There are many ways to start the year, but oral sex should always be on the menu.
It had stopped snowing, however, after last night and its corresponding impasse from the new year to the old, the snow had accumulated in thick piles, providing a completely bucolic image and, at the same time, not practical. The sound of the shovels and the small vehicles that removed the immaculate mantle from roads and portals was in tune with the pieces played in the mythical New Year’s concert of the Vienna Philharmonic.
Cécile, at home and sheltered from the biting cold outside, stretched out on the tips of her toes, stretching her legs licked by the black stockings. A dark pencil skirt stuffed her chewy buttocks and a white blouse, with a large bow, ran from the neck to the birth of the breast, without hiding the generous curvature of the breasts.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve,” he counted the services around the table for the umpteenth time, using his native French.
As the front door opened, some cold leaked in and was eradicated by the internal heat that flowed through the underfloor heating and, also, merriment broke out by those who were coming home for lunch.
“Lars,” Cécile called, hearing the door close and consequently the clatter of boots leaving her male feet. Will they be delayed? He asked, skidding on the pronunciation of the schweizerdeutsch.
He glanced at the watch around his left wrist and savored a couple of ticks.
“No,” he said, curt, sparing, and not because he was a bland guy; it was like the mountain, stoic. He crossed the corridor to enter the house through which the aroma of wood, restorative hot wine and the duck that was cooked in the oven rose. He stopped at the entrance to the living room, glanced at the television and, in it, at Christian Thielemann waving the baton; then he fixed his eyes on the feminine figure chiseled with curves suitable to remove the cold.
“Just in case …” Cécile began with the intention of going for the phone and, with it, sending a couple of messages. Obviously, the snowfall made the journey difficult; however, she and her OCD needed confirmation that everything would go according to plan; another thing was that Lars was willing to do it …
Behind Cécile, and gaining a good head height, Lars buried his nose in her collected hair, inhaling the perfume concentrated in the brown strands. He pushed his hips forward and rocked them gently, gently against the meaty buttocks so that the woman felt the sharp sharpness of his erection throbbing under the teeth of his fly.
“I, I, I’m going to…” Cecile burst out, tremulous. She closed her eyes, noticing how even the freckles sprinkled on the bridge of her nose were reddening, because the idea, the fantasy of being fucked at the risk of being caught red-handed had always been exhilarating, but she believed that for both of them it was just a forbidden wish. The heat emanating from Lars entered her bloodstream, poaching her, and inflated her breasts which, inconsiderate of the bra, overflowed from the cups, drawing the outline of her erect nipples on her blouse. Of course, I did not know the exact time, but there could not be much left for the arrival of the guests …
Lars ran his ten long, weathered fingers down the flanks of her skirt. She pinched the ends and pulled the garment up to reveal the silicone band of the stockings that clung to her soft thighs and, higher up, the lace panties. Viciously, she changed the hold of her skirt for the delicate waistband of her underwear, which she tugged, burying the fabric between her plump lips.
“You’re going to eat my cock,” he replied, making the end of her sentence his own, at the same time that with one hand he took her by the updo, urging her to turn her face.
A groan came from deep within her as the skirt left her buttocks, wrapped around her waist, and her skin experienced the change in temperature. Cécile’s made-up lids tightened, suppressing a gasp on her lipsticked lips. Lars’s five words echoed in her skull and she hardly thought to rebut him, as the lace of her panties plunged inside her, making her clit sing. Without respite, the tug on his hair forced her head to one side and she stayed with her mouth slanted at one corner of his, sucking in his breath and the scent of his profuse brown beard.
– What if we get caught? He muttered.
“I bet you’d like it,” Lars said, showing her the nacre of his teeth. He took her hand and led her to the opening of his pants.
This one, with enamelled nails, unbuttoned it and, without wasting time, took care of the fly. The impetuous cock and crying fine strands of presemen pushed itself to appear, showing off the command, there, mounted on top of two full testicles.
“Now what were you going to do?” – He asked with tinkling, with the Symphony playing in the rear
“Eat your dick,” Cécile replied, facing him as the strands of his hair broke free from their firm grip and spilled out of his updo. The command was irrefutable proof that Lars had it all figured out. As far as his cock was concerned, she didn’t let go of it, she managed to keep it in the warmth of her palm even as she squatted down. He licked the scrotal sac and with manifest devotion he sucked one of the delicate balls, turned it on the boneless bone as he began to jerk it off.
