I was a bashful and mousy and reticent withdrawn and single and lonesome and for the most part companionless maiden. I definitely and for certain was. But now...now...I am valiant and plucky and ballsy and lion-hearted like when it comes to sexuality stuff and material. I am like a whore and hooker and lady of the night. Stian's loyal and faithful and staunch call girl and strumpet and fille de joie and woman of ill repute. And him on the other hand? He is my tom and whore and hustler governor and master and overlord and tutor all in all. Whatever sexual appetites and carnalities and lustfulness of his...it is my mission and service and office to see that they are satisfied and contented and gratified. I must unfailingly see on to that. Is that not being harlot and demimondaine enough? Whatever your counterblast to that is—I do not and will not bother about it and give a damn what's more!

Sex...sex...sex...It is what is filling up and brimming over in my mind right this moment. Sex...sex...sex...and more sex...sex...sex...and an additional incessant sex...sex...sex...sex...sex...sex...

Just as Stian is about to come, he respires and wheezes in deeply and seriously excessive and fierce before he goes on to notify and inform me, "I am about to cum, Ragnhild. I am about to let go and let out my sperm. Watch out!"

Goodness. Do I have to swallow and then throw it out? Or must I slurp it into my stomach once I hoover it all into my mouth? Maybe I must duck and shirk away from it? What scrupulously and precisely must I do, huh? What literally? I commit myself to gobbling and guzzling it; and it is what I bang on and squarely do.

Gosh. The manner and style and fashion that Stian's jism and cum erupts and bursts off into my mouth—it is a bit and jot frightening and alarming and startling and terrorizing. Shaken and petrified at first, I gather and amass and hoard it all in my mouth up till I at length and in the fullness of time make up my mind and reach a decision that I have no preference or choice than to hoover and swig it all. Yeah. I have no any choice or selection other than this. Do you yourself?

Male gamete and seed tastes funny but richly hilarious and sharply acetic in case you didn't know. Yeah. At times I feel like I could eject and sputter it out of my mouth; at other times I still treasure and cherish it in spite of all the disastrous and deleterious things that it feels like inside my mouth. All yucky! And fantastic again on the other visage!

At long and final last, I am finished and ended with the cum or jissom gulping thing. And what comes next? Pussy bashing or banging in other words! Yeah. From the look and feel of it, Stian appears prepared and all set to venture on accomplishing and bringing off that. Yeah, he sure does. Aren't you yourself all set and in readiness for it? I bet and gamble and deem that you are.

He has me lie and lounge down in my seat steadily and at my own pace and leisure; and with that carried through and concluded, he sets and rests himself on top of me in his ace and topping clothes, having his trousers and underwear sagged and drooped and slumped way further down his thighs and legs themselves. He slaps and tonks me as being fairly sensuous and bedroom provocative. Don't you take ion and fathom that as being very much beddable and kissable too? It inevitably and nailed-on is to me.

Yah! I feel at ease and take it easy and relaxed as Stian lazes and lies down on me tenderly and smoothly. Nothing could be more better and preferable than this, aren't you of the same mind with me? He jerks and tweaks and hitches my dress farther up so that he can feel and stroke and finger and run his hands on my vagina and cunt down there. Yeah! He does it inchmeal and ploddingly and in his own good time. Yeah. I savor and revel in all this and so much more.

Arghhhhh! Sex with Stian? It is godsend damn awesome and schmick and brill and tiptop and super and ace. Steadily and taking his time, he lays and sticks his knob and penis and plonker into my vagina, and once he is inside of me, he looks down at me fixedly and overpoweringly, making me feel so awesome and super and pearler about everything here. Yeah. I am so in love with him. I think the world of him and I idolize him indeed. Don't you yourself feel the exact same for him?

As he bangs and bashes and batters into me, I shut and close my eyes for a moment, aiming and attempting and seeking as hard and finest as I can to hoover and swig and eat up all the king-size and immense delectation and contentment and bliss and enjoyment that he is bestowing and consigning to me. Yeah. It is all awe-inspiring and breathtaking and gee-whizz indeed. Doubtlessly!

Faster and more faster; he is rapping and smacking and banging and thudding into me all the hell lot more faster and quicker. I gasp and gulp and wheeze markedly and inordinately and to the nth degree as he does so to me. I can't help or relieve or aid it but liquefy and thaw and evanesce and dissipate into this whole lot and entirety swelling and hump and tumescence of sugar and honey and vanilla. Arghhh! If I am not in paradise or Zion or the next world, then I in good faith and ethically don't verily and surely know where it is that I right now am in! Where am I seriously? And how have I jetted and sailed and winged my own way here? How truly and precisely? How exactly?

While Stian jams and butts and prods and jabs into me, I reach for his bottom and fleecy-just-like-a-baby's-bottom buns behind, and once I have beat and rapped and knocked and tapped them flippantly but hard enough, I grasp and cling on to them like real bad and no laughing matter. Yes. I want him to fuck and jab and prick and nudge deep and more deeper into me; I want him to do that and nothing else. Seriously!

Just when my breathing and wheeze becomes ponderous and heavy and concentrated and intensive—just like Stian's himself in addition—he sets free and unshackles out loads and fills and crams and lades of semen into me. And boy, do I like and enjoy and revel in it so very much? I assuredly and come what may and beyond the shadow of a slight doubt do. After all, yes, his spermatozoon and male gamete in me is but seriously and excessively sugary and honeyed and saccharine indeed. Or is not it so? It obviously and needless to say and without doubt is. Buy into it or not; by the time that he pulls and hauls out of me, I am but terribly and ultra contented and assuaged and appeased copious and wholly. Oh yeah...I certainly and absolutely and sure thing am...