The Nite Ache

Every evening, nearly the same
Crawling between sheets, alone
crisp cold slips over bare skin
head rests onto pillows
the slightest whiff of perfume
yet there’s none beside me

My arm reaches out
grasping invisible hand
surrounded in softness
drawing it closer
spooning embraces
as if to kiss and taste
the neck that’s not there

Wanting for warmth
visions of touch
where bodies may lay
legs entwined
cupping there, grasping
stroking here, sliding
eager hands tracing curves
as if someone in spirit
feels my every move

There’s that scent again
with no visible source
So I take in a breath
Hum my body surges in bliss
as if being touched

Closing eyes slowly
snuggling down
held on tight
I open my mind
Yet no one is here

Reaching at nothing
the pleasure overtakes me
as I slip into visions, moaning
sometimes the senses
are guiding hands

The body curls in
mind images elsewhere
ears ringing loud silence
heart beats faster, gasping
I surrender in movement

The emotions wander
thoughts are throbbing
warmth come here
just raking it in
mmm yes so delicious
until sweet deep release
then drift into dreams

I linger there
smiling eyes heavy
sighs escape, purring
perhaps somewhere afar
there’s another like me
sharing this moment
giving freely
and feeding

We’re no longer alone
at least, secretly, herein
until tomorrow
and brings again
the nite ache

Somewhere in Tvoraldsland.. (erotic story, Gorean)

Chapter 1 : Breakfast
I awaken again to the endless dawn of the North, where the sun sits lazily on the horizon. Day will rise slowly over the skies before resting again, never quite riding into the realm of Night, yet only traveling higher than sparse bands of clouds which defy the otherwise blank, silver dome of Winter.

