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Jeannette

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I’d seen Jeannette’s sweet smile in our webcam chats and in photos she’d emailed me, though a smile is always better in person. She was waiting at Logan for my flight to arrive, leaning against a wall just past the security checkpoint, and I recognized her immediately – those familiar dark, penetrating eyes, her constant smile with parted lips, and her shoulder-length wavy brown hair. As I walked toward her, we each did that quick initial mutual assessment. Her 5’8″ frame seemed unexpectedly tall, and her body looked larger and stronger in person. She looked every bit as youthful as her 33 years, which was a dozen years younger than me. These were minor details, not surprises. Jeanette was altogether an appealing woman.

We clasped hands and kissed each other on the cheek. The first surprise was the roughness and strength of her hands, befitting her job as a landscape architect. This was a woman who did physical work. We walked to baggage claim, hand in hand, making halting small talk. It was our first face-to-face meeting after months of Internet chat and email conversations. The mutual assessments were normal, of course, especially when you both knew that the plan was to spend the night together at a downtown hotel. My on-again off-again girlfriend was three thousand miles to the west. Her apathetic boyfriend was 100 miles north.

Our months of online conversation had covered many topics – my early marriage and divorce; her first marriage at 19 to a man who came out of the closet two years after their wedding, followed by a five-year relationship with a man who had taken them both to bankruptcy, then almost on a whim a three-year relationship with a man who seemed more interested in other women than with her.

Our rendezvous had taken weeks to arrange. I was making an early stop on my way to a conference two states away. Jeanette was supposedly spending the night with a girlfriend. It was her suggestion, three weeks earlier and much to my surprise, to spend the night with me. Our chat had then turned clinically sexual. “I hate condoms,” she’d informed me, “and I’m allergic to latex.” We discussed health issues. No herpes, no warts. She told me she was on the Pill. I’d had a vasectomy. We both knew were our night was headed.

Jeanette’s drive from the airport to downtown Boston was easy on this Sunday evening. Our talk was still full of trivialities, gradually evolving from awkward toward comfortable, tinged with an undercurrent of nervous anticipation. She maneuvered her car through the narrow downtown streets to the hotel’s parking garage. We walked the block from the garage to the ornate hotel lobby with its carved wood and formal tables and three-foot vases with cut flowers. I checked in at the front desk as Jeannette hung back, studying the rack of tourist brochures at the concierge’s station. Placards in the reception area announced a pharmaceuticals convention that was due to begin the next morning.

Electronic key in hand, we shared the elevator with conference attendees who wore name badges and tipsy smiles. They were all jibberjabbing in the elevator. Jeannette and I were silent. At the seventh floor, we slipped past the elbows and walked down the long hallway to the room. I rolled my suitcase, Jeannette lugged a duffelbag slung over her shoulder. We found our room, 724. The card key worked.

And then there we were, inside the privacy of the room, still on that unspoken path from being almost strangers to bedded intimacy. We had a corner room, spacious, with an obvious king-size bed and a nearby couch, a sitting chair and a desk. Jeannette dropped her duffel on the chair, I flopped my suitcase on the couch, and we stood there, facing ensest porno each other. It was time. We embraced and kissed, this time with open mouths, friendly tongues, and stroking hands.

With a new lover there is a flood of new sensations. Jeanette’s body felt different in my arms. Her kisses were assertive, her hands busy on my back and shoulders and head. I cupped her softball-sized breasts through her blouse, and she inhaled a quick breath and stepped back a few inches. Her eyes glued to my face as she unbuttoned her blouse, then unhooked her simple white bra, casually laying them on top of her duffelbag. Her breasts were magnificent – firm, tipped with small brown nipples that were curiously smaller in diameter than a pencil eraser, each standing proudly erect.

Mere minutes later we were in bed, naked, still kissing and still stroking. Jeannette’s rounded tummy descended to her dark pubic hair, which was wildly unshaven. When she spread her legs, her pink inner labia peeked out to say hello. As we nuzzled and caressed, her breathing became erratic, her dark eyes glistened. Her rough hands found my erection. “So hard,” she whispered. I couldn’t wait to be inside her. My penis throbbed in her fist.

