The Ballet Dancer Part 2

I had no time to think, not even to react, which may have been all the better for me. As she glided towards me, she let slip the towel, revealing her full, firm breasts, with large, deep red nipples that had stiffened in the shower. I could see as well that she was a natural blond, though she had trimmed her patch into a tasteful landing strip. And then she was on me and through me. The heat of her passion crashed into me, burning my crotch even through the layers of the suit I wore still. The hard nakedness of her breasts and stomach writhed on top of me.We kissed deeply and hard and she matched my aggression with her own graceful intensity. She sat astride me, pinning to the bed, boring into me with her heat and desire. Her fingers worked the buttons of my shirt and slipped off my tie until she could scratch her nails and dig into the muscles of my chest. She flicked my nipples, sending shivers of delight straight through my engorged cock. How much more could I take?I flipped her over. If I didn’t get some control of her soon, I would lose control of myself. That would truly scar my ego. I finished pulling off my shirt, buying a few more precious seconds of delay and then launched myself back into a kiss deep in her mouth, transferring the energy of my loins through the working of my lips. I caressed her breast with one hand, firmly and methodically, not like some porno boy slapping at a balloon. She needed to be played like a Stradivarius not a piñata. I used my other hand on the small of her back to draw her into me. Her moans, her scent, and the feel of her skin mixed an erotic potion that I could scarcely withstand. I’ve never felt such sustained tension, such passionate energy. It was like an orgasm, but I somehow still had control. Or she did. The musk of her loins and the dampness I could feel seeping a hot invitation through my pants. My lips were being drawn below her breasts to the source. I managed to detour to the buttery skin of her thighs, tracing small circles with my tongue. I lingered not a little, working my way to her core and she moved to open herself to me and present her lips for mine. Soft moans and the tensing in her stomach spoke of her restrained eagerness. I kissed greedily with my lips and tongue, but not too eagerly, playfully instead. I have always had a certain talent for cunnilingus and knew how and when to approach a clit. Drawing it out, teasing it, and then fulfilling it. It didn’t hurt that I loved the smell and taste of women. Each one delicious in its own way, but none like this. I worked and played my own tongue ballet until she was spent from her own shudders and all of her dancer’s strength was little more than a quiver.