A hawk chirps from its perch in the long hall, flapping its wings and ruffling its feathers with a shake of its streamlined head, her sharp talons clicking and gripping the stand, she then nestles back into a restful pose, shrinking down and closing her eyes, returning to sleep.
Reluctantly, I sit upright, stumbling and stretching to stand. A large white larl fur drapes over a hardwood platform. Strewn around this are few mismatched cushions.
Hanging against one wall is the skin of an elk (or the Gorean species most resembling one), and near this, on the wall perpendicular, hangs the yellowish fur of a harvested tarbuk.
Between the two skins, ancient dark futhark, the rune script of the Vikings, bears my name. The sygils are placed in such a way they appear to float in mid-air, and a soft glow emmenates thus. Upon closer scrutiny, no visible means of support holds them in place, and the source of their illumination is not made obvious– clearly, magick is involved in their making.
Leaning back against one wall, slipping on my pants and shirt, I buckle the kilt and cloak around my body– like my bedding, the furs provide protection over the elements.
On the far wall hangs two small wooden shadow boxes, deep yet intended for flat artwork such as a map or painting, which is what they display; At the left, a map of Gor, and the right, a painting of a ram-headed winged man of sorts– he hovers over a maid and touches her. The piece commissioned as a replica to one painted by Earth artist Boris Vallejo.
The frames are hung staggered, one above the other, in a way I find asthetically pleasing.
Preparing aching muscles to venture outside, I pull the mead horn off the wall and string it to my hip, followed by bow, daggers, and tools of the Jarl.
A thalarian oil lamp sits empty on a small table, the remaining wick was extinguished late last night by a bond maid.. who warmed my furs and slept with me some of the night.
Wafting through the room are odors of baking, a sweetness I recognize as porridge being prepared for breakfast.
The Jarl’s accomodations are small rooms just big enough to fit some bedding, a small table, perhaps a chair, a kennel for keeping captured beasts or slaves. They afford privacy (if desired) by accordian style screens built into the structure of the walls.
In one motion, I grasp the screen firmly in one hand, sliding back the panel which folds upon itself to the open position.
Upon hearing this, the bond maid stopped stirring the kettle and came up to me, smiling as her bare feet padded briskly along the floor. The motion was much like a pet, upon hearing its owner’s arrival, rushes to greet them home. If she had a tail, it would wag with spontaneous joy.
“Greetings, Jarl!” she cooed, eyes meeting mine for a second before dropping her head down submissively, her curvatious naked body wiggling into a nadu pose, kneeling and settling herself before my feet, legs spread open and her hands resting, palms up, upon her soft thighs. She exhaled through slightly parted lips, her chest rising with each breath.
“Good morning, girl,” I said. Looking down upon her sublime body and immediately feeling both lust and gratitude for her, “is that porridge I smell brewing?” I asked.
“Yes, Jarl,” she purred, “your favorite recipe,” she described the ingredients being golden brown dried fruit resembling sultana raisins of Earth, spices from markets far South of here, a mixture of milled grains, bosk milk and sweet cane juices. “just as you like it,” she smiled, knowing I was pleased. “Would you like me to serve you now?” she asked, if not metaphorical.
“Aye, girl” chuckling, I said, “make me a bowl while I put on my boots.”
Her lips parted for a moment and she flicked her tongue across them, bringing moisture while breathing in sharply, suddenly.. as if I had struck some sensual nerve within her. She rocked slightly upon her heels, her legs spreading a bit wider, the backs of her upturned hands slowly stroking the top of her soft thighs. “Yes, Jarl” she said, rising to stand. 
Still facing me, she backed away a few steps, then spun on her heels to fetch the bowl. “I will be within earshot should you need anything else,” she teased, playfully, “Jarl..?” 
Then, humming a tune to herself, she scampered away, hips swaying in quite a sensual, purposeful way, she walked knowing I continued my gaze upon her. She wanted every muscle of her body, every ounce of her flesh, to serve me, for this was her greatest pleasure.
I stepped to where my boots lay, reaching down to pick them up, and began wrapping the straps and strings together, pulling them tight.
By the time I finished, the girl had returned with the cooking bowl of porridge and a pitcher of drink, sitting kneeling at my feet, holding the jug between her legs, her head bowed.
I looked upon her again, tracing the slope of her breasts with my eyes, letting my gaze roam itself down her body to her stomach and to her treasure. She blushed, “Do you wish me to serve you here, or at the table?”
I could just as easily forego eating altogether and lay her down upon my furs, taking her, using her body for pleasure. That, a role of the bond maid, to service all men of the holding, which owns them outright; She is a slave, she is property. 
Though it his her duty to meet my basic needs and serve, and I am grateful, I do not need say so, and do not love her –not in the romantic sense– I love her as a pet, or how a man would love possesions like a motor vehicle.
These ancient customs are normal and expected as breathing, this the Gorean way. To think otherwise, to refuse the girl or have sympathy for her, as if concerned of her condition, would insult and make her feel unworthy- for she is proud to be in my care and delights to do so. It gives a slave girl ecstasy to serve a Master, completely and selflessly.
Indeed, some girls are bred and trained for this their entire life, giddy and excited to the moment they may finally plead, “Buy me, Master” and surrender themselves into submission.
Even so, the girls’ sacrifices and lodgings are not secured- at any time they may be stolen in a raid, or traded in the market. If a new man buys her, she may remain a slave, be released as a free woman, or even become his companion, whatever he wants. 
While most women are eager to do well, the resisting or untrained are whipped into obedience. Knowledge of their position is enough to keep some girls in check, while others intend to perform erroneously, that is, they crave punishment!
As the mind processes pleasure and pain the same, some slaves desire lashings and find it arousing.
A good master takes this into account, for chaos may arise from increasingly bad mannered girls, if she demands stronger correction to satisfy beastly appetite.
If a maid becomes too unruly to serve, she is taken along hunting and fishing expeditions, her body used as live bait. Better to sacrifice a slave to capture animals for food and skins, than waste energy managing a wild maid.
Of course, most slave girls, they simply serve well without somuch a thought of wanting anything else, this is their deepest passion, their best happiness. They would just assume be put to death than not used.
I walk to the long table and motion the girl, sitting down on the bench and leaning back, stretching my muscular arm along the edge of the backrest. 
She leaps up to hurry beside me, eyes peeking at me, smiling, waiting upon my next words like a poised dog anticipating the next fetch of its favorite tennis ball thrown far across an open grassy field.
“On the table,” I motion, and she crawls up on to it, then kneeling again before me with a slutty smirk upon her face, her legs spread open wide before me and her head glancing down upon my crotch, she licks her lips expectantly, swooning on the very sound of my voice.
She dips a smaller bowl into the warm meal from the larger one, scooping a good helping into it, then kissing the lip of the bowl, raises her hands up in offering to me, as if I were a God and she was prostrating before me, “May it nurish you, Jarl.” she whispers.
I grab the bowl from her, my strong calloused hand brushing over her delicate fingers in the process, to which I see her smile widen and face blush from my simple touch.
“Some drink, bond,” I say, nodding to the pitcher which now sits at the table by her side.
While I eat the porridge, slurping and sipping the bowl, she deftly places the pitcher between her breasts, squeezing them tighter placing her arms along her sides, then holding the vessel in her cleavage, she places a cup underneath and proceeds to bends forward, letting gravity work upon the contents and her form somewhat, the liquid spills into the cup until filled. She rocks back, sitting upright, flicking her head back, her hair commanded in a wave of motion as it drapes around her shoulders. She smiles, seductively sliding the jug down her torso until it rests upon the table between her legs. She giggles with delight that I have watched this entire display and smile upon her. 
She smiles back, raising the cup toward me with lifted hands, as if they were encircled with locked bracelets, her deep eyes lock with mine for an instant and I feel the electricity of her gaze, before she drops her head again and trembling slightly, sits poised for me to accept the drink “May this quench your thirst, Jarl,” she says softly.
I lift the cup from her fingers and then drink it down, gulping the warm beverage hungrily until it is gone. With a mighty thunk I set the cup down on the table, exhaling “ahh!” the taste lingers for a bit in my mouth, and I gobble down the rest of the porridge without speaking.
“More, Jarl?” she asks, prepared to serve me more of the food and drink. I shake my head no and she tilts her head curiously in acknowledgement. “I am satisfied, and don’t wish to overeat before my journey,” I say, a hint of sadness forms on her brow and she asks, “will your journey be long?” perhaps expecting the worst. 
“No,” I say, “just a few days,” not wishing to leave her, yet knowing she will be safe here.
“I will look forward to your return,” she says, knowing full well she means to express her love to me and will be filled with longing every moment I am away from her sight.
“Yes,” I reply, “be well,” my words are cold though true, I do wish her well and will miss her company while I am out hunting and scouting, my eyes may reveal, but I a warrior, and she a slave, that is all need be said.
“Be well, Jarl,” she says, her voice cracking a little. I toss on my cloak and head to the large door of the long hall, she trails behind and at my side, yet attentive to me. 
I embrace her and she kisses my cheek softly, holding me tight, her bare skin rubbing up against me. I let her go, commanding her return to her chores, and she nods happily, standing in place as she watches me unbar the door, preparing to exit the hall. 
As I walk through the threshold, thrusting the gate open, I take one last look upon her, smiling upon her sublime beauty. 
She shivers slightly at the burst of cold pouring in from outside, and as I turn and step away from her, she shuts the door closed behind me; it squeaks and groans closed, locking its mechanism with a clicking thud. I hear her struggle to draw the bar across the door, perhaps aided by other maids, sliding it back into place, and I step down from the hall, into the surrounding grounds of the holding, a snow covered path which leads to the outer gates.

