sandyfree

I love performing on a stage or in a bedroom, my lover watching me exploring my body, watching me writhe in pleasure, as my fingers explore, disappearing inside my wet pussy. My juices flowing, her eyes transfixed, waves of pleasure crashing over me, moans, face distorted in pleasure, my passion is music, performing, called to the spotlight again. Moaning, rising off the bed to meet my fingers, plunging deep inside me. My body dancing with pleasure, a magnificent feeling, my scent filling the room, watch me as a shattering orgasm, shakes my body, my cute little toes curl, screams, moans, escaping my lips in delight. I'm twenty-four with short blond hair, green eyes, five-four, 114lbs., tattoo and pierced. Bass player, singer, music is my life, my drug, my aphrodisiac, some people smoke for it, snort for it, put needles in their veins for it, I get it playing music. life and love go on, just let the music play. No music - No life.
Her kiss is sheer poetry, her delicate breast my beats. Our moans making beautiful harmonies, her tongue dancing in my mouth so lyrical. My pussy her instrument, so goes our love song. A song we sing often, a note only we play, chords only we can hit, when our bodies play wonderful music for our ears, an orgasmic delight.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent Sunday morning, how you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me, and found my soft bosom, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stripped heart and reached till you felt my wetness and reached till you held my feet.
“I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you." How beautiful she looked in the moonlight! Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled. Her soft cheek was glowing against mine. "Darling, darling," she murmured, "I live in you; we are one, I love you so." I started from her. She was gazing on me with eyes from which all fire, all meaning had flown, and a face colorless and apathetic. "There is a chill in the air, dear?" she said drowsily. "I almost shiver; have I been dreaming? Let us come in. Come; come; come in.”