Although Lars had been explicit about the area to attend to, the pleasure he was giving her freed her (for the moment) from any reprimands.
She filled her mouth with the other testicle and increased the rhythm of the friction, hardening the meaty shaft to a sudden stop. She watched him from his height and was reflected in Lars’s dilated blue pupils, and then and only then did she open her lips to welcome his cock. Cécile, lacking in patience and spurred on by need, pumped her with an energetic blowjob.
Although the snow had not fallen again, time had not stopped passing and the concert had not ended …
“Take off your panties,” Lars said (partly despite himself), interrupting her and controlling the burning oxygen in her lungs and the pressing need to come. Do it, ”he ordered.
Cécile, oh, poor Cécile hesitated. Bridges of saliva dripping from her chin combined with lipstick and presemen, and as she uncorked his cock, she couldn’t help drooling, thirsty as she was for the expected milky torrent. The mandate did not even give rise to parliament and, licking his lips, he obeyed; She changed her posture a bit and managed to pull her panties down. He controlled his weight and, therefore, his stability, passed them over his calves and lifted one little foot, the other and, with them out, he held them out.
“Get up,” Lars scoffed, and grabbing the wet-soaked underwear he turned it into a ball. When Cécile straightened, she stroked the vermilion-smeared Cupid’s bow. We don’t want you to make a fuss, ”he whispered, stuffing her panties into her mouth. He enjoyed that watery look and the choked moan that the female emitted. And, to her surprise, he grabbed her by the hips, moved her to the table and positioned Cécile so that she could lean her arms, with her ass in pomp and her folds exposed …
She was a tightrope walker “whore” on the fine line that constituted what little she had left of sanity. Cécile, gagged by her own panties and with her taste buds basking in the taste of her own pussy, whimpered not at the possibility of sending all the paraphernalia from the table down the drain, no, but because she was so horny that desire was gnawing at her until the marrow of the bones. He narrowed his eyes and could have sworn he heard her juices dripping from the slit onto the floor, above the music on the television.
“Shhh…” Lars hummed, pushing himself into the tight nook, thrusting his cock into the scorching hole of narrow, muscular walls. Cécile was hot enough to melt Aletsh and he understood about it; after all, he worked at Air Zermatt -. That you are going to spoil the piece for me, ”she argued slyly, since even gagged she was not able to contain the chorus of gasps and the solos of moans as he pushed himself inside her.
Was he going to fuck her to the rhythm of the Radetzky? ” No, ” Cécile wouldn’t last that long without coming and without piercing her panties with the force of teeth. Dizzy with the pleasure hammering her, and with the extra stimulation of the pressure exerted on her breasts pressed against the wood of the table, she compressed her thighs and danced her feet over the floor, twisting her little toes. Orgasm bubbled up in her womb and vibrated on her clit.
“Tin-tin-tin”, echoed the crystal of the glasses and the silver of the cutlery …
Lars cradled her hips with both hands and stood still, undermined to the very balls in the feminine interior, feeling the convulsions of her tight vagina as she girded the solidity of his cock. One, two seconds, and she closed her eyes before giving in to orgasm. Unlike Cécile, Lars neither moaned nor gasped, he grunted, emptying himself in pipes.
Cécile gravitated to her feet, finding support as she was abandoned by the battered cock, still spliced. The trembling stunned his knees and dulled his endorphin-soaked brain. His eyelids took off … “Ha!” The watery mascara on the lashes was laughing at the waterproof labeling . He noticed the disorder on the table: luckily, no glasses had lost their lives.
The Symphony, unaware of the situation, continued playing and, beyond the door, the unmistakable sound of vehicles parking …
Lars, aware of the arrival of the guests, repositioned his pants and put an arm around Cécile to turn her over. He used his left hand to extract the puffed panties from his mouth and put them in a pocket.
“Go fix yourself,” he wheezed, pulling her skirt down.
“Yes …” Cécile gasped, assuming that, no matter how much she dressed herself up, the diners, by clairvoyance or any other witchcraft, would know what had happened and would read the word “fox” on her forehead in neon. And that… that turned her on, too. Barefoot of the stilettos that waited at the entrance of the house and sliding between the thighs of the shared fluids of both, she walked with little steps in the direction of the bedroom. But, before entering the corridor …
“Don’t wash or put other panties on,” Lars warned, dressing the tablecloth, silverware, and glasses. He ran his hands through his blond hair, combing it back and added, “I want it to snow.”