I stand (erotic)

I stand
in the marketplace
A new voice
Calls my name
She says “greetings, kind sir”
She says “master”
And immediately
Something inside me
Wants me to stand
By her side

She is white silk
Like the moonlight
She is starry eyed
All is new
And I reach for her
To touch her face
Something draws me
To embrace

She is so gentle
She is beautiful
Like a daughter
Loved by her father
And I stand
As her hips sway to each word
I stand
She’s dancing on her toes
I look into her eyes
And as they meet mine
I stand in awe
Of this girl

She walks with me
She talks to me
Her voice like honeybees
Buzzing around my mind
She shows me the city
Oh just to brush her skin
We stride together
I’m marching with her

She takes me here and there
She walks me everywhere
Shows places she can go
Speaks of where she doesn’t go

And I stand
What’s this now?
I’m holding her hand
She kisses me, so softly
I stand
Oh yes I stand tall

She climbs into her kennel
And bids me wishes well
I close the cage upon her
A tear in my eye
I stand looking on her
And I stand
Wanting her
To stand with me
By my side

Yesterday (erotic)


Wind Blowing
Wafting Cold
Impacting Skin
Freezing Faces
Shivering Bones

Snow piles grow
Numbing feet through
Icing hands over
Hiding sidewalks beneath
Covering across driveways
Feeding streams water
Men with shovels
Grandma makes cocoa
Children build snowmen

Lovely soft woman stirs
Fills all my senses
Speaks with love true
Her voice sleepy tones
Lays in bed warm
Snug in covers wrapped
Closes her eyes shut
Drifts to sleep soundly
Snores along so restful
Dreams of us kissing

