Tammana Bhatia Orgasm

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"Because it turned me on" he said with a smile. I froze for a moment, and began to pull down my shorts again."Would you finish me off?" I asked. "I won't tell anyone, it's not gay-"He cut me off with a kiss. I was momentarily stunned as our tongues met in my mouth, and the combination of relief and pleasure flowed from my lips to the rest of my body. A million sexy thoughts ran through my mind, such as the trace amounts of Nathan's cum still in my mouth now being snowballed back and forth between us, or the possibility of a new fuck buddy. I rubbed my ever-hardening dick against his, prompting him to move his lips down my body, planting kisses and licks at my nipples and below my bellybutton.He finally wrapped his lips around my tip, and I nearly lost it there. The sexy thoughts continued to surface, and I marveled at the idea of one of my best friends, someone I'd fantasized about for months, sucking my cock. I laid my head against the couch and put my hand on the back of Nathan's. "Well, I know if I was in love with someone I wouldn't want to see them marrying someone else." What? I hardly know Jim. I'm in no way in love with Madeline's fiancé!"Jen smiled and shook her head. "Not who I meant and you know it. Maddy." Her lips quirked into a self-deprecating smirk . "Not that I'm immune to her beauty myself, but Madeline makes everyone fall in love with her. Most innocent people do that to us ... that are less than innocent."My heart in my mouth, my pulse pushing it there thump by thump, I clenched my hands on the minor hope I felt surge through me. "I don't know what you mean. I care for Madeline, but she's a girl ... a woman, like myself. We can't have anything beyond friendship."Jen's answer was a short chuckle. "Well, as you wish, Ragi. Let's get started on your hands. Shall we?"Ragi?Moving to the seat that so many naked bottoms had graced today I eased into the chair, glad for once that I was clothed in the presence of another woman. In fact that Jen was.
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Her head points along her left arm, tucked into her shoulder. Her deliberate calm is testament to one thing – she wants this shot, and every one after. She wants to win, wants at some level to wipe the table with her opposition, to make this small victory against the losses she’s suffered trying to be a part of a world she has to work to feel accepted in. Her arm flexes as she runs the smooth ash cue across the place where her thumb and forefinger are tucked together. The action is sensuous, the theme light, graceful, studied. Her concentration is absolute. Her first shot, when it comes, feels restrained, although it is anything but. The white runs like a galloping horse across the table, bounding off the cushion and pushing the purple solid ball to the edge of the pocket, where it teeters and drops with a silent finality. The white sails on, coming off the cushion and stopping five inches from the ball her playing partner failed to sink. When she looks up, he whistles a low whistle.

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