My mouth explored her face, her neck, her breasts, her nipples. Jeannette lay on her back and I moved atop her, my mouth moving lower and lower. Down, down, past her innie bellybutton to her lush thatch of soft pubic hair. Her fingers caressed the back my head, playing in my hair, while I explored her pink nooks and crannies. Her scent invaded my nose as it teased through her hair and brushed ever so slightly against the edges of her labia. Jeannette groaned and her thighs sprawled open, her labia yawned wide and inviting. She murmured and squirmed as I breathed hot air and readied my feast.

My first lick was an upward swipe that spread her labia and grazed a flat tongue along the length of her stiff clitoris, and Jeannette’s gasping wail made me hope the room had sufficient sound insulation. Again and again, my hands held her ample hips and my tongue lapped her open pussy, her clit jutting, her outer labia fattened thick with her arousal. My tongue found the source of her heat, thrusting inside her vagina and then up and down her crimson cleft. Her juices – and my saliva – dribbled down across her anus to the white bedsheet.

Jeannette vocalized with gasps and moans and sharp exclamations. She climaxed quickly that first time with my two fingers stroking her g-spot while my tongue lapped circles across her clit. Her hands squeezed my head and her fingers indented my skull as she pulled my mouth firmly against her slickness, her hips rocking her pussy against my tongue and lips. She was all heat and slippery pink parts and sharp, guttural exhales.

You know a woman is multiorgasmic when she climaxes that strongly and then, seconds later, she’s tugging on your shoulders, urging you upward, as desperate to have your stiff cock inside her as you are to get it in there. The first time is usually quick, almost frantic, perhaps even a bit awkward as you mount her unfamiliar body with her unfamiliar thighs and torso and thickness and height and movements. Jeannette was a squirming, back-arching moving target. I adjusted my thighs between hers, notched my shaft in her juicy furrow, and poised myself above her, getting into position.

And then I was there at the threshold. Jeanette raised her knees and hooked her ankles behind my ass. Her thighs widened yet farther, and my cock had sufficiently smeared itself with her copious lubrication and had found her entrance. Her right hand with its rough palm was on my ass, pulling, urging, fake agent porno and her left hand was between my shoulderblades. It was time for the next big discovery, that exquisite first penetration of my flesh into her private, intimate embrace.

“Ready?”

“Do me,” she breathed.

I was inside her in one heated, slick primal thrust, pushing until our pubic hair mashed together. Jeanette cried out. My cock throbbed. My knees dug into the mattress, driving my weight forward to bury myself inside her liquid silk. Jeanette’s furnace of inner slickness was in sharp contrast to the roughness of her strong hands. A half-formed thought flittered through my brain – an awareness that my penis was deep inside another man’s thoroughly aroused girlfriend. How did it feel to her? How was it different than his? Than her other lovers?

The little muscle at her entrance was thin yet distinct, and as I stroked in and out, every time I bottomed out she graced me a small squeeze. In, clench, out, in, clench, out. My cock, I’m sure, was leaking like crazy. Jeanette’s juices were flowing, too, and she was getting even wetter, if that was possible. My cock was throbbing, twitching, and my moans and groans were overmatched by Jeannette’s.

All too fast, all too soon, I was beyond the point of no return. No pause would halt it, no slowdown would slow it. I knew it, Jeannette knew it. “Yes, do it, do it,” she hissed, “Give it to me,” and I did. I quickened my thrusts. I had another fleeting primal awareness that I was about to splash my seed for the first time into this new lover. Would she feel it? My pubic bone thumped against her mons. My climax was galloping forward.

Three, four, five more deep, completely deep and wet slickery straining thrusts and I was there, pressing myself into her, burying myself there, hardened to my max. I cried out in pleasure, which surprised me. My head exploded, and then so did my orgasm, with one long powerful spurt after another. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Jeannette cried out too, and I was only half conscious of her fingernails digging into my lower back, clawing painfully into my flesh. It was our primal moment, all instinct and raw sex and no rationality. I restarted my thrusts, now creamier from me and from her, her orgasm ricocheting through her body with quivers and those little clutching pulses around my shaft that continued, ever weakening, to fill her silken embrace with my juices.