I slide in behind her
Gently lift her night gown
sliding the soft fabric up
Raising above her curvy hips
Run my hands around her
Stroke her breasts so eagerly
pinch nipples in my fingers
My cock is hard now
Her pussy wet for me
A smile on her face
I slowly enter her warmth
And kiss her mouth again

I hump her like a rabbit
She bites her lip and moans
Until her chest is heaving out
Her hips grind and buck along
And I come exploding inside her
We hold each other so tender
Till asleep in each other’s arms

I awaken to her touch
Her hand grasps my shaft
Licking me with her tongue
Puts me in her mouth
Smiling lips around my cock

She takes me in
Tasting both our juices
Sliding expertly her head
Giving me great pleasure
Her mound wet again

I touch her
She spreads wider
I stroke her
She writhes there
She sucks harder
Her moans grow
I rub her
Her clitoris throbs
She presses hard
We reach climax

She swallows
Gasping breaths
Cums again
Riding me


Wash (erotic)

My love enters the bath
Her hair flows down
Like a waterfall of curls
And she slides into
Soapy bubbles of the tub

She reclines and closes eyes
As the bubble swirls enfold her
And rests there in the heat
Of steamy scented warmth

The water splashes over her
As hands rub along her curves
She thinks of us as fingers play
Massaging lovely breasts

Her chest rising with her breath
Her legs are sliding up and down
Her arms escaping to the depth
Of sudsy pleasures below

Underwater she finds a spot
Where fingertips can stir
A special place between thighs
A button found inside sweet lips

And she closes eyes again
Slowly stroking herself, sighs
How lovely this smiling beauty

I stand at the edge of her bath
She turns to look upon me
She reaches wet and slippery
Her hands touch my pajamas

Beneath the soft fabric
Something is growing
She pulls down my waistband
As pants fall to the floor

My member bounces merrily
Rebounding and stretching
She grasps me in her hand
Pulling me closer to the side
And takes me into her mouth
While her fingers play below

I reach down to stroke her
Teasing nipples and breasts

She kisses licks and sucks me
And I help to fondle her
Driving passions further
She quickens her pace upon me

And as she reaches climax
Arching and moaning
I cum upon her tongue
And she swallows every drop

She leans back and smiles
Settling back into her bath
I touch her face and
kiss her sweetly

After awhile
she rises from the tub
Her body is dripping
Her pubes glisten bubbles

She spreads her legs open
Rising one out on the ledge
And pulls me into her wetness
Finding my shaft and stroking it

I am erect for her again
And she rides me there
Pressing into my thrusts
We stand together
pounding, slapping skin
She humps ferociously
Like a hungry beast mounting
She yelps and gasps my name
And we cum together again

I dry her off gently
Rubbing her with towels
I smooth lotion on her
And rest her on the bed

She nuzzles me and cuddles close
Tells me how she loves me so
Says how much she appreciates
Everything I do

Then rolls upon her stomach
Her legs spread open again
Across billowy blankets
I lay myself upon her
And she rubs herself beneath
upon the sheets she writhes
I enter her from behind
She winces smiling at the
Sudden pleasure of my girth
I am inside her wet warmth
She bucks into me
as I go deeper
she presses harder, faster,
Squeezes me gripping my cock
And rides me, catching rhythm
Her eyes close and she moans
Her voice is chaos and primal
She grunts loud and smiles
Almost laughing
her pussy floods around me
She cums all over my shaft
And screams my name breathlessly and sweating
She grabs my hands in hers
And rocks with me to sleep

My dreams awash with images
of us making love, so again and through the night, we do, in an endless symphony of sleep and sex, sensual and soft,
hard and rough, they blur and we awaken late in the day,
where I prepare the tub for her
The water flows again,
adding bubbles
scented minerals
candles flickering
my love enters the bath…

Unspoken (erotic)

A salty fisherman stands looking over the ocean, he sees waves of people rising and falling with the tides of life.

Grasping his pipe, he takes a breath of the air around him, stoking the embers of his tobacco and exhaling with a little pop of his lips, the smoke curls and rises across his mouth.

He turns to survey the ocean once more, as if looking for his love, the sea gyrates and surges the ebb and flow of existence, energy swirling as consciousness the pulse of the waters, and all that exists upon it, all that is beneath, and all that soars above the foamy currents.

His ship rocks from side to side, rolling front to back as the buoyancy gives and takes to his weight, settling and tipping in a dance of balance, riding between the forces of gravity and precipice of pressures which keep his vessel aloft.

The wind stirs and blows across his straggled hair, carrying the twisted branches along its path for a moment, pulling and stroking at his forehead.

His muscular arms fold across his chest, he saunters to the edge of the bow to peer once more over the expanse.

Raising a large strong hand to his gnarled beard, rubbing his chin, smiling, lost in thought, his mind embraces daydreams for a moment he thinks of a beautiful woman from recent past…

He was watching her from the corner of his eye, as she was seated on a bench.

Her legs stretched out before her like a pathway leading from the ground toward hidden treasures.

With the passing of each moment her breast slowly expanded and contracted. Though she seemed relaxed, her nipples pressed hard against the inside of her blouse, her chest ever straining to escape the buttons that kept the garment from exploding open in tormenting release.

She knew he was watching her, and pretended not to notice his gaze, though it was obvious enough to herself his eyes were tracing her curves as if his hands were upon her body, firmly scooping around her shape and bringing shivers to her skin.

Deep within her cunt she couldn’t help but get wet from the thought of desire, how his manhood would feel inside her, pounding away at her heat.

She closed her eyes for a moment, her lips parting a sigh and tongue poised to flick at anything which might suddenly be thrust into her hungry mouth.

Her clit twitched at the visions she was having about him already, yet remained aloof as if not interested in the least, though she knew she wanted him to lay her down and bang the bejesus out of her right now.

She stood up to greet him. He was ready to swoop her into his arms, or grip her at the sides and thrust her over his shoulder, carrying her to a nearby alcove to strip and fuck her, hard.

To see her was to want her. He looked upon her outfit, the way it would cling on her tight ass.

For an instant he thought to grab the bottom of her skirt into his hands, yanking it up from behind and pulling it above her hips, bending her slightly at the waist, thrusting her against the nearby wall, tearing her panty away and ramming his throbbing hot cock into her, until they both came in a screaming frenzy of quickened passion.

She was seething sexuality, and her scent was intoxicating him. She glanced at his crotch and followed the lines of his hips, across his abs and chest, over the details of his hair and face.

She wondered what his skin would feel like under the touch of her silky hands, as she pressed down into the darkness of his pants and squeeze his shaft in her palm and stroked him there, sliding her fingers around his balls and cock, pulling the trousers down then kneeling to take the throbbing rod into her salivating mouth.

She smiled sweetly and innocently at him. She had reservations about being openly sexual with him, for her appetite was strong yet wanted to keep it hidden. Perhaps he would keep her secret. She didn’t know, but wanted him, she needed it. She knew it would be safe if they agreed to discrete sex and keep it that way. She liked her freedom, hell yes let him take that dripping pussy. She would enjoy watching herself do him.

He thought of dropping to one knee directly in front of her, raising her skirt from the front this time, and throwing one of her shapely legs over his shoulder, he would bury his face into her mound, and smother her pussy with his smacking kisses and licks of his probing tongue.

At that moment, she was imagining the same motion, him sucking on her button while she gyrated and grind her sex into his face, grasping his head lustfully, her hands stuffed with his hair, she would ride his expert eating and ensure he touched every sensitive spot, her smooth thigh pressed into the side of his head in a naughty embrace. She let out a small moan and hoped he didn’t hear it.

Oh how she wanted him to slide that delicious thick dick into her wanton juicy hole. She squirmed in her skirt, standing before him, and half thought to just pull it off and lay down letting him do whatever he wanted to her, regardless of what she may have done or said previously, the thought of this felt right, and a firey part of her kept letting her know she wanted his penis.

She would be silent except for the yelps of ecstasy from her throat, as she finally gave him what he wanted, indeed she wanted him to take her, if only just this once, perhaps again some other time too. She just couldn’t get the thought out of her mind. She liked the idea.

He looked into her deep eyes and saw she was lost in thought, a smile curled around her face and lips puckered slightly, as if ready to taste a kiss or perhaps devour something he fed into her lips. If he didn’t get her in the next few minutes, he would ponder taking her another time.

He watched her hair draped over her shoulders, cascading along her back. It was all he could do to keep from yanking it forcibly as he bent her down upon his pulsing member and direct her to pleasure his every whim.

Her eyes met his and it rocked him to the core, he shuddered a bit, then handed the object he had built for her.

She thanked him and pecked him on the cheek with a warm wet little kiss. His senses filled with the aromas of her as her boobs brushed up against him, gently pressing into his chest for a moment.

How he could have grabbed her then and hugged her tight, reaching down to cup a breast or squeeze her ass in his hand, giving her a strong passionate kiss.