The second time that evening was less frantic. And, alas, our orgasms were equally more muted. We shared a sandwich and grapes that she’d brought with her, then we returned to lovemaking. Her pussy smelled and tasted of sex, the soup of her juices and mine which oozed out and smeared the inside of her thighs and the sheets. Jeanette straddled me. I held her breasts and squeezed her little nipples while she slid and stretched her pussy on my shaft until she shivered and quivered to an orgasm. We awkwardly tried doggie – because of her height, the only way to get inside her was for her to stretch out prone, and I still couldn’t get all the way in because of her ample buttocks.

Then she was on her back again, knees up and spread wide, and I fucked her with slow, full-length strokes. I found a rhythm that made her beautiful breasts do an erotic dance. Her arousal climbed slowly, helped along by her own fingers and later by my cock driving into her from a higher angle that rubbed directly against her clit. At the end, when her climax was imminent, I lowered my angle and stabbed my rock-hard cock into her slurpy wetness and thumped against her inflamed mons, and we climaxed together. “You get me so wet,” she breathed fake cop porno in my ear as we entwined afterwards, my softening flesh still buried. We snuggled and kissed, and her fingers played in the leaking juices until she climaxed once more.

In the light of the summer dawn when I visited the bathroom, I saw in the mirror the scratches she’d given me. There were deep red clawmarks on one side, two on the other. I was going to need to buy some Neosporine at a drug store and hope that it worked its wonders during the seven days of my upcoming conference before I flew home to my girlfriend. Still, that was a week away, and I had a naked woman waiting a few feet away.

Back in bed, in the quiet of the morning, Jeannette made love to my penis with her mouth. She aroused me, played with me, and patiently brought me to orgasm on her own terms. She was a master, using her lips and her tongue, and with her rough hands caressing my chest and my legs. Her lips encircled my shaft almost at the base when I spurted, drawing back halfway to swallow, and deep again to engulf me until I softened.

I matched that with an oral orgasm for her, slow and tender, with just the right acceleration to crest her over the top. We cuddled for awhile and pillow-talked, then she hardened me again with her mouth and mounted me. We both knew this was the last time. The morning was almost gone, and she needed to drive back home to her kitchen and to her afternoon landscaping job and to her equally wandering boyfriend. Jeannette’s hips ground her inflamed vulva against me, our eyes locked together, her rough hands on my chest and my softer hands on her breasts, pinching her pointy nipples and feeling her clutchy squeezes.

“Oh there,” she breathed, closing her eyes and rubbing, driving, thrusting against me, her face frozen in an open-mouthed mask of pleasure. Her hips slowed and her eyes opened. She smiled that radiant smile. I hadn’t climaxed, though I began to soften. Two orgasms the previous evening, one earlier that morning. “Oh,” she said, squeezing my disappearing erection. “You came?”

“No,” I told her. She looked disappointed. I knew what might work. “Roll on your back,” I said. A moment later I was inside her again, half-hard and getting harder. “That’s it,” I said.

“Take me,” she whispered. She opened herself up to me, holding a knee with each hand. “Is this how you want me?” I nodded. I was preoccupied. I wanted to memorize her, memorize her body, memorize the glorious sensations of her vagina and its slick embrace. She watched me, watched my face, felt my body, and surrendered her own. I got firmer, stiffer, and each notch higher she smiled more. “That’s it,” she told me, “Just like that.” My strokes quickened. This one wasn’t going to be explosive, though it was still going to be sweet.

“Oh,” I breathed as I got close. “Oh.” My cock stiffened another notch.

“Give me all of you,” she whispered.

And I did, even if there wasn’t much remaining in the reservoir. Faster and faster thrusts, racing to the finish, her hands pulled her knees higher and there I was, pressing deep. Jeannette clenched around my cock with one long, gripping hug, and I moaned with one last set of pulsing throbs that figuratively and literally emptied my balls. Her clench relaxed, my body relaxed, and my erection softened quickly.

An hour later, after showers and dressing, a small measure of awkwardness returned. Jeannette repacked her duffel, and we paused at the door for one last moment of private intimacy. “I’m driving directly to work,” she told me, nose to nose, her fingers in my hair as my hands her moving from breasts to hips and back. “I’m sure I’ll be leaking you all day.” She pecked my lips again. “I hope you’ll be remembering me, too.”

I did, for the remainder of the day and week and long thereafter. And my back still shows faint white remnants of her fingernails, if you know where to look.

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