She thought of how it would be to surrender into his arms and give herself to him, she always claimed to be submissive to the right men. It was a sign of her strength though she felt so weak near to him, she thought she would faint and become butter in his willing hands, exploring her open body and slipping his fingers inside her. She took every ounce of resistance left and pulled back after kissing his cheek, and smirked.

They were here, where he built it, and she got what she came for, her fantasies would come in handy as she toyed with her vibrator later.

She knew he would go there with his man meat in his hands, thinking of her riding on top of it, below it, along the side of it, oh what things they could do in each other’s minds together.

“Someday..” she thought to herself, knowing that man in other ways belonged to her, and wanted her, and knew if she gave him a few minutes, hours, or night, he would respect her; It would stay their secret, besides, he could change appearance to be whatever she liked him to be.

She enjoyed him after all, and wasn’t so mean, heartless and cruel to deny him pleasure if he ever asked — not that he did, but she would find means to say “yes” and have him, at least that once, if he asked…

The man gazed longingly and knew she was free, no strings, the odd distance between them, but wished she allowed him her private moments, “Someday, Cassidy,” he hoped, then walked off to take care of a pounding ache of erection. Just a taste, he thought, mm that would be delicious sometime. He was happy either way…

The bridge (erotic)

Adzumi had to ride the bus today, across a bay of water.
the drive was long, but on she
Went and boarded the large bus.
The seats weren’t too cozy
as the padding wasn’t so thick.
She didn’t like bumpy rides, but
The only seats left were near the Back, perched over each wheel well. “oh great,” she thought, a lump of foreboding or disappointment forming a scowl on her pretty face. As she sat, the bus lurched into motion, practically knocking her off her seat. She had to hold onto a railing bolted on the back of her seat, and position herself to the side a bit, so she could hang on.
Though a bit uncomfy, this held her in place tight. She wondered if people were handcuffed in much the same way to the cold hard steel pole, or dancers used them in strip clubs, or how a mans cock would feel in her hand if similar girth. The old bus’ diesel engine groaned and roared heat, and vibrated the bus around her almost shaking it.
The road was a bit uneven,
And then came the bridge, which was several miles across and known to be bumpy even in a car. So she expected the worst.
The wind buffeted the bus,
Gently rocking it in various ways, It wasn’t so bad, almost pleasant actually . She laughed to herself , how could a bus be enjoyable?
She felt a bit more relaxed.
The bridge was low and built by sections constructed by barges , each one a few meters long.
As The bus rolled over each of them, the floating road beneath her buckled and struck the tires with force. Thump! thump! thump! thump! Like a beating rattle and drum. This with the vibrations of the Engine started working its hum which traveled the seat and with some impact she could feel the mechanics react to them under her body, which felt every bump and roll. Then She suddenly noticed, what was it?
The motion and pounding, it was
Making her aroused! She shuffled bashfully in her seat, and hoped nobody noticed her blushing. The
Other passengers were either sleeping, texting, or reading a book. Many just looked out the window. She hadn’t noticed that the bus was much emptier now than when she got on. Her legs were crossed, and She pressed them tighter. Her mind wandered to her sexy man friend Angyo,
His muscular body, his smile, his scent. She closes her eyes, squeezing ever stronger her legs, it pressed her lips and clit as women can do, secretly , as they sit. Her leg swinged over and rocked her a bit, The vibrations and thumping, She is so wet now… Moving with the rhythm of the bus ride, She pushed herself down into the seat more, feeling the bounces of the large Wheel beneath her .Rocking more and shifting ever slightly, Finding the perfect spot Where vibrations and the thumps Coalesce together. She smirks and bites her lip, presses her thighs tighter. The sensations build even more. She is sensitive to the little Motions that send her over the edge.. And as she begins to peak, she gasps in a breath, pretends it’s a cough though none seem to notice her wiggling about in the padded bench. She nods As if asleep and stirring awake, But she is reaching orgasm soon. She is amazed how quickly she reached it. Adzumi closes her eyes once more ,
And let’s the waves crashing
over her, her mind has vivid sensations that take over, she breathes heavy and hot and parts her lips, her tongue darts out as if to taste and she cums harder this time. She smiles and continues to ride again . Until the bridge is done.
And the road smooths out.
And her body twitches,
She quietly let’s out a moan
Refreshed and renewed,
She decides, riding the bus isn’t so bad after all.